A taste of Asia: Kamakura and beyond.

In January I was introduced to one of my father's Japanese students. I had just started the four week intensive CELTA course and was feeling pretty tired and stressed. I had decided to do the teaching course at the last minute. I was at a crossroads in my life and was uncertain of what I wanted to do, but the opportunity had presented itself so after some serious deliberation I went for it. My father is also an English teacher and because I had expressed an interest in working in Japan he thought it would be fun to meet one of his students on the off chance that one day I could meet up with them in Japan....

Four months later I found myself working in Tokyo. Yuko and I were practically neighbours. Of the four hundred schools in Japan that I could have randomly been sent to I was lucky enough to be sent to the capital. Perhaps it was the request I made or perhaps it was just luck, I don't know. What I do know is that out of the eight people I did training with I was sent to the best place. I reckon it was a serious stroke of luck. I certainly don't envy the poor guy who has to live next to the biggest nuclear power station in the world or the girl who was sent to the heart of rural Japan. Give me the bright lights of Tokyo any day. Although, there was one guy who was sent to the sub-tropical island of Okinawa, but his emails reveal that although it is beautiful there isn't actually much to do. For me, Tokyo is great. Not only am I living in the most densely populated city on the planet with a plethora of things to do, I am near some friends too. I have my good friend Julia and her boyfriend Clint - they moved out here last summer, then there is a distant friend of the family's who now lives in Yokohama with his Japanese wife, and Yuko. Yet two months on and I have only just gotten around to meeting up with her.

Kamakura is a small town north of Yokohama. Its main shopping street is a stones throw from the station and is composed of a charming selection of souvenir shops, clothing stores and of course shops selling edibles ranging from freshly cooked sembei, to blue potato cakes (made form real blue potatoes grown in Okinawa) to crepes with nutella and cointreau and rice crackers of one hundred different flavours in cellophane bags. Girls in yukatas stroll arm-in-arm giggling behind hands and young men in strange footwear attempt to get tourists to ride in their rickshaws.

I was greeted by a delightful trio of Japanese girls as I passed through the ticket gates. There was of course Yuko, and then there were two more of my father's ex-students - Akiko and Kayo. Introductions and small talk were made as we navigated the appealing trinkets and aromas of the high street, onto a road that coiled beneath a mountain to our left and a park to our right. The air resonated with the sound of cicadas. A short while later we were outside the door of someone's house. I had been told we were going for tea but no-one had told me we were visiting anyone. We weren't of course, this was a typical modern tea house. The door slid open and a middle-aged woman holding a tiny baby over one shoulder ushered us in, bowing. Shoes were replaced with slippers and we were offered the choice of two rooms. In one was a low table and floor cushions. It was cool because of the air conditioning and a little too dark to be inviting on a summer's day. In the other room was a redwood table, chairs and a view through the window onto a flower bed. We opted for this one.

Tea arrived on a black lacquer tray. There was a bowl of foamy green tea, small black chop-sticks, a squat spoon, a small dish of pickled cucumber and daikon and in another, brown cubes of coffee jelly in cream. Alongside was the main course, which was presented in a shallow bowl: one scoop of sweet red bean paste (anko) and one of vanilla ice-cream, a scattering of clear seaweed jelly cubes (calorie free) and four smooth and gluey rice balls (mochi) decorated with a snake of syrup. As I contemplated this scrumptious looking array of weird food I recalled an interesting fact: every year there is a government report published in Japan on how many people have choked to death on mochi. It is mainly old people I believe - the chewy, slimy texture of the rice balls prove be lethal sweetmeats for those unable to consume them effectively. Was this to be my first and last Japanese tea?

The Japanese philosophy of 'Wa' (harmony) most vividly manifests itself in food. Sweet is balanced always by the bitter. As in life, the sweet is never as sweet without its counterpart. The tea and the pickles are to be consumed between mouthfulls of bean paste and jelly. It looked too good to eat and I kind of wished that I could just be left to admire it from afar and never take a bite. Not just because I was hesitant to upset the aesthetic beauty of the dish, but knowing what it was somehow made it seem rather unappetising. However, as etiquette and curiosity required, I tasted it. Actually it wasn't bad at all. Some unusual flavours but at least it wasn't whole, deep-fried baby crabs or raw horse meat.

To continue a day immersed in the more traditional side to Japanese culture we went to the Hachiman Shinto Shrine. We passed through the torii gate and up the long pathway towards the sacred building at the summit of a flight of stone steps. The shrine was positioned amongst pine and cedar trees and wheeling in the sky above flew great birds of prey that I have never before seen in the wild. They were Kites. I was amazed by them. At the base of the steps grew a giant tree around which was tied a rope several feet thick. This was because worshippers believed it to be a sacred dwelling place of the Gods. After rinsing our hands with the sacred dippers we climbed the steps, only to be greeted by two gruesome looking lion-dogs that guarded the entrance to the shrine. These were not however some cross-bred freaks of nature, but the stone manifestations of a hybrid of adopted Chinese-Korean tradition.

