Back to Nature After Sake Overdose

Numata, Japan. After the debauchery at Gen Roku the night before, it was time to go back to the pasture a bit and enjoy the more natural treasures of the area. On Sunday morning, we set sails early. Oscar Wilde said “Only dull people are brilliant at breakfast”, so we skipped breakfast all together and bought hot coffees in a can from a street dispenser.

Hot coffee in a can! Awesomeness right there AND Tommy Lee Jones stars in many commercials as a coffee spokesperson AND an alien who looks exactly like Tommy Lee Jones (eventually he goes back to his planet BUT he misses the coffee in a can so much he returns to earth.)

Ross refueled the van. I can confirm that he does in fact have a bumper sticker that spells “Vaginas are way cool” (in case you had any doubts.) We drove towards the mountains on Route 120, the Japanese version of the German’s Romantic Road.

The red dot is where we were and I’m not sure where we were going on the map, but our final destination was Nikko. Ross promised we would stop along the way to check out some famous waterfalls.

Fukiwari no taki or Japan’s Niagara Falls in Tone Village is a shallow but a rather impressive waterfall. It was created from the stream eroding the soft monolith rock and is shaped like a banana.

You can get very close to it but if you step over the white line, Monsieur Ross lets you know in no uncertain terms that it is not safe nor allowed.

There is a pathway which allows you to walk besides the stream and it gave me ample opportunity to abuse my designated model.

Abused here,

and abused here,

Downright violated. Actually he was absorbed in contemplation here.

Going upstream, a very cool bridge

A little store sold fortunes. The tradition is to keep the good ones and tie the not so good ones to a rope to leave them behind. Walking pass all this bad fortune is probably not recommended.

The serene scenery from the bridge

After walking 10,000 miles (30,000 for me) we hopped back in the vagivan and cruised towards the next waterfalls using a very twisty road in the mountain. Each turn is designated by a different kana and we tried to memorize them BUT it is better to attempt the exercise after a full night sleep, no sake, and no beer, as I found out (after a few turns.)

We stopped at what we thought were perhaps Kegon Falls and Ross explained that since I had my camera, he would leave his in the van… then he saw all the Lotus cars and he went back to the parking lot to get his camera. Men!

We finally found the Kegon no taki which flows from Lake Chuzenji and which water plunges down 97 meters! There were bus loads of people and the observatories appeared jam-packed.

It was as fun to photograph the people taking pictures, some with their cell phones.

I do not think this one will make it to the album.

But this one might.

And voila the explanation for all my woes. A pint-size kid posing for his mom. Making the peace sign. I think the peace sign might be the equivalent of our “cheese”, and could be ingrained in the Japanese youth by well-intentioned parents before children learn how to walk.

Fish on a stick! I did not taste these. They were snacks sold at the Kegon falls and I’d rather have my fish raw and without a head or a stick. Besides, we had had plenty of Nikumans along the way.

This was just the beginning of the adventure… Back in the van and en route for Nikko (after desperately trying to find some ladies bathroom with an actual toilet instead of holes – which may be quite economical for the Japanese but absolutely irreconcilable with my deep-seated Jackie O. complex.)

Izakayas + Japadians = Fun Tonight, Hell Tomorrow

Numata, Japan. Saturday night. Kelly came over for a before drinks drink. Ross and I showed him our new toys and Kelly oohed and aahed politely until he spotted the coin bank, then he really meant it!

We debated whether it was motion, sound, or touch triggered, screaming at it and making all kinds of cool gestures in front of it but, in the end, we could not tell for sure. To this day, it remains a mystery. Time flies by when in Numata, and we suddenly realized it was 10 pm and we were starving. Off we went to Gen Roku Izakaya.

We sat at the “bar” where your legs and feet dangle into a hole in the floor. Of course, we first had to take our shoes off which still weirds me out a bit.

Ross and Kelly had beer (and let me tell you Japanese do not serve little rikiki beers), and I had sake which I adore and is very dangerous for my sobriety. Soon, I was taking the camera to a nearby alcove when youngsters were eating and mostly drinking.

They seemed to welcome me crashing the party and made multiple peace signs.

And more peace signs… If you try to convey that you’d rather them NOT make peace signs, they get very confused, soooo get used to it. Many more peace signs to come!

By the time I got back to our bar hole, Kelly was lovingly kissing my handbag.

Ross was making peace signs too (they were peace signs, right Ross?) and I was feeling quite, er, relaxed and amorous. I generally do not go about restaurant reclining but my shoes were confiscated and my sake goblet never ran out of liquid (by the way, in Japan, a woman never pours her own sake, she has to hold the cup, and put her other hand under it – so that if the guy misses, she’ll sustain third degree burns but the table cloth will remain immaculate – then hopefully a man notices her begging for sake and serves her some.)

The owners of Gen Roku, traditionally called Master san and Mamma san, were the bomb!

