Japanese Traditional Houses

I am sure for just about everyone when someone mentions Japan. Or maybe Japanese houses or that they live in Japan, someone is already picturing something in their minds.
That something might be sleeping on the floor in one of their infamous futons, or perhaps it is the screen paper doors that line windows and door frames. Or maybe it is just that they are small in general in comparison to houses in most other countries. Maybe it is always having a bath at the ready. The tatami floors. Or those fancy toilets? Wood floors? Lower ceilings? Smaller door frames? The little step at the entry way of every building where shoes do not cross?

Well in my experience, just about all of the above are true. And then some.
I have had several chances now to stay at other people homes. As weird as that is to say. Lovely citizens who really adhere to every stereotyped tradition. I even ate sushi and green tea with them the first time I met them. But it is not just that lovely old pair, but other as well. Being me sometimes gets you invited into households which are then left defenseless for my inspections.

First of all, when I stay the night, there is no guest bedroom to go to. There is no space for that sort of nonsense in Japanese houses. Well there is a spare room normally of sorts. Perhaps it was the room of a child who has since moved out or just a storage room or exercise or well, who really knows. But it is transformed into a guest bedroom of sorts during my stay there. Futons are rolled out and pillows are fluffed and everything is all neat and orderly. On the floor. This is not out of the ordinary in the slightest. Especially if the room is comprised of tatami mats. The reason for that is that any western bed would greatly damage the tatami mats, which you would want to preserve as long as possible (also they take up a lot of space which is a prized possession in the bitty little houses they have here). Tatami mats are the threaded bamboo flooring that are woven together. I have been told that they are warmer than the wood flooring for feets in the winter and that they are cooler as well in the summer. I have yet to prove the later. But I can attest to the former with my new apartment (trust me I promise I will update on that...soon...). Anyways perhaps Japanese people just never had a fear of snakes ever just slithering up into their bed, or maybe we just have too many where I am from, enough for me to have that fear when I was younger (now). I would guess that they actually do have a lot less here. I have never seen one at least.

Futons are usually just a 5-10 centimeter padding. I wouldn't exactly call it a mattress but it reminds me of the tri-fold foam pads you can buy for your beds (like when you go to college and realize that the 'bed' the offer is slightly better than a rock). But better than any of those mattress pads/ foam mattresses. On top is another futon, but this is where it gets confusing. They are both called futons. One is called a shiki futon and one is called a kake futon. The shiki futon is the one you sleep on top of; so the mattress-like one. And the kake futon is what we, in western culture call a comforter.

And those crazy paper doors?
Just like the paper windows you see above. Sometimes I feel like I can't be the only one who has stared at one in wonder of how they just don't fall apart. I actually even watched a...type of game show? documentary? how would I classify that? Well what happened was that they developed this new type of paper for the doors and then they went all out of their way with ridiculousness to show the audience how awesome it was. Some of the things they did were shoot 95 km/h baseballs at it. They had a few lions try to scratch it up. They drenched it in water. They had a big black boxer named Bobby (a regular comedian on Japanese telly) punch the crap out of it until he hurt his hand...but he did succeed. But Bobby was the only one. Nothing else worked. Sure the baseball dented it, but it didn't rip or break. And for the record, all of these activities would normally break this type of paper screen. So what happens when it does break? The simply patch it. There are actually a bunch of repair guides out there for this sort of situation. They will often patch it with origami paper as well. I mean if you are going to patch it and everyone will be able to tell anyways, just go all out and make it fabulous. Pretty much the advice they take on it at least. Probably once a year they will replace the paper too. First they soak the doors or windows that need replacing because of their heavy damages to get off all the old paper. Then they place a glue on the door frame and its lines. And then finally the paper on top of that. Then I am told they get it wet a bit to make the glue less visible and blend it, but also to stretch the paper taut. Seems pretty time consuming considering the amount of doors and windows that need it. But it is a classic. A staple of Japan. And I suppose that once kids move out (if ever) it becomes a lots less tiring since they don't need replacing as often.
Another annoying type of door I have discovered recently is just the normal sliding paper doors, as seen below. Sure they look innocent enough...just don't get them wet. Don't even think of trying to just smudge that little smear on it off with a bit of water. All it takes is a bit. And your paper is forever disfigured, albeit minorly.

