Into the Black City

 My last spring break as a teacher (at least for a good long while) is over.  On one hand, this means that I won't have to experience the way a week can stretch infinitely at the end of a quarter while you pray you survive long enough to be free of the children for at least a few short days of travel.  On the other hand, it means I'm going to be too broke to actually have a few short days of travel...unless I break my piggy bank.  This is something that I'm trying to avoid, but after a year Stateside I may be desperate enough.  I have hope that Minneapolis will be lively enough to keep me from noticing all the places I haven't gone.

Ever since the Evil One moved to Armenia I've been intending to go visit.  After all, we were practically neighbors...or so I told myself.*  I was aware, on some level, that it was trickier to get to the other end of central Asia than I was telling myself, since Her Evilness and co. came to visit two years ago, but you have to actually EXPERIENCE it to realize the truth.  I've said it before.  I'll say it again, especially since it may be the last time I do so for two years: getting there is NOT half the fun.  See, flights into Yerevan are sporadic.  What the Evil One did - and what she suggested to me - was to fly through Istanbul into Tblisi, which is in Georgia.  Four hours away from Yerevan.  Which either meant another flight - if there was one when I needed it (there wasn't) or ground transportation.  She suggested a taxi.  I said a bus was fine (I am not living on a state department salary, after all).  And then she booked and paid for a taxi anyways, and had it take me directly to Gyumri - the first place that I mentioned wanting to visit - and met me there, claiming that it made it easier for her (because it did - no worrying about me while also avoiding a 8-hour drive round trip).

I was struck pretty hard through the drive by how similar Georgia (and later Armenia) felt.  Topographically as well as the nature and some of the buildings gave me the impression that Mongolia and Greece got together and had a love child, then gave it to Russia to raise.  My driver rushed along nice, smooth roads til we got to the border crossing - I think my fifth time crossing by land.**  Since these days we mostly travel internationally by plane, it's easy to forget that you typically have to pass immigration twice - as a departure and as an arrival - but it was kind of a trip to be dropped off by the driver, walk through Georgian immigration just a few hours after they stamped my passport at the airport, drive over a river, get out and walk through Armenian immigration with my luggage, because this time I also had to go through customs.  Not my weirdest land crossing, but definitely interesting.

The taxi made a brief stop for food (ie, snacks) and the bathroom just past the border, and then we wound through a canyon pretty much all the way to Gyumri, another 3 hours.  The views were stunning and bleak by turns - I would have loved to make the driver stop at several points for photos, but since he was getting paid as a taxi driver, not a tour driver, I went easy on him.  

Finally I made it to the old town, where the Evil One had booked us into the Grand Apricot hotel.  She and her spawn came out and retrieved me from the driver and escorted me along a walking street before giving me the "grand tour" of my hotel room, which had been ransacked for pillows by the Lesser of Two Evils.  After a short break, we all went out wandering.

The Armenians are amazing stone workers, and if I'd had more time, I would have taken her Evilness up on the offer to find me a carving class to take.  Instead, I just had to admire it and take photos ad nauseum.  The stone many of the buildings and carvings are made from is called tuff, a kind of sedimentary stone made from volcanic ash.  Apparently the city planners of Gyumri - formerly known as Aleksandropol - had an emo streak, because they primarily used the black tuff for their masonry.  And since I have a bit of an emo streak myself, of course I loved it...now I just have to figure out how to work it into a piece (maybe embossed paper???)

My first morning in Armenia I woke up bright and early for the thing that had brought me to Gyumri - dolls.  Of course.  The Family Evil slept in while I walked past churches to buy a loaf of bread and sit in the fresh morning air eating a snack, then wandered the rest of the way over to Naro Dolls.

It was a little off the beaten track, but 100% worth it!  I loved meeting another craftsman - she hand sews and stuffs the dolls, using some cloth accessories as well as the painting.  She even had a "big sister" doll based on the same design that I chose, which I really loved.  Although it was different from the dolls I usually make, it was fun and I learned a new technique for the hair that I might have to try with my own dolls someday.  And her hospitality was so sweet - when I told her I didn't drink coffee or tea, instead she brought me a cup of water in one of Gyumri's special crafts - a metal cup that sings!  It was a pretty long workshop, and by the time Anahid (as Evil named her) was finished, it was about lunch time, so I got to try my first lavash, too, and it was delicious.

Finally I headed back to the hotel to force the sleepyheads to get moving.  It was Evil's birthday, after all, so even if a lie-in was called for, we definitely needed to go see something.  We discussed what we should do next, and after wandering a bit ended up at the Black Fortress.