Kelly lifted Mamma san off the floor and moved her around a bit (I think she liked that.)

But Master san had an expression on his face which makes me think he liked his Mamma san better with her feet on the ground and away from the rock star.

Master san’s sock shoes had issues.

Me too. Poor Ross. It must be fairly difficult to have dinner with a monkey woman hanging from your neck! Well, as I mentioned before, Ross is a very polite man and he resignedly let me have my way with him. Then I decided to document the azakaya’s kitchen.

I think the cooks san were trying to convey the delightfulness of the food at Gen Roku – either that or the guy san on the left is rubbing the Buddha belly for good luck.

Cook san on the right presented the kitchen which appeared spotless and a fun environment.

I would fail all my duties if I did not post the traditional peace sign photograph too. You will not be spared.

Oh yeah, no sparing for you!

My last souvenir of Gen Roku Izakaya: Ross in animated Japanese discussion with Master san and Kelly really needing to go home. Ross and I took a cab to the 7/11.

This is our cab driver. My experience of izakayas with Ross and Kelly is that when you get out of there, you generally need some kind of food otherwise waking up in the morning feels miserable.

That’s the best hangover preventive ever: the Nikuman that Ross describes as a “gorgeous creation of doughy crap and possible meat all just waiting for you when you walk in the door.” He can eat four on the row which is really quite impressive when you think about it.

Dallas is not half as fun as Numata with the crazy Japadians. Blogging about this makes me feel all sad and nostalgic and I have not even been back a week. On the other hand, I have felt inexplicably much better in the morning since my return.

The Quest for the Holy Santa Claus

Numata, Japan. When I arrived at the house of sir planetross on Thursday night, the first thing I noticed in the living room stood on his bookshelf. The ultimate funky toy. A marvel of orange hair and manic looks: Road Rage Racer!!!

He makes all the sounds of the motor and acts totally pissed off and nuts off the charts. I had to have it. So Saturday morning, Ross drove me the Aeon Shopping Center so I could purchase one as well as a Backgammon board to give him a spanking (I ended up being the flogged one but that’s a matter I do not care to dwell upon as I am still feeling rather sore.)

I generally do not take photographs from cars, but traffic lights in Japan must be mentioned. They stay red forever! It’s heresy. Kelly had written a post about them on his venting page and frankly, I just thought he was taking romantic liberties with reality for literary effect but not at all.

Stagnating at red lights gave me the opportunity to practice ‘emanating from the car through the windscreen” photography and to allow you a bird’s eye view into the scenery. After arriving at the mall, we shopped at several toy stores and we both purchased incredibly cool coin banks, then we headed towards the Hideaway Store where this skinny man sold me my Road Rage Racer:

Then it was time to go listen to Kelly play at Lockheart Castle in the area of Takayama village. Lockheart Castle was built in the south of Edimburgh in 1829 as Milton Lockhart, the mansion of John Lockhart, biographer of Sir Walter Scott.

In 1988, at a time where Japan could still buy the world, actor Masahiko Tsugawa (“Tampopo”) fulfilled his dream of having the Scottish castle dismantled brick by brick and shipped in 30 containers along the Trans-Siberian Railway to Japan. The reconstruction lasted three years and, according to the official website, involved 15,000 workers (just like the pyramids but more.) It was renamed Lockheart Castle and a slew of shops were added to the edifice. Kelly sings there often.

After we listened to a few songs, Kelly got assaulted by a gang of Japanese people who wanted to buy his CD, so Ross showed me around.

In the castle, he sat on the throne. I am not sure he was supposed to but he did anyway and I think he looks very regal sitting there. He then told me about the Santa Claus and Christmas Museum on the second floor of the castle. I kid you not. That’s where it becomes a wee bit on the tacky side for me. In a castle, you expect stuff like Holy Grails, not Santas. Now add Japan to the equation…

I don’t think I have ever felt so over-christmased. What a strange gig! Hundreds of Santa Claus figurines doing various things I’m sure Santa would never dream of doing (including an Elvis impersonation and that’s just plain wrong!)

Kelly having finally disengaged from the admiring masses deigned join us and I asked the boys to pose together.

Taking a cue from one of my previous posts, Ross and Kelly did act as if they were uncomfortable posing together. They did a pretty convincing job of it in that photograph and the other twenty that followed where I was able to witness a vast array of facial expressions that I would qualify as singularly unnatural (but they are very funny!)

Finally, I was very happy with this one.

And I was even happier with this one (thank you Kelly!)

Right now, I am toying with my awesome Road Rage Racer which stands right next to my laptop. It ranks high up there with my Pinocchio with retractable nose but in times of frustration, it definitely works much better.

planetross eats skewers of bones

Numata, Japan. At 9:50 pm, planetross leaves work. Not before saying to his remaining colleagues he is sorry to depart before them: “Osaki ni shitsurei shimasu”, “osaki ni shitsurei shimasu”, etc. Between you, me and the fence post, I don’t think he really means it (I would surmise the opposite is probably quite true), but Japan seems really big on manners and planetross is an extremely polite man.