As for the restrooms...
They are exactly as you might expect. They since a little song and opens its mighty jaws lid when you enter the room. Lights. Camera! Action!!! Perhaps it is just the lights. The toilets lights up, its inside lights up, the room lights up it is like a runway show for your poop. Disinfectant is sprayed in a nice little mist and then you sit down upon your throne and a gurgling sound is made. No one likes to listen to themselves take a leak in Japan. You do your business and depart and it sings to you and closes the lid and flushes. If there is a sink attachment it would run at this point and you could wash your hands. Of course this is mostly in the homes and not the apartments. Or at least not my apartment.

And then in addition to their toilets which are such an upgrade from the squatty potties that the stations and most schools have to offer, they have their bath tubs. With these magical things you can fill them at a desired temperature at the press of a button. And if you forget? You can have it reheated at the press of another button. And to contain the heat, nearly every house will have some sort of plastic covering device so you can cover it for the next person. Yes the next person uses your bath water. Yup, weirds me out just a little too. But I suppose you have to think of it more like a hot tub without the jets. Also they don't put half as many smells into their bathtubs as I do. Ok more like non, because half would still be something. Which would make it a slight bit more sanitary for other people.

Japan home staples are certainly one of a kind. And they definitely do not disappoint.

ハンカチ

handkerchiefs.

Those long forgotten pieces of cloth used in delicate and rather fancy situations like tea time on that old estate out on the moors of England. Or maybe not quite that. But never the less, not an article forgotten by Japan.
Yes, Japan too used handkerchiefs. They are rather fond of them actually. But this is not just past, but also present. I think that most people might have a handkerchief for every day of the week or more. They have of course been using it for less dainty activities, such as dabbing or straight up wiping the sweat off their faces in the summer time. It is of course used by damsels in distress. It is a common concept in their dramas for a guy to spare a girl in need a handkerchief. Then of course she must wash it and give it back, giving her a chance to see him again and he just happens to be her crush and then complications and then omg love. But that is all of them right?
Almost never are these little beasts, the handkerchiefs  ever used for their suspected purpose of blowing noses. I cannot tell you why, only that it is considered gross and kind of rude. But the rude part probably stems from the fact that it is just rude to blow your nose in public and you are just expected to suffer the sniffles until you can politely excuse yourself to the toilet or some other private room where upon you can blow your nose. Perhaps blowing your nose into a handkerchief is seen as disgusting not only because you are blowing your nose in public, but also that handkerchief is perceived as being used for other purposes; therefore the thought of your wiping your snot all over your sweaty body is just nasty.
However the most common and annoying usage for these little buggers is so that everywhere has an excuse to skimp on hand towels to dry your hands and not have hand dryers in bathrooms. This is just way too common a theme for all over Japan. I mean I never remember to bring mine! And before you say 'Oh keep it in your purse/ pocket', that logic will work for malls and stations and such, but at my work not so much. Also pocket? come on I am a girl, if you can fit a hand towel or pretty much anything bigger than a tube of chapstick in your pocket you might be looked at a little weird, also an honorable mention for skirts and dresses which have none. But back to purses, it would be weird to carry my purse all around work and into the the restroom, or if I just carried it into the restroom probably every teacher would assume I had a scenario like last week.... Besides, then it would mean I would have to remember my purse as well and let's face it, I have a hard enough time remembering the little piece of cloth. Keep in mind that I have been calling them little pieces of cloth, but they really can't be compared to the handkerchiefs of days passed. These are more like little towels in the size and shape of handkerchiefs, but can clearly absorb quite a bit more water and have that same, but to a much smaller caliber, towel like material on one or both sides and will often feature some kind of print on the side opposite the towel, those occasionally both, sometimes they are embroidered or patterned. Japan has really just taken this idea and ran in every direction with it.
The idea is pretty great, until you kind of soak it and are carrying around what is effectively a damp tissue the rest of the day. Can you imagine carrying an oversized wet tissue in your bag? And then you casually just reach into it to grab your phone and your fingers just happen to brush it. And you have that momentary pause. That mind cringe. Who knows what bacteria could be growing in this bountiful environment. A nice moist, dark space, in the bottom of your bag where all kinds of things go. And not just that, but that very cloth comes in frequent contact with your hands! And your hands, they shake other people, they touch all kinds of things, they are the most common contributor to what later develops as a cold or the flu. But relief! You find your phone. But your relief is short lived. Is it just you, or does your phone case seem slightly damp. You don't really want to put it up to your ear now when you answer it. It is just like delivering those little happiness-devouring bacteria right to the source. Well you get the idea. I am no germ-o-phobe (mysophobic), and I honestly think that the handkerchiefs are a pretty good idea in these kinds of situations (the bathroom ones, not the bacteria fedex), but I also think that in this day and age, and the fact that the majority of the world does not use handkerchiefs for this express purpose, that Japan could benefit in investing in some more hand drying mechanisms. Also that the rest of the world should carry a little towel/handkerchief just in case they ever find their-selves in this kind of situation.