Once upon a time, of course, it was an actual military fortification.  The hill it sits on gives a strong advantage, with views of the countryside (ie, the Turkish border) all around...not to mention a lot of steps, if you count that sort of thing.  But these days, it's used primarily for performances.  I checked out the acoustics, much to the mortification of the Lesser of Two Evils, who refused to sing songs from Frozen with me, even though we were about the only people there.  As we were about to leave, the caretaker came and offered to show us the museum, as well - apparently it kind of opens on an as-needed basis.  We also got a nice view of Gyumri's Mother Armenia statue.

And that was about it.  The next day, we visited the Museum of the Two Sisters - an art museum showcasing the work of two women from Gyumri - and stopped at HayAr jewelry on our way out of town, where I got to buy a beautiful pomegranate necklace made of recycled bullet casings.  Then we were on our way to Yerevan.

*Yes, we physically lived closer to one another her first go-round - her in India, me in the Emirates - but Mongolia and Armenia feel closer on a mental level.  Yes, my brain is a crazy, crazy place.

**I've also crossed US-Canada in 1989, South-North Korea in 2007, Greece-Turkey in 2008, and China-Nepal in 2013

Back to School

It happened like this.  First, I came to Mongolia, a country that was never on my list, and I taught some of the best students in the world.  I mean, sure, some of them made me want to pull my hair out, but by and large, even the kids who were kinda turdy got it, and would straighten up their act with a reminder.  And the ones who weren't?  Well, they kind of ruined me for teaching, because in the years since they graduated, I realized that they were actually just the best kids ever; it wasn't something magical in the water or the pollution in the air making me hallucinate, it was just those kids were that good.  So good that I wanted to be a better teacher.

"Long Line of Cars," 2022

Now, it's not that I didn't want to be good at my job.  I did.  I still do.  It's just that there are a lot - a LOT - of days where I just do not tap into the Superteachah* mojo.  I put in my hours, I make everything work...I am just left with the nagging suspicion at the end of the day that I could do better.  I could do more.  Admittedly, this is probably part of the reason that it's taken me 20 years to feel burnt out in my career, but regardless, because of these amazing, awesome kids I used to teach, I decided I would try.  By the time I left Mongolia at the end of the first five years, I was accepted to an online MA program for art education, and off I went to teach in Japan.

"The Floating World," 2023

If you're reading this already, you've no doubt heard the next part of the story, mostly because it's been a struggle to blog much since the time of the pandemic (at least in part because I was creating art for my exit strategy), so chances are you've been here since before then.  The cliffnotes version is this: I started my MA in art ed by taking a painting course, and almost immediately wished I was doing a studio art program instead.  Ironically enough, when I finally slogged my way through my dual bachelor's degrees, I told myself that if I ever went back to school, my master's would be in art, NOT education.  Back then, all my classmates were already feeling the pressure to start one, and I figured it was 6 of one, half a dozen of another - wasn't being a better artist going to make me a better art teacher?  But I was already on the path, so I carried on, even though living near Tokyo meant being surrounded by art in a place that was a constant source of personal inspiration.  Still, ever since, I've been struck by the nagging sensation that I didn't just want to be an art teacher, I wanted to be an artist.  This coincided with the unshakable feeling that I didn't have much time left with my parents, so I finally decided that it wouldn't be as bad to go back to the States if I went as a student instead of a teacher, and started preparing myself to do so.

"Migration," 2024

I ended up being a little too late, but I guess that's something I'll eventually stop regretting.

I wasn't originally going to apply to the Minneapolis College of Art and Design.  I had my eyes glazed over thinking about the kind of top school I've always wished I could have gone to for my undergrad, in a big city, with some full scholarships on offer.    It was kind of a fluke that I got together with friends from Korea last summer, but talking to them made me think maybe I would enjoy living in Minneapolis, and should apply to MCAD.  I visited 20 years ago, back before this whole thing got started, helping my mentor teacher chaperone a group of NAHS students, so I knew it was a good school in a good city, but until I met up with Mark and Emily, it hadn't been on my radar.  But when I had a portfolio review with their MFA director in November and they sent me a code to waive my application fee, I figured Why The Hell Not?

"Ghost in the Graveyard," 2023

The rejections I got were devastating.  I knew from the start that there are more applicants than spaces for most MFA programs, but I was really hoping I'd find myself living it up at a top art school with a full ride scholarship.  They say, though, that God doesn't close a door without opening a window - in my case, to help me to be in the right place, doing the right things - and this time the window opened up in Minneapolis.  And when I looked into it seriously, I realized this was exactly the right place for me.    

