Japan Week 2 - Senses
This past week was my first in Ina, and a far cry from Tokyo. The three hours bus journey here heralded not only a change in scenery, but a change in the pace of life. From the crowds and incessant noise of Tokyo, to near desertion and a comparative peace. But Japan requires a soundtrack for its population, and that is the first of my musings.
Sounds
There are always sounds in Japan it seems. Outisde tonight the crossing signals are chirruping their hollow signal into the night, ferrying their formless passengers across the roads and intersections. At midday a clock strikes somewhere near the apartment and is accompanied by its tinny sing-song prayer. In the dark, the railway crossings flash and murmur the approach of trains into Ina-Shi station. Trucks reverse in a flurry of ‘o kudasai’s’. In the town centre the quite impressive Christmas tree plays tunes all day, as though someone had stashed a hundred musical cards in its boughs. One is even obliged to contribute when out for a quite after-work drink. Karaoke seems to be the required past time for any small bar not serving food, and I may well have got past the embarrassment I feel about my high-pitched voice. Think of a small mammal in trouble and you may get the idea. Still, if I had any notion about holding a note I’m sure I’d make a great soprano.
Sights
Sensory bombardment also comes in another form - signage. Perhaps I never noticed the barrage of slogans, logos and adverts back in England, but here they are all the more present for my illiteracy, and suddenly more present in my memory of England. Before I came to Japan I took lessons in both speaking and reading Japanese but since I got here they have deserted me. The hiragana and katakana symbols are familiar and occasionally, if I stare hard enough, I can work out what something means. I seem to have better luck with basic Kanji - I can tell you that a sign has something to do with a mountain or a river. The first thing I learnt in Japanese was my name in katakana - I’ve never forgotten it. It even came in useful today when I went to apply for my alien registration card. My trainer in Tokyo, fluent in spoken Japanese, compared the alphabets (there are 3) to various kinds of chicken-scrawl - drunk chicken, sad-chicken, gay-chicken etc. I like to think of them as pictures. They appeal to the visual side of my brain. Where did the photographic memory go? I can still remember Francis Henry-Pierre’s phone number nearly seven years since I last saw him, but I can’t recall an alphabet - and me a literary person to boot.
If you ever wondered how the illiterate cope in a literate society, I’m learning. Think of letters as pictures and pay attention to the nuances of packaging and position on shelves, for there is nothing so formulaic as the placement of products along supermarket aisles. I took myself to the nearby supermarket last night and spent an hour wandering about trying to figure out if what I was looking at was cooking oil or not, and if so what kind. I had the same problem with soy sauce, but struck lucky on that front. I even found Tabasco sauce and tortillas so the promise of Mexican is not too far away. Whilst wandering about I found a salt pot that drew my attention. I turned it over in my hands and suddenly realised it was the same salt pot used in my regular restaurant haunt - Genghis Khan (the place with the pregnant fish).
Tastes
People keep telling me to make sure I eat. I left half my dinner this evening, but that’s another story. I’m eating, but it can be difficult when you’re not sure quite what you’re picking up. I bought some ‘dietry fibre’ noodles in a cool little shop called Kantenpapa. They seem to specialize in tea, soups, deserts and broths of various kinds. Occasionally I see little old ladies in kimonos taking afternoon tea in there. They gave me some freebies to take away, including some noodles that may, or may not, have had meat in them. I asked the shop assistant if they were vegetarian (I have, at least, got the most important issue sorted out in Japanese). She checked the packaging and said they were. So I had them for lunch. However, there may have been a bit of poisoning going on, for whilst I couldn’t spot anything meat-like in there my stomach was gurgling away - normally a sign that I’ve consumed something my constitution isn’t used to. Shopping is okay - I wandered about the BellShine shopping centre today and stocked up on vegetables, tofu, miso, olive oil (hurrah!) and a bottle of Wolf Blass. Oh, and cereal, which I have been missing (for those of you who are thinking of sending care packages - porridge would be greatly appreciated).
Smells
The smell that has been most apparent is that of mould. My apartment seems to have a damp problem in the tatami room. This doesn’t make the room smell, but the rest of the apartment seems to pong. During my clean out of the place yesterday (in preparation for the move) I found some incense sticks so have been burning them to keep the place fragrant. Of all things I also found a bottle of M&S Festive Spice room fragrance. Strange how the little familiarities of home cheer you up. Sometimes I can smell the downstairs toilet in Stoke Poges, it seems… but in a good way.
Touch
The only touch going on here is from the icy claws of winter. Most of the time I’m cold, and sometimes freezing cold. On the sunny days I open the curtains and let the sun warm the place up. Normally by midday it’s overcast, so I have to close everything up to try and keep some heat in. I’ve found a stash of nice thick blankets and an old futon passable enough to act as floor insulation so I’m quite toasty when I’m tucked up in bed. I could do with a cat for company, or a hot water bottle.
I was in the bookshop I go to for tea when I need to get away from school and was looking at some picture books of cats. Who knows what the books said, but I suddenly missed them all a great deal, especially Hercules and Nami, who were my cuddle buddies. I also miss my velvet cushion (smelling faintly as it does of cat piss), my satin bed sheets and the nice red carpet in my bedroom.
Photos have been a little tricky this week. The weather hasn’t been great the past two days so I’ve not had much opportunity to take photos of Ina ‘city’. Instead you can have some photos of my current apartment, and I’ll aim to get some better pics when the sun is out. I also want to take some pics of the little bar/hooker district in the rainy dark and all its neon glory, but have been advised not to wander about there too much by myself. Maybe next time I have company, or maybe when I’m feeling brave. The most threatening looking people down there are the hookers and they look quite respectable.