A Whole Bloody Mess

Gentlemen be warned.

I know life sometimes seems perfect, and to some, my life seems perfect in Japan. And I am just here to say, well it is. Ok well it is most days. Some things could just happen to anyone anywhere, but it just brings the message home that you can't escape everything, and coming to Japan doesn't make you immune. Humiliation just seems to follow me.


Pretty real life story here.
Some days are more rosy colored than others, and yesterday was all kinds of rose colored. The red rose kind. This particular stored happened yesterday. And I tell it as I let all my laundry hang out to dry in every sense of that phrase. The day started out as I walked with an office member to my new school for the year. My elementary schools got changed a bit. I have 3 schools I attend: a junior high school (middle school), and two elementary schools. One of my elementary schools got switched out for another one recently, so on my first visit to the new school, I got a personal escort to show me the way, as well as to review my first lesson to make sure all was right in the universe. Everything was. The school was nice enough. The teachers, kind. I even saw a friendly familiar face among the teachers as I stumbled over my introduction in Japanese. The kids were super cute and genki too, which is just the best kind. My first lesson only went with a minor hitch. The lesson went as so:
I would first greet them and then we would play a bit of a guessing game for them to earn my name, sort of similar to hangman for the lettering and spaces, but hangman was ruled as too gruesome a game to officially play in school, so there was no set penalty/death. Before you ask, it is too gruesome since it involves someone hanging and Japanese people just don't need any more influence for those kinds of actions. So after achieving my name, I move on to a quick introduction. In which they continue their guessing with where I live and how old I am. I do a quicker introduction of my family and proceed with an ice breaker game. I give them all a piece of paper and have them write 3 things they like. These kids are grade 6 and some of them are up to the challenge, but not all just so you understand the level. I help the ones not quite up to it and encourage others to write in romanji. We then cumple them up and have a little snow ball fight and then everyone finds one and we do the little game. It goes where one person stands up and says 'My name is _______. I like....[reading from the found paper]'. The only hitch with this was one little girl could not find a paper and get silently distressed. More so as the class progresses. And then she breaks down into tears when she hears her paper knowing she couldn't fit into the game. I quickly design my own paper and give it for her to read and then have her pick on a friend to go next. I hold her hand the entire time. She is reduced to the sobbing hiccups by the end and I could not feel worse for her. This was in the last 3 minutes or so of class, so it otherwise went by really well. The office member of the company I work for said that the lesson was rather good and gave a slight suggestion to avoid the little fiasco in the future, and that was that. Everyone departed and I relaxed. Whew crisis averted. Time to mentally prepare myself for the next class.
I begin wiping the chalkboard and sneeze from the dust a few times. And then, that's when. I felt something wet between my legs. Not going where you are thinking boys. I am feeling that 'Ohhhhh SHIT' feeling right now with 5 minutes to go before my next class. I think to myself, well maybe it is not so bad, maybe it will hold out until after the next class when I will have a 20 minute break to go and clean up. I sit down. Then I notice I have a few little spies from the first grade. We play a little game of peekaboo and I scare them off a few times, each time with them getting bolder. I finally give chase and capture one and lift him into the air letting out a maniacal laugh. That moment. I maybe have 2 minute left of my break. And I felt that sinking feeling again. I knew it was worse. By a lot.
I let him down. Scan the hall for the toilet and I am out of luck. It's the mens room. The toilet is down stairs. I scare off the boys one last time. I don't want them to witness anything so if they are running screaming, all the better. And I make a dash for it. I can tell the damage once I get to the toilets. Its bad. There is blood all on the outsides of my crotch. Panties are soaked. Balls. And for anyone before you ask, yes, girls do tend to know when it is coming. However this was more like the second coming of the Red Seas as they washed up on Panty Bay. I mean I had just finished this business yesterday. Right?? Well guess not. So I sit there bleeding trying to minimize the damage and scrub my panties out a bit. If they are dry they can't do any more damage to my pants. Now the mirror and the sinks to this bathroom are shared by both the girls and the boys. They are also open to the hallway and the elements and every single person passing by. I stick a wad of toilet paper between my legs and pray that I will make it. I dress and head for the common sinks. I check myself in the mirror there. Ok it's pretty bad, but if i pinch my but, hopefully I can make it through the next class.