"Hard as a Rock," 2022

For starters, I'm probably not "art world elite" material.  What I mean is, I think the kind of students that get accepted to those schools talk the Big Talk (with lots of jargony words) and walk with their feet a few inches off the ground.  Their admissions officers certainly made it seem that way.  I think I'm a pretty good artist (when I'm assessing my work critically and objectively, and not under the knife of my imposter syndrome), and I love art - I want to make more of it, and to get better at it.  The people I've talked to from MCAD feel down-to-earth in a way that makes me feel safe doing so.

"Near Shore, Far Shore," 2023

And I can't think of a better place to take this step.  Maybe Minneapolis isn't New York or LA or even Chicago, but it has some really fantastic programs and systems in place to support artists.  There's also the not-insignificant-fact that I have friends there, and not starting my social support from scratch is huge, since I'm an established misanthropist.  It's a truly cosmopolitan city...I can take taiko lessons again, if I can figure out how to afford them!  It makes me a bit nervous to realize how tight money will be, but I'm hoping that a starving-artist lifestyle will allow me to lose some weight.  It may be cold as fuck, but I'm coming from LITERALLY hell frozen over, so I'm sure I can handle it - actually, I think I prefer it that way.  

So that's it.  After 20 years, I'm out.  I've mostly gotten over the panic attacks from knowing I won't be traveling for a while, and have moved on to the stage of knowing I will be able to get what I need at the supermarket, and that when I order something at a restaurant I won't constantly hear, "Bah-kwei."  I feel relieved that I'll only be responsible for my own behavior for a while, rather than worrying about the fact that I can't get my students to turn in their work or wear their uniform appropriately.  This probably isn't sayonara to teaching, but it's at least going to be a nice, long jannei.

*Aishiiii, Superteachah!  I went through one of my old sketchbooks when I went home to say goodbye, and it had ALL THE MEMORIES.

Elegy

The first year I lived in Korea, I had a dream that my dad had died.  It scared me - I woke panicked in the night, so scared that the worst had happened that I immediately called home.  My dad answered the phone, reassured me that everything was okay, that a dream was just a dream, and told me to go back to sleep.

I wish it was still just a dream.

A week and a half ago, my sister-in-law called as school was finishing for the day.  It took me a second to realize that it was the middle of the night in the US, after which came panic, and finally heartbreak.  My dad was gone.

I've been trying to figure out how to talk about this for the last week.  When my siblings and I were trying to write his obituary, words failed me.  How do you sum up the life of the most influential man in your life?  How can you narrow down all the things he's done with just a few sentences.  It turns out, you can't really understand the impact your parents have on you until you're faced with losing them.  It feels like I never talked much about my dad, but when he got sick last fall, all the things he'd ever done for me hit hard.  He taught me how to gently pet a kitten, after my first cat had babies.  When I was a fifth grader obsessed with the Legend of Zelda, he made me a triforce in his tool shed.  I remember getting sick one night when nobody else was awake, and him holding my hair out of my face while I threw up.  There were so many little memories that I took for granted as they happened, whose weight I finally understood.

When I was in college, he would drive to Kansas City without a moment's hesitation, whether it was because I couldn't hear after falling down stairs or because my car window wouldn't roll up.  I also think this was one of the reasons he was so worried when I first decided to live overseas, but after he saw that he wasn't going to have to fly to Korea to get me out of trouble, I think he was proud of me for the life I chose.

While he was taking me to the ER or after fixing my window, he told stories.  Everyone in the family knew about the job he had driving the bread truck - he talked about it quite a bit - but I got the special Kansas City edition of his "misspent youth" - stories about fights in bars and how he used to live across the street from that radio tower, so he could always find his way home.  When I asked him if he'd ever told these stories to Shaggy, he just laughed.  I'm guessing he wasn't worried about them inspiring his innocent Mormon daughter to try and surpass them.  

My Dad was the second of four brothers, and he had lots of stories about them, too.  In spite of that - or maybe because of it - he never treated me any differently than Shaggy.  We both got to go on motorcycle rides around Kansas City - and own our own little dirt bikes, when we were a little older and living on the farm in Excelsior.  Me being a girl didn't change anything.  I couldn't fish to save my life, but that didn't matter.  I still got to go fishing with him at Roaring River when we went down to the farm, and if I spent all my time at the hatchery feeding the fish instead of catching them, he didn't mind.  We went on float trips, too - in fact, the love I have for nature and any of the skills that might help me to survive if I were suddenly dropped in the wilderness are because of how my dad raised me.

