紅白—red and white

We’re watching the New Year’s Eve TV show called 紅白歌合戦 kouhaku uta gassen—the red and white song contest. This is the 66th annual contest. It’s a variety show featuring all kinds of music from this year’s J-pop hits to enka ballads to hard rock.

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X-Japan “Born to be Free”

Many of the participants appear year after year; it’s Arashi’s 7th time to perform and some stalwarts have been on the show for 30 or even 40 years.

It's Perfume's 8th time to appear on Kouhaku
It’s Perfume’s 8th time to appear on Kouhaku

The show is structured as a competition between the akagumi “red” team (female performers) and the shirogumi “white” team (male), red and white taking turns to perform, with the result decided by popular vote. The staging and light shows are reminiscent of the Eurovision. I would have liked to see cross-dressing death-metal wrestler Ladybeard included, but inexplicably there is no sign of him in this year’s line-up!

Most of the performances are on stage in a concert hall in Tokyo, but one song was an outside broadcast from Nagasaki.

Misia performing at the Peace Park in Nagasaki
Misia performing “Tears of the Orphans” from the Peace Park in Nagasaki

You’ll see from the screenshots that the lyrics are shown in subtitle for all of the songs. This is very helpful for a struggling Japanese learner like me!

The most prestigious spot is the last to perform and is called 大とり ootori. This year the ootori slot is awarded to “eternal idol” Seiko Matsuda.

SMAP were ootori in 2010; this year they are 5th from the end
SMAP were ootori in 2010; this year they are 5th from the end

Then the show finishes Japanese-style with an ensemble finale performance of Hotaru no hikari (“Auld Lang Syne”).

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蛍の光

Update: This year the red team (the girls) won by a tiny margin: 356,000 votes to 346,000.

Happy New Year everybody! 明けましておめでとう!

だらだら dara dara—idly

My name doesn’t have good connotations in Japanese. In one local dialect on the Sea of Japan coast, dara means “idiot”. (Perhaps fortunately, I have yet to visit that area.) It also features in the word 堕落 daraku, which refers to a moral lapse or descent into apostasy, corruption, sin or depravity. And in the word darake which refers to being completely covered in something (generally something bad, like mud or blood), or filled with mistakes.

And then there is this phrase dara dara, meaning slovenly, idly, slowly, lazily.

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This biscuit tin features a very popular character called “Rilakkuma” (relax bear) looking characteristically relaxed, with the slogan (written in Roman letters) “kyou mo minna de daradara goron”, which means something like “today also, everyone idly idle about”. I bought the biscuits because I felt the word dara dara was being used in a nice, positive context.

 

dara dara is one of hundreds of gitaigo, so-called mimetic or onomatapoeic words in Japanese. For example:

  • They were seated bara bara (separately);
  • The stars were shining kira kira (glittering and sparkling);
  • She was laughing kusu kusu (giggling);
  • She was laughing gera gera (loudly and boisterously);
  • She was laughing hera hera (condescendingly);
  • He speaks English pera pera (fluently);
  • Rain can fall zutsu zutsu, shito shito, pota pota, potsu potsu, depending on the intensity.

This aspect of Japanese is really hard for the learner. Japanese is simply filled with these words: people sleep guu guu, they eat mogu mogu, they lick pero pero, crunch food gari gari, stare jiro jiro, get nervous doki doki or impatient ira ira

Even with flash cards and other learning aids, they just seem to defy memorisation. Part of the reason must be that, despite being known in English as onomatapoeia, they are mostly not in any meaningful sense mimetic, but rather seemingly arbitrary. Another possible reason is that these words somehow don’t “feel like” real, proper Japanese, but like some kind of add-on, possibly childish or slangy. (For example they are always written in kana, not kanji.) This feeling is incorrect; they absolutely are an integral part of the language, including the literary language, but it’s hard to shake it off.

Together with another type of adverb (of the form bikkuri, yukkuri, shittori, pittari, kussuri, ukkari…), countless hours of effort are spent trying to memorise these vocabulary items for the JLPT exams. Effort which is mostly wasted, since this kind of knowledge (lists of arbitrary items learned by rote memorisation) is only shallowly rooted in memory and is quickly forgotten once the exam is over.

It’s different, however, when you learn one of these words in “real life”; somehow hearing it used even once in the context of a conversation anchors it in reality and instantly makes it much more memorable. And once you use it yourself, it’s with you for life.

到着 touchaku—we’ve arrived!

We arrived back in Japan this morning. We flew from Dublin to Amsterdam yesterday morning with KLM and then on to Kansai airport (Osaka).