I return the class just as the last person was filing in. Great impression for my first day. How will they ever like me? Ok, don't despair, I can salvage this. I get in and do a fantastic class. I automatically know that this one will be my favorite. They are super genki and active and I am loving it. It's just fantastic. It was pretty much all thanks to this one boy, Fukutaro. He was pretty exceptional in English, but he was a class act and funnily enough, every single thing he said was wrong when he guessed. He was so comical about it, it made me so relaxed and the class cracking up. Hopefully no one noticed.
At last, when the class is over, I make another mad dash first to the teachers room to get that life saving tampon, that has never more looked like on of those life preservers with its little string when thrown out to sea. Pretty apt metaphor there when I think about it. I undress and review the damage. And sweet night, my pants are red for 4 inches down. Ok. Right. I have 20 minutes to fix this. I can't walk out of the toilet room with my pants off to wash them in the sink since EVERYONE will see me, and to make it even worse, it just happens to be parents day. Man, I really wish I could be making some of this up. School changing. First day. Reviewed. Toilets with no private sink (if there was a teacher toilet, I was not told). Parents day. ONE of those must surely be made up right?! So anyways, what had happened was the blood just smeared all around wreaking havoc upon the lightest pair of khaki pants I own. It really would be too much for the story if they were white wouldn't it? Well I was a small bit lucky there. Really wish I had worn my blue pants now. Too bad I spilled curry juice on them last night.
So what now? I can't go two more classes and the rest of the day with bloody pants that everyone can see right? Correct. I go to town on that fresh roll of toilet paper and as I wondered what my company would think if I just went home after being reviewed and if they would understand, but then again this is a new school, but hey this is an emergency, which would look worse, maybe the worker who reviewed my lesson hadn't gone too far and could bring be a pair of pants, yeah right, that is also pretty embarrassing, well at least shes a woman. In the end of all my conscious thought, I decided to stay, going home would be possibly an hour and a half adventure and then everyone would see my blood stained butt on the way home too. Humiliation. So I stayed in the stall and scrunched up the toilet paper and...dipped it in the toilet water. Try not to wretch. And started scrubbing. I went through several hand fulls of the stuff and if you don't know how well toilet paper just manages to stay together when wet, well it just doesn't hold a candle to Brawn or Bounty or any other paper towel you can think of. The stuff is miserable and I am just shredding it. After a while I deem it sufficient or just that there was no more time to be spent scrubbing with the remaining minutes I had. And started to scrub and vigorously pat dry with some dry toilet paper.
I redressed best I could and tried not to think about my toilet water washed pants and checked myself in the mirror. Great. Just peachy. It looks like I wet myself. And not the potentially cover-able bit from before where if I just hiked up my pants a bit and pinched my butt cheeks everything would be unnoticeable  We are talking like you clearly have water all over your crotch and butt-seem. It makes me wonder how bad/noticeable everything was before I washed it. Well I suppose it is better than the alternative. I get to class before all the students more or less sprinting there so that the kids didn't see my pants and start telling everyone that the new gaijin teacher wet herself. I strategically place the desks and a trash bin atop of it and a few other things to hide the view of my crotch. I also found an old grimy dust clothe that I repurposed to a continuation of trying to dry my crotch. I stop what could have been a pretty embarrassing situation/action before the students came in and found me like that.
I continued to teach the class hiding most of the time, but to be honest, I kind of think the teacher, a young-ish male and also in charge of me more or less for that school (he is the English-teacher coordinator), might have seen. But there is a small trick you can do with the students, make your face interesting enough and keep them entertained,  and they will never really concern themselves with things below your face. Be dynamic. I gave it my all. I didn't really see if any student gave hint that he or she knew my secret, so I think I was safe. Perhaps midway through the class, my pants were dry and the damage was covered. It just cost me pride and gained me some humility. It is a terrible exchange rate between the two and I would not really suggest it, but I suppose it is good to have currency in both sometimes.
So I survived the class and the following one, and the rest of the day as a matter of fact. No my pants weren't fully free from staining, it was just one of those days, but it was light enough that unless someone was giving me a 'dat ass' look, I don't think any one would notice. They didn't even smell that bad with the toilet water and all. Or I suppose it is possible that when you just smell so horrid, you become a bit acclimated to it and everyone else can smell your putrid stink. I have no idea. Everyone was really kind to me, whether they knew or not, for the rest of the day. I did think I saw a few of the teachers who saw those particular classes giving me a weird glance, but I couldn't be sure so I just held my head high and carried on.