My dad loved animals.  I don't think I can remember a time when we didn't have pets.  When a Himalayan kitten was dumped on their doorstep, he proclaimed that it was his cat.  A few years ago when the black lab he got for Game Boy died, he got the same kind of dog I remember my own grandparents having - a Border Collie he named Joe and proceeded to spoil.  My dad drove that dog all over the countryside, to the point where he couldn't drive his truck without Joe wanting to go for a ride.  He grew up with Dirt Devil and especially Princess, and was the reason they came to call my dad "Grandpa Joe."

I never wanted for a thing, because my Dad worked so hard to provide for us.  Christmas was always magical - waiting to see what would be under the tree.  One year I begged for a piccolo.  I left the one gift that I thought might be my piccolo to open last, and I can only imagine how tickled he was when I fell for his trick - he put some shirts on top of it, so that I was disappoined and then ecstatic when I dug in and found it.  

The Christmas before the pandemic he messaged me before I came home to make sure I brought my camera.  He had this great vision for the next year's Christmas card photo - had even driven more than a hundred miles out of the way to get the most important prop - an honest-to-goodness toboggan long enough for all five of his grandchildren to sit on.  Only, we hadn't got much snow - there was only a bit that hadn't yet melted.  We did the best we could with it, and laughed about it later.

The last year I stayed at home, my dad retired from Union Pacific, where he had worked my whole life.  For some reason, Shaggy and Babysis started talking about a trip to Mexico with their spouses, and this turned into the last family vacation before the grandkids - the last one we all took together.  It was different from the way I'd come to travel, but also familiar.  He was always a fan of driving, taking the long way round and stopping at roadside attractions.

My dad is probably responsible for my love of spicy food.  When Shaggy and I were still the only kids, a Mexican place in Excelsior called El Lazarro was the dinner out of choice, and that became a theme that ran throughout the history of our family.  Even better was the salsa he made himself, using the tomatoes, onions, and peppers he grew in the garden.  It was a challenge for him to get his kids to help out with weeding and picking vegetables, which I think made it even sweeter when the grandkids enjoyed those chores and eagerly helped him out, the last summer that he put in a garden.

When I sat down to try and figure out my taxes again a week or two ago, I remembered how he did that for me the first year I lived overseas.  He researched the forms an expat needed, filled them out, and sent them to me in South Korea to sign.  Here it is twenty years later and I still don't really know what I'm doing.  But he knew.  He never did make it overseas to visit me, but I know he read this blog, because he told me once he was printing my posts to take to my great-uncle JD to read.  When I started looking for photos of my dad so that I could put this post together, I felt like an asshole, because I'd missed so much time with him.  Unlike Shaggy and Babysis, I didn't have a wedding or grandkids, or so many other moments of my life that he was a part of.  Unlike Gameboy, I wasn't here for him through these last few years, watching ball games and taking care of the animals. I know that's going to keep bothering me even as my grief becomes less sharp in the coming weeks and months.  But at the same time, he was always there to pick me up, and made more early morning trips to drop me off at the airport than I can remember.

As I sit here waiting to take one more trip back, I can't help remembering all the friends I knew who lost a parent living overseas.  It hurts even more than I thought it would, this great fear that has finally manifested.  But there's solace, too.  There's this week that was spent remembering him with my family, letting the grief sublimate into something less sharp, to become another memory of him, even if it's the first one marked by his absence.

I love you, Dad, and I'll miss you.

Run Me Like a River

In the age of the shinkansen, it's easy to forget how isolated parts of Japan once were.  While it's not a big country in terms of landmass, mountains are an obstacle in traveling from one area to another.   You can get an idea of this even today if you travel between Arashiyama and Kameoka.  Mind you, this is something I'd never done before, because it's kind of a pain in the ass.  It sounds cool to take the "romantic" train to Kameoka and come back via boat along the river, and that's exactly what makes it a pain in the ass.  If you love tourists like I love tourists (ie, not at all, except in the old adage that the opposite of love isn't hate, it's indifference), this little experience is a nightmare.  