As I was considered to be a returning resident, I was able to join a short “re-entry” line at immigration and was processed through quickly, which was welcome after the long flight.

There are a number of options for flying from Dublin to Kansai, the cheapest and shortest of which is usually KLM/Air France via Amsterdam or Paris. With a very tight transfer of 45 minutes in Amsterdam, you can do the whole journey in a little over 13 hours. (Our luggage didn’t make the transfer, but it will be delivered tomorrow, and on the good side we didn’t have to manage it on the train and the bus.)

It’s a journey I’ve made many times over the last 15 years or so, and this time something very unusual happened – we flew over North Korea.

The shortest route from western Europe to Japan follows a great circle routing that looks something like this:

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(These photos are taken from the flight information screen of KLM’s in-flight entertainment system).

The initial heading is approximately north-easterly, typically overflying Denmark, southern Sweden and southern Finland or Estonia, before spending many hours (the majority of the flight) flying over the vast and mostly empty expanse of Russia.

But it’s the detail of what happens at the other end – the last few hours of flight – that has changed over the years. I don’t know why.

Until just a few years ago, the plane always took a more northerly heading, seemingly avoiding Chinese airspace until arriving at the Pacific coast, and then take a sharp right turn to fly south over Japan to Osaka.

Then, a few years ago for the first time, the planes started to take a more southerly (and more direct) route. This route cuts across Mongolia and the deserts of northern China, passing directly over Beijing before crossing South Korea en route to Osaka. It seemed, however, that North Korean airspace remained “off-limits” and was deliberately avoided. This added some time to the flight.

But this morning I looked at the flight information screen and saw this:

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The plane had flown straight through North Korean airspace. Admittedly a remote north-eastern corner of North Korea, but definitively North Korea nonetheless. If I had been in a window seat I would have taken a peek out the window just out of curiosity, but I’m sure it wouldn’t have looked any different from neighbouring regions of Russia and China.

Of course, I didn’t spend the whole flight watching our progress on the flight map – I also passed the time watching films such as American Hustle and Gravity (which I’m sure wasn’t shown to best effect on a 7-inch screen). But it is fun to check in on the flight map every now and then, if only as a reminder of just how big the world really is.

Note on the word of the day:

When setting off on a journey, Japanese people will often cheerfully announce 出発だ shuppatsu da—we’re off! And then when they arrive at their destination, you will hear 到着 touchaku—we’ve arrived!

花火 hanabi—fireworks

Yesterday we went to see the Tenjin matsuri summer festival in the centre of Osaka. So did a million other people.

This tradition goes back over a thousand years and is very spectacular, taking place both on land (a procession through the streets) and on the water (a boat parade on the Yodogawa river). There is also a firework display, with the fireworks being launched from boats on the river.

 

These murals on Tenjin-bashi bridge show images of the festival from the Edo period.

Here is one of the boats in the modern-day festival. (Sorry about the poor focus.)

Tenjin-bashi bridge itself was lined with people cheering the boats passing underneath. In hindsight, we should probably have stayed  there.

As the procession moved off, we tried to follow and get a glimpse of it. But there were too many people, and the police were directing us away from the route. We tried to get ahead of it, but it went in a different direction and we lost it.

There were huge crowds at the festival, and many of them had dressed up for the occasion in traditional costume of colourful yukata robes and geta wooden clogs. Young people especially had taken the trouble to dress up.

The festival is enormously popular. The streets and bridges were closed to traffic and filled with people.

We wanted to go to see the fireworks, and we found ourselves moving with the flow of tens of thousands of people towards the river. The street was lined with police, directing us (or so we thought) to where we could see the fireworks. In fact, their only concern was crowd control, keeping people moving through the streets, and preventing a dangerous crush, rather than facilitating the people to enjoy the festival.

 

We reached the river at Sakuranomiya bridge, from which it was possible to see the fireworks. However, the police were insistent on keeping the crowd moving. “Do not stop on the bridge. It is very congested. Keep moving. Keep moving. Do not stop on the bridge.”

So, having been herded through through the hot city streets for a mile to a spot where it was possible to see the fireworks, we were only able to see them during the 5 minutes it took the crowd to shuffle across the bridge. They looked pretty good.

 

After crossing the bridge, we decided to get some food at the festival stalls. But after 5 minutes of trying to make our way through the crowd and making very little progress, we gave up.

So, our experience of Tenjin matsuri wasn’t altogether successful (although we did see a lot of interesting things). What should we have done differently? I think if we were doing it again, we would just arrive early, stay at the green area on the tip of Nakanoshima island, and watch the boat procession from there. And maybe it would have been possible to see the fireworks from there too, I don’t know for sure.