As W. Ferguson describes in 'Hokkaido Highway Blues' - "The lion-dogs were originally a lion and a dog, and were very different in appearance, but over the years stonecutters found it easier to carve them to the same proportions. The two figures grew more and more alike, until their features blended. One lion-dog has a mouth that is always open, the other has a mouth that is always closed. The open-mouthed lion-dog is named Ah the other is named Un, or more properly nn. "Ah" is the first sound you make when you are born, "nn" the last sound you make when you die.... Between the two lies all of existence, a universe that turns on a single breath.... In original Sanskrit, ah-un means "the end and the beginning of the universe; infinity unleashed."

These stone creatures represent the 'wa' between two opposing things. As Ferguson goes on to say - "In Japan, the word for freedom, jiyu, carries with it the nuance of selfish or irresponsible behaviour. Group harmony is of much higher value.... If you had to embody the ideals of the West it would be the statue of Liberty, standing defiantly, the torch raised: a singular, powerful, one-of-a-kind presence. The ideals of Japan are captured instead in a thousand small stone guardians, in a thousand shrines, big and small, across Japan. A dog and a lion so near in spirit that they have blended into one."

Surrounding the land beneath the shrine were avenues that snaked between trees and pools. We followed them until we found ourselves at a great pond covered in lush lotus and lily pads. Some children were crouched by the edge pointing at the turtles who swam right up to the edge; their little heads poking out of the water with greedy interest in the hope of food. In the centre of the small lake was an island. Amongst the bamboo hung long white prayer flags. We were now joined by Yuko's older sister; a well known baker in Kamakura. We exchanged a simple dialogue in broken English and laughs and eager nods. As the day grew on her confidence grew and we spoke quite a bit. She had been shy about speaking to me because she felt ashamed that her English wasn't very good - and here I was unable to speak a word of Japanese! I pointed this out to her and she laughed.





After a spot of shopping in the quaint side streets and sampling local freebie tid-bits (pickled daikon, pickled onions with lemon, pickled seaweed, pickled plum, pickled bamboo shoots, etc!) we went to 'Freshness Burger' for a drink. (The name reminds me of the endless hours of amusement that can be found at the expense of the Japanese-English in advertising. The 'Moss Burger' (Japanese fine burger) catch-phrase is "Hamburger is my life". By the way, please don't ask me why I am suddenly such an expert on Japanese junk food joints - today was the first time I had been in one, honestly!) Here is another example; in the supermarket the other day I noticed a product called 'Creap' - creamy, powder. There is so much I am going to start writing it all down - it should make a very amusing blog entry I think!

The sun was setting as we headed against the flow of bronzed people heading back from the beach. It was the first time I was to see the Pacific ocean. In the dying light of day one could see surfers catching a few last waves, and Japanese and Westerners alike packing up their beachwear and strolling towards the wafting smells of yaki-soba stalls and Malibu beach bars. There were stands selling sarongs and bags, hair-wraps and bracelets. Welcome to 'mini Thailand'. After dipping our toes in the warm surf of the Pacific we wandered over the watch some Brazilian kick-boxing. There was a circle of athletic looking people chanting and playing instruments around the fighters who sprang forth spontaneously from the ring to enter into non-violent combat. It was more like a dance; with every kick and strike carefully aimed to miss - a glide above the head, a well timed duck. As night fell at around 7pm, we joined a new group of spectators further along the beach to watch a fire dance to techno music. The whole vibe felt unmistakably Asian and although the beach was of brown sand and there wasn't a palm in sight, it gave me a taste of what it might be like to visit Thailand.

The day was completed by dinner in a tiny restaurant in Ofuna, one stop away from Kamakura. The place seated about twelve people who had full view of the tiny kitchen where men with white head-bands slaved over metal grill trays, frying up sizzling noodle dishes. Despite the fact that I was learning Katakana and could just about have made sense of the menu (in an hour or two) my friends ordered for me. Of course they knew I was vegetarian so made a special request for the okonomiyaki not to be made with meat. We were sat at a table in the middle of which was a hot metal surface onto which our food was placed to continue cooking. The okonomiyaki arrived one by one by shovel. They were a form of pancake piled high with fried noodles, vegetables and either cheese or squid or meat and then a generous topping of dried fish flakes that wafted like transparent beige petals in the heat. In Japan, most food is enjoyed communally and thus shared between everyone; so the pancakes were quatered and served onto small dishes. I eyed yet another unfamiliar dish warily. I tried not think too much about the fish flakes and cracked apart my chopsticks....

What a day. I had seen and tasted and experienced a fascinating slice of Japanese life which was so new to me. I was so grateful to my new found friends. They made me feel so welcome. I silently thanked my Dad for introducing me to them and for obviously being such a good teacher because they all had such fond memories of their time as students at his school. They still have 'HELC meetings' (ie; karaoke in Shibuya with ex-students from the school!) every now and again. In fact they had invited me to an up-and-coming one this Friday night, but unfortunately due to my anti-social work schedule I had to forgo their kind invitation. As I said my goodbyes I was presented with a brown paper bag from Yuko's sister. It was filled with home-made bread from her bakery. While we were on our way to Ofuna on the train, she had gone by her shop on her moped to pick it up. Such hospitality I will never forget.