You can't just walk up to the station, buy a ticket, and board a train...I tried that once years ago with zero success (although I did find this cool little doll workshop that gave me Ideas, and Arashiyama is never a waste of time in my mind).  You have to get a ticket for THIS particular train in advance, and we're talking like well in advance.  No chance of, "Hmm, maybe tomorrow I'll take the sightseeing train to Kameoka."  On the other hand, the boat back doesn't really have a reliable advance booking.  I mean, they had something, because some people had some kind of voucher they were exchanging for a ticket, but on the websites that I read everything said you just showed up at the dock with your fingers crossed.  Given all this and the overabundance of capital-t Tourists, you may wonder if it's even worth it?

Well, maybe it's because something tells me it's going to be many moons before I make it back to Kyoto, but this time around I finally did it.  When I hadn't heard back from Ando about their doll-dressing experience, my mind turned to other things I could do, and realized that this would be an excellent chance to try something new.  Now that was a couple of weeks before I'd gotten sunburnt wandering around the flea market in the harsh morning sunlight, but when I got to Arashiyama and realized it was going to be a bright, bright sunshiny day on the Hozugawa, I scrounged around through my memory long enough to come up with the words for sun and protect...even if I got the order wrong, saying "mamoru no hi" and pointing to my arm got the message across at the Lawson's I stopped in, and I continued on my way to the train station.

The train ride really was beautiful.  When you're not going through a tunnel - and there were a lot, but their eerie beauty doesn't really lend itself well to photos - you're skirting the edge of the hills above the river.  Gold was beginning to tinge the green of the trees, and although it's supposed to be even more beautiful in November I can't really do anything about when my vacation is.  Instead, I watched the river rush by outside the windows, trying to take shots when the trees weren't whipping by in front of me.

Oh, one more thing to add...those seats are about as comfy as the dinner table chairs at your great-great grandmother's house...and don't have a lot of room for extra padding, just FYI.  Still, it does help you to get a feel for the historic nature of the train.  I guess.

I hadn't given a lot of thought to getting from Torokko Kameoka station to the dock where you embark on the river cruise - I had it marked on Google maps, so if all else failed, I figured I could walk it.  Fortunately for my already abused feet, it didn't come to that - as you exit the station, there are signs pointing to a bus that will take you straight to the dock.  One of the things that struck me the hardest from my first trip to Japan back in 2005 was how easy it is to get around, in spite of not knowing the language, and it holds true to this day.  The Japanese really know how to make systems that move people smoothly and efficiently, and this is a saving grace when it comes to shit tons of tourists being around.  So I got on the bus, got off at the dock, got a numbered ticket, and within probably half an hour was being called down to board a boat.

These boats are the old fashioned kind that used to ply the river - shallow bottomed and steered by long bamboo poles.  There were three guides in each boat that rotated between the three positions over the course of the two-hour trip - it was clearly really hard work, and I felt kind of bad about just sitting there enjoying the afternoon while they were rowing.

Okay, I wasn't just sitting there.  There was a lot to look at.  We saw ducks, turtles, herons, cormorants - even a snake on a rock at the side of the river just a foot away from my face.  The mountains we passed between were tall and imposing.  It was also interesting to me to see how the forest changes from area to area - some packed densely with shorter trees, others filled with tall ones.  There was at least one slope that had numerous trees toppled and sitting as logs on the hillside...evidence of a recent typhoon, if my experience hiking up to Kuuya-no-taki back in 2018 is any indication.  

I do wonder, sometimes, what non-artists do on long trips like this by themselves.  I was busy watching the water - especially the way it flowed over rocks, thinking about how I would paint that - and enjoying the fresh air, occasionally listening to my seatmates who would interpret some tidbit the guide shared.  But I'm kind of used to being alone in my own head, finding interest for myself in what's going on around me.  Maybe that's why I can travel alone.  Good thing I wasn't an extrovert from birth.

That is not to say that the trip was serene, smooth...er...sailing, all the way.  There were rapids.  Not bad ones, necessarily, but there was a splash guard along the sides of the boat that we lifted up from time to time to keep the water from dousing us.  The lead guide used his pole to push us along and away from some of the bigger rocks, especially in narrower passages.  It reminded me of float trips with my Dad and Shaggy when I was a kid, and with other family members when I was a bit older.  Except that after capsizing our canoe three times on one memorable trip with my sister and cousin, I'm not allowed to guide anymore.

It was also fun to see the trains pass us by.  The romantic train isn't the only one that goes between Arashiyama and Kameoka...if you really want to take the boat but can't get tickets, it IS possible just to take a normal train.  It just isn't as pretty.  There are apparently also buses - I didn't look too deeply into this possibility, because I didn't care.  But I love trains and I enjoyed seeing them flash by us as we got nearer and nearer to Arashiyama.