Note on the word of the day:

花火 hanabi means “flower fire”. Isn’t that nice?

 

梅雨 tsuyu—rainy season

It’s the rainy season in Japan. Before arriving in Japan, I assumed that during the rainy season it would rain pretty much all the time, or at least most of the time, but it doesn’t. There are some very rainy days (much heavier rain than we are used to in Ireland), and some hot, humid days.

I’ve learned there is something called the 梅雨前線 baiu zensen—rainy season front line—that moves up and down the country. This front line corresponds to a band of very heavy rain. If it happens to be where you live, you get rained on (a lot); otherwise it’s just hot and muggy.

The high temperatures and humidity are manageable during the day, although they sap your energy and make it difficult to contemplate going outside. But at night it is extremely uncomfortable and difficult to sleep. Until now we have been sleeping downstairs in the washitsu, because it’s just more convenient. We have no air conditioning downstairs, but we have been able to manage with just the fan.

Last night, however, the night-time temperature tipped up to around 30 degrees, making it very difficult to sleep. So from tonight we’ve decided to make the big move to sleeping upstairs in air-conditioned comfort.

In reality, of course, it’s not such a big move. We don’t have a bed, so it’s just a matter of rolling out the bedding upstairs every evening instead of downstairs.

For me, there is a strange cognitive dissonance when you’re driving along and it’s grey and cloudy outside, looking for all the world like an autumn evening in Ireland, and then you look at the car’s outside temperature display and realise that it’s over 30 degrees outside. When you arrive and open the car door you expect to encounter chill shivery air, because that’s what it looks like outside; that’s what all your Irish experience tells you to expect. But instead you get hit with a blast of warm moist air.

When it does rain, it rains with impressive intensity. An inch of rain per hour would be quite extreme in Ireland – here it’s quite possible to have 4 inches per hour. But it doesn’t flood, at least not here. There are plenty of drainage channels to carry all the excess rainfall off to the rivers and the sea.

In Kumamoto prefecture this week, people have been less lucky. The baiu zensen lingered over Kyushu and dumped an incredible amount of rain on them; around 18 inches over two days. Several people were killed by landslides and over 300,000 have had to evacuate their homes.

Note on the word of the day:

梅雨 pronounced tsuyu or baiu, means “plum rain”. This is the time of year when the plums are ready for harvest; first green plums for making ume-shu plum alcohol and then ripe plums for eating.

修験道 Shugendo—mountain asceticism

The Oomine mountains of Nara prefecture, east of here, are sacred places of worship to the practitioners of Shugendo. These people undertake feats of physical endurance in the mountains (including very long treks through the mountain ranges of Mie, Nara and Wakayama prefectures), in order to become close to the mountain gods.

As a lover of high places myself, it is not so hard to understand their chosen form of devotion. However a practical problem for me and Yuko is that some of the sacred mountains are off-limits to women. This rule is called 女人結界 Nyonin Kekkai. For a while, we thought that one of these banned peaks, Oomine-Sanjo, was the highest mountain in the region, and I was quite annoyed that we would not be able to visit it (or at least, Yuko would not – I could go alone if I wished).

However I was relieved to discover that there had been some confusion about the names of the peaks in the area, and that the actual highest peak, 八経ヶ岳 Mt Hakkyou (1915 m), is accessible to women.

We drove up and up a narrow, winding roadway following a river valley for tens of kilometres into the heart of the mountains, until we came to a parking area at the western end of the Gyojakaeri tunnel (it means the “Pilgrim’s Return”), which was the starting point for the climb.

As this was already over 1100 m above sea level, the ascent to the summit of Hakkyo would be around 800 metres.

While Yuko filled in a form to put in a box, stating our planned route, I went to the tunnel entrance to try to find a geocache.

This is a UNESCO World Heritage Site called “Sacred Sites and Pilgrimage Routes in the Kii Mountain Range“.

The first section of the walk was the most difficult (and even more so on the way down!) Over 1 km distance we gained 500 metres in height, in fairly rough, jungle-like terrain. Progress was slow and exhausting. That first kilometre took more than one hour, and we began to realise that we may not be able to get to the summit and back before dark. We certainly did not want to have to make our way down in the dark; it would be extremely difficult and dangerous.

Compared to the humans, the dogs had no difficulty with the ascent (they have the advantage of permanent 4-wheel drive).