TL;DR: some days are just a whole bloody mess.

A Pack of Pickled Peppers

Pickling season.

These barrels are full of cucumbers, radishes, ginger or possibly some other vegetable and are in the process of being pickled. These are called tsukemono. Tsukemono are eaten with any traditional styled meal and are often used as a palate cleanser or a garnish.
Here, they have this rather unique way of preparing the tsukemono involving the stones you see here. They first fill these barrels full of their vegetable and likely vinegar. As time goes on, and the pressure the stones exert on the lids, the barrels compress which is essential for the process. As you can see in the picture, some of the lids and stone levels are different. This particular picture was taken at a Kamigamo shrine in Kyoto.
Symbolically, I suppose the fact that the place they are pickling is a shrine, can relate in western culture with the splashing holy water in the churches. Here, the pickled products are on sacred ground or prayed over such that whomever ingests them will be healthy in the year.
Kind of like, you know, everything Japanese. Do/Eat/Buy this and be pure and healthy and prosperous and fortuitous and magical for an entire year, or you know until the next time we try to gain money from you somehow.
This same temple will pray over pretty much everything. They even have a place to park your car to preform rituals on it so that it may be safe on the roads. It is also large enough for a bus to park should the need arise.

Aged Japan

Oh my it has been a long while since I have wrote here.

For those of you who didn't know, I was on vacation in Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia. Or if you are my mom, it was just Vietnam. And it was great. Don't worry I'm safe.
So I am prone to start these topics in blogger to remind myself to write about them later and just leave them for some unknown date in the future as a HEY WRITE ABOUT THIS. So while I have been having a great time and neglecting my blog, they got published and I did nothing. So Here I am going be and fixing it a bit. And for those of you who never saw this before had...good.

So I find the above image hilarious. I used to have a joke with some of my friends that between '16 and 60' you would never be able to tell an Asians age. Well I live here now and can tell a little be more regarding the their age. Now they have immaculate skin, and if you live in South Korea, things can be done and surgeries can be had to preserve your youth forever. Or nearly.

Here in Japan, I was told a little trick where if you can't tell the age of a woman, then you should look at her hands. You can tell the age of most women apparently by their hands. How well worn/used they are. How many wrinkles they have. As I look at mine as I write this, I should put out there that it can't be used for everyone, or maybe not for white women, or maybe it is just me. Mine definitely look about 40 with all the scars and wrinkled knuckled little sausages. Ok enough of that. There are a few more, but those can mostly be used for older women maybe in their 30s and 40s. If you look at their faces, their skin seems like it is stretched if you know what I mean. It seems like it is a mask almost. Things like cheeks become more defined, and when they furrow their brow, it becomes more furrowed than usual. The spot below their eyes especially starts to slacken and with people who are a bit chubby, their jowls as well. You know the normal aging process. Though, I will say that I think my moms skin looks fairly youthful for beyond 50, it has really retained that elasticity ( I can only hope I got those genes), but I sincerely think that is not really the case with a Japanese woman of the same age as my mom. One that is comparable in efforts of maintaining youth at least, since my mother does not so much of anything to her own skin. I know that some Japanese people will undergo treatments and have techniques and these weird facial rollers to make them still young and youthful looking.
I told you the secret. Now you must only promise to use it for good.



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