When we were just about there, a floating "food truck" puttered over next to us, providing snacks and lightening our wallets (literally...in Mongolia you kind of forget how heavy coins can be, and Japan's change goes all the way up to 500 yen).  After two hours I was ready to kill for a coke, and they had icy cold cans of it.  I don't even remember how much I paid.  It might have been 300 yen, but it might have been 1000.  I was thirsty enough that I didn't actually care.

The river had other boats on it by that point, people out for a paddle, so it was easy to know that we were almost there.  My back at least was glad it was over.  This trip made me realize that I'm not the same age I was when I first came to Kyoto - I can't abuse my feet all day, or sit two hours with back support, and not pay the consequences.  It's kind of sad, but I guess it was inevitable that eventually my body would remind me I'm no longer in my 20s.  But with a cold can of coke in hand, I was ready to abuse myself at least a little more.  If I hadn't had a rendezvous that afternoon with the Kawaii Kingpin, there were still so many things I would have liked to do in Arashiyama...mossy shrines and haunted tunnels.  But I guess they'll probably still be there when I finally do make it back again.

Feet in the Abyss, Heart in Paradise

Back in April, when I used the power of the pass for Evil, I realized I had miscalculated: a few hours in Kyoto wasn't really enough.  As I was on my way back to Toyama, I couldn't help thinking about all the places I didn't get to revisit, all the art experiences I still hadn't tried.  So it was probably inevitable that - six months later, I'd find myself boarding a plane to Kansai airport.

Even though this is the fifth trip I've made to Kyoto in October, there are STILL things I haven't done, or seen (or eaten...because, ya know...as soon as I get back to Japan all I can think about eating is yakiniku, Coco curry, and Denny's French toast).  Not because I turn into a lazy bum on vacation (although I have been more than I'd like to admit lately), but because Kyoto just has a disproportionate number of things to do in October.  No sooner had the sun risen on my first morning back in my otaku homeland than I was out the door of my hotel to get breakfast at McDonald's down the street from my first temple of the day, Chion-Ji.

I've written about shopping Kyoto's flea markets before, so I won't waste too many words on this one.  Hyakumanben Tendukuri-Ichi is a handicraft market that takes place on the 15th of every market, and is filled with all sorts of beautiful and/or kawaii things.  In the hour and a half that I wandered the grounds I think I only spent around 1000 yen, on a pastry, plum juice, and a cute little cat clip made with kimono fabric.  Even though I tried to keep to the shadows I still managed to get a sunburn, so I guess an argument could be made that it was a waste of my time...except that it wasn't.  It's kind of hard to explain, but there's something about browsing all the various creations of my fellow artisans that feeds my soul, like smiling at them and complimenting their work can lift a layer of the cynicism I've been accumulating for a while.

Plus I'm pretty sure I can use that cat clip to hold the accupressure point in my hand the next time I get a migraine, so completely not a waste of time.

That said, it wasn't the main event of the day for me.  The last three times I found myself in Kyoto on fall break, I passed up going to a certain Buddhist procession at Sokujo-in.  It was a matter of prioritizing, and in the past, the other options were more interesting - it's hard to compete with horseback archery, namsayin'?  Also, maybe I got my fill of Buddhism that summer in Tibet, but since I'd been working my way through a webnovel about a dragon and a monk leading up to my departure, it seemed like an ideal time.

(It was not an ideal time...the dragon calls the monk a "bald donkey" throughout the story, and it's possible that my brain very disrespectfully reminded me of this during the ceremony.)

The Nijugo Bosatsu Oneri Kuyo was one of the least crowded events I'd ever been to in Japan.  I found non-reserved seating on a bench in the shade, and the Japanese man I sat next to explained that this ceremony was at least partially intended to bless the children that participated - he had two grandchildren that were involved.  Wearing elaborate costumes, the procession moved between the main hall and Jizo's hall of the temple across an elevated wooden bridge.  They crossed back and forth three times, traveling from the Pure Land and back.

Or they did eventually.  When the clouds first condensed over the temple, I was really happy, since I wouldn't have to worry about sunburn whilst getting snap happy.  My relief was short lived, though, as a few sprinkles came down, followed by more, until everyone was either under an umbrella, or huddling under one of the tents or shelters.  The costumes and masks are actual works of art which can't get wet, so the temple made an announcement that they would postpone til 1:30.  After waiting for most of an hour already, my feet weren't thrilled, but the rain lightened up, the crew covered the bridge with plastic, and at 1:30 the show went on.