There was a constant sound of birdsong and some wonderful flora, including this amazing plant:

Although this appears to be a “fungus that looks like a flower”, it is in fact a “flower that looks like a fungus”: Monotropa uniflora, the “Indian Pipe”. It is a vascular flowering plant that completely lacks chlorophyll, does not photosynthesise, and is parasitic on Russula fungus (which in turn is parasitic on the tree among whose roots it grows).

After the initial steep climb, we emerged onto the ridge, joining the main pilgrimage route. There were many religious artifacts and signs of devotion along this route.

First we came to 弁天の森 Benten no mori—the forest of the god Benten, at a height of 1600 metres. This is one of several locations where people have left wooden notes. I don’t know the significance; perhaps they are requests for favours from the god.

Here is a bronze statue of a monk at shoubou no shuku.

Eventually we reached the summit of 弥山 Mt Misen. This is only a short distance (750 metres away) from Mt Hakkyo, and only slightly lower (1895 metres as opposed to 1915 m). This would have to do for today, because we were running out of daylight and the weather was turning bad.

This is the highest point that Miffy has achieved, so far. Yuko and Shiro and I have all been higher, in the Alps.

At the very summit of the mountain is a shrine. By this time it was becoming very misty and there were flashes of lightning and loud rolls of thunder booming up the valley, so we decided to get off the mountain and return to the car as quickly as possible.

The final 1 kilometre of steep descent was very difficult, and took over one hour and a quarter, at times progressing at only 10 metres per minute. It was quite a relief to arrive back at the car.

Note on the word of the day:

The three characters 修験道 mean “study – test – way”.

The 道 dou of 修験道 shugendou is the character for road, or way (Japanese pronunciation: michi). This is very familiar to English speakers from martial arts like judo, aikido, and kendo. In Chinese it is pronounced “Tao” or “Dao”, as in Taoism.

瓦 kawara—roof tiles

Some weeks ago, I cycled to see a “roof-tile stupa” – a 7th-century earthen mound or pyramid covered in roof-tiles.

This stupa was constructed by a monk called Gyouki who helped to promote Buddhism in Japan in the 7th century, and also did lots of works to help the poor, such as building clinics, carp ponds, and irrigation (as well as stupas).

Anyway, you can see the ceramic roof tiles from 1300 years ago. The design is simple: alternating rows of hemi-cylindrical convex tiles and quarter-cylindrical concave tiles.

Ceramic roof-tiles (kawara) are still a distinctive and appealing feature of Japanese houses, and they have evolved lots of interesting features to reward a closer look.

Nowadays the convex marugawara and flat hiragawara are usually combined into a single tile, creating an elegant, wavy roof surface. The house below features both styles.

At the end of the ridges on the upper roof, you can also see the scary faces of onigawara – ogre tiles.

The pendant discs on the end tiles are gaitou, and they often have a particular circular pattern like tadpoles or commas.  This very ancient symbol, called tomoe, is reminiscent of Celtic forms such as the triskel.

Lots of roofs have other decorative features, such as turtles, fish, dragons, gods…

Note on the word of the day:

In an earlier post, I remarked on the fact that the Japanese word for gas, normally written in katakana as ガス, can be written using kanji characters: 瓦斯. This is very unusual for a loan-word from English.

Anyway, the first character in is 瓦, which is the character for roof-tile. In this case it is merely being used for its sound value “GA” (the Chinese pronunciation of 瓦). When a kanji is used purely for its sound value, this is called ateji.

心斎橋 Shinsaibashi

After work on Friday evening, I met Yuko in Shinsaibashi.

Shinsaibashi is a busy crowded area full of shops and restaurants, not far from where I work. At its heart is Shinsaibashi-suji, a pedestrianised covered shopping street, stretching block after block for more than half a kilometer. This kind of covered street or arcade is called 商店街 shoutengai in Japanese.

It’s very enjoyable just to stroll through the area, enjoying the buzz and the atmosphere.

We thought it was funny that this shop was called “Womb”.

It was a little alarming however to discover that Womb was having a “Mail member only fair”, with “15% off”. Or maybe it’s “only fair”.

Shinsaibashi dates back hundreds of years as a shopping, restaurant and commercial area, and has a lot of history. Tucked away at the back of some narrow alleyways is the Hozenji temple.

Hozenji temple has a very special statue – it’s thickly covered with a verdant layer of moss. By tradition, each visitor pours water over the statue to encourage the growth.

Just across Shinbaibashi bridge is the iconic “Glico man” neon sign, which has been advertising Glico candy for almost 100 years. After the Great East Japan earthquake in March last year it was switched off for a few weeks to save power, but I thought it was supposed to be illuminated again now?

Shinsaibashi is also home to Murphy’s pub, the first Irish pub in Japan. We called in for a drink there after our meal.