Sounds
There are always sounds in Japan it seems. Outisde tonight the crossing signals are chirruping their hollow signal into the night, ferrying their formless passengers across the roads and intersections. At midday a clock strikes somewhere near the apartment and is accompanied by its tinny sing-song prayer. In the dark, the railway crossings flash and murmur the approach of trains into Ina-Shi station. Trucks reverse in a flurry of ‘o kudasai’s’. In the town centre the quite impressive Christmas tree plays tunes all day, as though someone had stashed a hundred musical cards in its boughs. One is even obliged to contribute when out for a quite after-work drink. Karaoke seems to be the required past time for any small bar not serving food, and I may well have got past the embarrassment I feel about my high-pitched voice. Think of a small mammal in trouble and you may get the idea. Still, if I had any notion about holding a note I’m sure I’d make a great soprano.
Sights
Sensory bombardment also comes in another form - signage. Perhaps I never noticed the barrage of slogans, logos and adverts back in England, but here they are all the more present for my illiteracy, and suddenly more present in my memory of England. Before I came to Japan I took lessons in both speaking and reading Japanese but since I got here they have deserted me. The hiragana and katakana symbols are familiar and occasionally, if I stare hard enough, I can work out what something means. I seem to have better luck with basic Kanji - I can tell you that a sign has something to do with a mountain or a river. The first thing I learnt in Japanese was my name in katakana - I’ve never forgotten it. It even came in useful today when I went to apply for my alien registration card. My trainer in Tokyo, fluent in spoken Japanese, compared the alphabets (there are 3) to various kinds of chicken-scrawl - drunk chicken, sad-chicken, gay-chicken etc. I like to think of them as pictures. They appeal to the visual side of my brain. Where did the photographic memory go? I can still remember Francis Henry-Pierre’s phone number nearly seven years since I last saw him, but I can’t recall an alphabet - and me a literary person to boot.
If you ever wondered how the illiterate cope in a literate society, I’m learning. Think of letters as pictures and pay attention to the nuances of packaging and position on shelves, for there is nothing so formulaic as the placement of products along supermarket aisles. I took myself to the nearby supermarket last night and spent an hour wandering about trying to figure out if what I was looking at was cooking oil or not, and if so what kind. I had the same problem with soy sauce, but struck lucky on that front. I even found Tabasco sauce and tortillas so the promise of Mexican is not too far away. Whilst wandering about I found a salt pot that drew my attention. I turned it over in my hands and suddenly realised it was the same salt pot used in my regular restaurant haunt - Genghis Khan (the place with the pregnant fish).
Tastes
People keep telling me to make sure I eat. I left half my dinner this evening, but that’s another story. I’m eating, but it can be difficult when you’re not sure quite what you’re picking up. I bought some ‘dietry fibre’ noodles in a cool little shop called Kantenpapa. They seem to specialize in tea, soups, deserts and broths of various kinds. Occasionally I see little old ladies in kimonos taking afternoon tea in there. They gave me some freebies to take away, including some noodles that may, or may not, have had meat in them. I asked the shop assistant if they were vegetarian (I have, at least, got the most important issue sorted out in Japanese). She checked the packaging and said they were. So I had them for lunch. However, there may have been a bit of poisoning going on, for whilst I couldn’t spot anything meat-like in there my stomach was gurgling away - normally a sign that I’ve consumed something my constitution isn’t used to. Shopping is okay - I wandered about the BellShine shopping centre today and stocked up on vegetables, tofu, miso, olive oil (hurrah!) and a bottle of Wolf Blass. Oh, and cereal, which I have been missing (for those of you who are thinking of sending care packages - porridge would be greatly appreciated).
Smells
The smell that has been most apparent is that of mould. My apartment seems to have a damp problem in the tatami room. This doesn’t make the room smell, but the rest of the apartment seems to pong. During my clean out of the place yesterday (in preparation for the move) I found some incense sticks so have been burning them to keep the place fragrant. Of all things I also found a bottle of M&S Festive Spice room fragrance. Strange how the little familiarities of home cheer you up. Sometimes I can smell the downstairs toilet in Stoke Poges, it seems… but in a good way.
Touch
The only touch going on here is from the icy claws of winter. Most of the time I’m cold, and sometimes freezing cold. On the sunny days I open the curtains and let the sun warm the place up. Normally by midday it’s overcast, so I have to close everything up to try and keep some heat in. I’ve found a stash of nice thick blankets and an old futon passable enough to act as floor insulation so I’m quite toasty when I’m tucked up in bed. I could do with a cat for company, or a hot water bottle.
I was in the bookshop I go to for tea when I need to get away from school and was looking at some picture books of cats. Who knows what the books said, but I suddenly missed them all a great deal, especially Hercules and Nami, who were my cuddle buddies. I also miss my velvet cushion (smelling faintly as it does of cat piss), my satin bed sheets and the nice red carpet in my bedroom.
Photos have been a little tricky this week. The weather hasn’t been great the past two days so I’ve not had much opportunity to take photos of Ina ‘city’. Instead you can have some photos of my current apartment, and I’ll aim to get some better pics when the sun is out. I also want to take some pics of the little bar/hooker district in the rainy dark and all its neon glory, but have been advised not to wander about there too much by myself. Maybe next time I have company, or maybe when I’m feeling brave. The most threatening looking people down there are the hookers and they look quite respectable.