First came the monks of the temple, followed by yamabushi, mountain priests.  I found myself thinking that they seemed to be wearing the clothes that tengu are often depicted wearing, and when my new friend explained that they were Shinto priests, I felt a little justified for making that connection.  I realize I've said this before, but it bears repeating that the way that Buddhism and Shinto coexist in Japan is something that I really love.

Following the monks and priests were all sorts of kawaii kodomo.*  It's a big honor for them to be in the ceremony, but also a big responsibility.  The littlest boy's hat kept sliding around on his head, and he seemed to be DONE WITH IT, in spite of his father's attempt to fix it every two steps.  On their second journey, they scattered paper petals from the bridge to the people below.  These are supposed to be lucky, and we all scrambled to catch them or pick them up off the ground.

This went on for a while.  The entire procession travels three times, and the third time there are extra people.  Temple patrons maybe...some kind of VIP.  They threw paper petals as well, so if I ever figure out what to do with them I'm going to have lots of good art material.  Finally, after what seemed like forever, a masked Jizo led out the bodhisattvas.

If you didn't formerly spend 8 days temple crawling in Tibet, you may not know what a bodhisattva is.  

Teach Us, Becky-sensei!

So basically, in Buddhism, there are people who have basically reached enlightenment, and are able to attain Nirvana.  However, they put it off in order to help others on their journey.  These are the bodhisattvas.  In the procession, there are 25 of them.  Immediately after Jizo there are two bodhisattvas that slowly dance their way along the bridge, followed by another carrying a censer (at least I think that's what it was), and then the rest carrying musical instruments (and accompanied by a parent, because those masks make it pretty hard to see, and it would put a real damper on things if they fell off the bridge).

Eventually they made it back to the main hall, and I decided that it was time for me to head back to my usual haunts.  It was a neat experience and I'm glad I went, but my feet were killing me by that point, comfy new shoes or not.  

*All children are cute, though...until you have to teach them.

The Kids are All Right

 It was spring break, and after so long I finally took that trip to Japan that I booked three years ago.  I made one more attempt to see the hotaruika - and failed.  I stayed at a campground at the beach, and all the conditions were there...but the squid were not.  So I give up.  I'll stick to bioluminescent insects from here on out.  On the other hand, I got to do something I couldn't when I lived here before - jet all over the damn place using the Japan Rail Pass.  See, when I was here before, foreign residents weren’t allowed to use it, so all my train travel had previously been done the hard way…with lots and LOTS of money.  Not that the pass is cheap, but by day 4 it had already paid for itself (maybe…art teachers don’t do math on vacation, bitches).

So I wasn't stingy when it came to getting around.  Whether it was riding the rails up to Niigata to see the yaoi temple or hopping a train down to Kyoto for the afternoon to celebrate my best boy’s promotion to manager, the country was my oyster.  It only took me a couple of hours to make it to Kyoto…and ALL its tourists.  The Kawaii Kingpin admitted that he missed the pandemic a very tiny bit on that account, and I had to sympathize…the days when people didn’t bring their screaming children to restaurants truly were glorious, in at least that respect.

Of course, as I told him, it’s different when the children in question are your blood relatives.  My niblings are perfect, of course.  To demonstrate (and totally not because I have a lot of odds and ends blogs to catch up on), let me take you back to last summer.  I was planning to take Princess and Dirt Devil to the anime con, but a poorly timed water leak at the hotel I booked caused me to reconsider.  Instead, I took them and Monkey out for a day o’ fun with their favorite aunt.

We started at Barnes and Noble.  This is part of what makes these kids awesome; I can tell them I’m taking them to a bookstore and they’re excited about it.  After picking up some manga volumes, a movie, and some games, it was time for lunch.  Dirt Devil suggested sushi, so I found a place in West Omaha that had sushi, ramen, and a few other things, and ordered a bunch of food.  Monkey wasn’t sure about it, so we ordered a sweet and sour chicken to be sure he wouldn’t starve.  Guess what was the only thing left at the end?  They were especially huge fans of ramune.