Note on the word of the day:

心斎橋 Shinsaibashi takes its name from one of Osaka’s many bridges (橋 hashi  in Japanese). The canal that the bridge crossed is long gone, but some of the architectural features of the stone bridge were reused in the modern pedestrian overpass at the same location, such as the iron lanterns seen in this picture.

The character 心 shin means “heart”. 斎 I’ve never seen before, but it apparently means “religious purification”. So the meaning of 心斎橋 might be something like “purification of the heart bridge”.

 

車 kuruma—car

We’ve bought a car!

It’s a 2009 new-model Prius, dark blue, in very nice condition inside and out (Japanese people do keep their cars clean!)

Before we were allowed to buy a car, we had to prove that we had a parking space. Yuko had to get a document from the landlord, and have it certified at the local police station. The size of the space is indicated, and you are only allowed to buy a car that will fit the space.

If you live in the centre of Osaka, it can cost over 30,000 yen (over €300) per month to rent a parking space! For many people, parking is the single biggest cost of motoring. So we’re lucky to have our own space in front of our house, that we can use for free.

Lots of cars over here have a particular shape that you don’t see so much back home. Cars of all sizes, from tiny “kei” cars to huge people-carriers, are high and boxy, with an almost vertical rear end and a very short nose.

It’s not a great look, but I have a theory about why that shape is so common. If the limiting factor on the size of your car is the length of your parking space, then it makes sense not to waste any of that length with front and rear overhangs and curves. Aerodynamics? With a speed limit of 60 km/h most places, who needs aerodynamics? Just a rectangular box will do nicely, thank you.

I discovered something about the economics of second-hand cars here. Let’s say you’re looking at the prices of second-hand cars on autos.yahoo.co.jp and you see a car that takes your fancy. This 2003 Mazda RX-8, for example. If you look closely you will see two prices listed:

本体価格(税込)68.0万円 — Basic price (tax included): 680,000 yen (approx €6,750 at today’s lousy exchange rate)

支払総額(税込)86.7万円 — Sum total (tax included): 867,000 yen (approx €8,600)

So what’s going on? What’s the extra €1,850 that I have to pay? Well, it’s the cost of reregistering the car and various other administrative stuff. But here’s the kicker. That €1,850 isn’t a percentage – it’s the same for every car regardless of value. So if you go to buy an old car with a sticker price of €1,000, you’ll end up paying almost €3,000! That’s a huge disincentive to buying an old car – who’s going to pay €3,000 for a car worth €1,000?

Note on the word of the day:

On its own, the kanji 車 kuruma means car. Or maybe in the old days some kind of carriage. In compounds it usually has the Chinese pronunciation sha, and it appears in the name of all sorts of wheeled vehicles. 自転車 jitensha—bicycle; 電車 densha—train; 自動車 jidousha—vehicle; 人力車 jin-rikisha—rickshaw (literally “human-power-vehicle”, and of course that’s where the English work rickshaw comes from).

My favourite 車 word is 猫車 nekoguruma which literally means “cat car” but really means wheelbarrow.

バラ bara—roses

Yesterday, Yuko and I went to a rose festival in Utsubo Park, near where I work. So even though it was Saturday, we took the subway into the city together.

Utsubo Park (which was once a military airfield, but no trace of that remains, except for its long narrow shape) has a huge, beautifully laid-out rose garden, and this weekend the roses were in full bloom.

You can see that lots of people are carrying umbrellas – not because it’s raining, but because it’s sunny!

To celebrate, there were stalls, music, dancing and entertainment, as well as lectures and guided tours. One stall had a device to test your squeezing strength. It seems I’m not very strong, but my excuse is that my hands were a bit slippery with sun-cream.

Outside the rose garden this cow was making a balloon animal for a child:

This dancing stilt-walker was entertaining the children:

While music was provided by this high-school band and dancers:

There was also a large group of people dancing to traditional Jewish music.

 

We left Utsubo Park and went to another rose garden, on a river island called Nakanoshima in the centre of Osaka. It’s a lovely part of the city, with some fine buildings and lots of open space.

Each of the roses had a plaque noting its country and year of origin, and the name of the grower. Several of the roses were credited to a grower called “McGredy” from Northern Ireland.

Note on the word of the day:

The Japanese word for rose, bara, is written with the kanji characters 薔薇. This is famously difficult to write, and the word is commonly written with the katakana characters バラ, as I used for the title of this post. But nowadays when you are writing on the computer, you don’t really need to know how to write the characters anymore—the computer knows. So maybe complicated kanji like 薔薇 will be seen more often.