After a quick stop at home for the bathroom we went to play mini-golf and waste money at the arcade.  Was there, perhaps, a bit of a Japanese theme going?  Whether or not I intended there to be, yes, there was.  I wish I could take credit for helping them to become the baby otaku that they are today, but in all honesty they have come to it on their own.  I mean, I DID show them Totoro, Kiki's Delivery Service, and Howl's Moving Castle, as well as a few episodes of Naruto and My Hero Academia.  But while Princess' tastes in anime and mine are nearly identical (Hanako-kun and Bungou Stray Dogs?  Yes, this is a girl after my own heart!), Dirt Devil likes One Piece.  ONE PIECE?!?  Also known as, the anime that I never even started - I read one chapter of the manga and decided this was not for me.  But he likes it.  And while Monkey hasn't gotten into anime much, he's definitely a gamer...his favorite character is Link, and when I asked him what I could bring him from Japan, he just asked for Pokemon everything.

After the arcade we went to my favorite ice cream place, Coldstone, and ate a shit ton of ice cream (Okay, I ate a shit ton...I think each of them took theirs home and stuck it in the freezer).  While this might be considered bad "mom" behavior - spoiling your kids by buying them whatever they want and loading them up on sugar - it seems like excellent aunt behavior.  Fortunately, my brother and sister-in-law are tolerant...if I want to take them out for the day, they're not too picky about where we are going.  They behave and we get along pretty well, and their parents get a day to do whatever they need to do, as responsible-type adults.  

Hopefully they'll still feel that way in a few years when they graduate and I take them on Le Grand Tour.  I'm pretty sure I already know what country they'll want to visit.

Otaku Pilgrimage: Garden of Words

So, it's been more than a month since I came back from Japan.  My 6 faithful readers have probably been wondering if I was going to write anything else about it, and honestly, I kind of wondered the same thing.  BUT one of my projects for this summer is to catch up on my backlog of posts, so I'm starting here: the Otaku Pilgrimage.  Specifically, the setting for most of the film Garden of Words, Shinjuku Gyoen.

This is not the mecca I originally intended to get to this time around, but I couldn't bring myself to go to Shimokitazawa when I got back to Tokyo, even if the live shows DID start earlier than they would here.  On the other hand, Shinjuku Gyoen was in the neighborhood I was staying in...approximately.  I still took a train two stops, because a.) my JR Pass was in its final hours and I wanted to get as much out of it as I could, and b.) my feet were busted as shit by that last day.  And for that reason, when I got out of Sendagaya station and was unsure which direction I should go in, I looked carefully at Google Maps to try and be sure I knew where the entrance was.  This was a futile move, because apparently the main gate for Shinjuku Gyoen is no longer the original location.  There's apparently a sign that points you in the right direction, but it's not visible when you come OUT of the station, so that's a fail on somebody's part (it might even be mine).

The park is pretty big, so I also scoped out Google Maps to try and figure out where I was going, rather than aimlessly wandering around.  If aimless wandering is your thing, more power to you - Shinjuku Gyoen is a beautiful park - but I was going back to Otome Road after the park, because the Lashinbang there had been working on a grand reopening the night before, and I still had money I needed to spend!  So I knew roughly where I needed to go before I entered the park, and headed in the direction of a small picnic shelter immediately.

In the movie, this is where the two main characters bump into each other, and gradually get to know one another.  For the greatest "pilgrimage" value it really should have been a rainy school day, but a sunny Saturday was all I had left.  The male protagonist talks about how when it's rainy, he can't go to school - something draws him down different paths.  He sits and draws on the bench while the woman he meets there drinks canned coffee.  I sat down and drew in my sketchbook for a while to try and get into the right mood, but - like the staircase at the end of Your Name - it seemed like this had become a bit of a tourist attraction, so I tried not to monopolize it for too long.  

Close to the shelter is a building called Goryo-tei (or the Taiwan Pavilion).  It's a pretty distinctive building and the landmark that let me know exactly where to find the correct shelter.  The pond stretches around both areas, and everything was green - kind of a shock coming from Mongolia, where only now is it turning fully green.

Another thing I was looking forward to is the wisteria.  I'd been in Japan for nearly a week, and although I'd seen it here and there, I hadn't yet had the chance to smell it.  In case you don't know, wisteria has the most amazing fragrance, and it seems strange to me that it's not used in more perfumes or candles.  So I finally got the chance to experience it - the first time in 4 years, since it only blooms in spring.

I struggled with Tokyo when I first moved to Japan.  There's a feeling of magic and history that saturates the streets of Kyoto that's just not apparent in Tokyo.  However, over the 2 years I lived in Yokohama, I slowly discovered it, hiding in small shrines by the wayside and the occasional crumbling building; it doesn't reveal itself for just anyone.  I think this is one of the reasons I love Makoto Shinkai's films so much.  He gets it - he notices the way two trains veer away from each other, or the potential in hiding from the rain.  It was nice to see it again in my last night in town.