At 10 pm, I see him pull up in his driveway from the balcony where I’m roosting (my favorite place to observe the neighborhood.) I run downstairs with the energy of someone who has been sleeping the whole time he has been working. No mercy! I feel eager to discover Numata by night.

planetross, Ross really, announces we will go eat at an Izakaya which is a bar/restaurant combo but sounds so much more exotic in Japanese. We walk for about a minute when I realize that for every step Ross takes, I have to take three. Hurriedly. He is a whole foot taller than I am and I think it’s all in his legs. At the traffic light, I look at him sheepishly and we go back to the house where I trade the four inch heels for threes. We are finally good to go!

Numata late in the evening looks deserted, a true ghost town. Pretty lanterns adorn each side of the main road but once you take small streets, it can get pretty dark.

At one intersection, Ross spots one of the teenagers who study where he works, going home on her bike. It’s 10:45 pm! On a Friday night! He explains that in Japan, to enroll in the good high schools, the student must perform well on an entry exam. If the results are deemed unsatisfactory, the Numata kid has to attend class in the high school from another town located an hour and a half away! Needless to say, the kids appear highly motivated to study and they spend most of their evenings and week-ends cramming for the exam.

I was surprised to discover blankets hanging from the sides of houses like this one. Ross explained that when two houses are conjoint and one is demolished, blue tarps are temporarily placed to provide some insulation. Often, they are not replaced by more permanent construction.

Of course, I make Ross pose in front of the tarps! You may be wondering why he never smiles on the images I post but I’m trying to balance out his own photographs where he is always cracking up. In fact, I have a lot of him smiling too

When we get to the Komachi Izakaya, we sit at the bar where we can see what happens in the kitchen. I grab the menu. Ha! Ha! It’s all in Japanese. No drawing. No pictures. Not a trace of English. I am not sure what I would have done had I been on my own. Probably stay close to the 7/11.

I give Ross the menu. Ross is now de facto the boss of what I eat. He suggests skewers of chicken skins, skewers of chicken bones and little shrimps you eat whole with the eyes and everything. I look at him funny because, of course, I think he is joking. He is not joking. The man has insane tastes! He never blogged about eating bones! Generously, he also orders some chicken and green onions which makes me feel much more comfortable.

It turns out, after a bite of the chicken skins (a little one just to show that I am worldly and would try just about anything), well it turns out they are so yummy I want them all to myself! The shrimps? Oooh heavens! So good! After hearing Ross eat the bones, I decide to draw a boundary but Japanese cooking absolutely rocks big time!

When we leave the Izakaya, we meet these happy young ones who seemed much less serious when not wearing a school uniform. The V is not for victory but for peace. All my photographs of young Japanese people include the peace sign. Nothing can be done. It is endemic.

We walked to the Suga Shrine where the Numata Festival ends every year. It feels extremely strange and surreal to be in a place previously described by Ross in one of his posts.

At the end of this dark alley, a Snack Bar. That’s not the place where you get a sandwich and a coke to go. This is where you go when as a man, you would like the company of a woman. Platonic company I must add. You buy a bottle, and a woman sits and talks to you. They seem fairly popular. Numata also has a number of Love Hotels where you can rent a room for a very short time. Some people just rent rooms for karaoke sessions or to have a place to entertain a group of friends.

It is 1 am and time to go to bed because tomorrow, we have to shop for toys, visit a Scottish castle, listen to Kelly perform, and have more chicken skins and a lot of sake for me (I’m still hesitating about posting some of the photographs!)

Oyasuminasai!

Red-Nosed Spirits in The Mountain

I hopped on the bus at Narita Airport in Tokyo and I went: “No Waaaay!” (in my head.) Japan is exactly like St. Croix: folks drive on the wrong side of the street. Dammit! That crucial tidbit of information meant I would not get behind the wheel under any circumstances during my trip as to not create an international accident of astronomical proportion.

The bus ride to Shibukawa where Kelly would pick me up lasted more than four hours but I sat quietly, greatly entertained by the new scenery. I arrived a bit early so I rounded up the bus drivers for a special shoot.

None of the drivers spoke ANY English. I had reached lesson two of my Japanese method and thought I had master: “Do you understand English?” but apparently not. I had to wave my camera under their noses and point at a place outside where I wanted them to pose. I had to be bossy.

Photographing Japanese people would prove difficult. I should have pushed to at least lesson three or four perhaps, but time somehow eluded me.

Kelly blasted in the parking lot and we drove off to Numata, music blaring (I just finally got an iPod and I am obsessed with it), and getting to know each other during the 40 minute trip. When I said planetross was living at the end of the world, I was totally not kidding. Really.

He always works late hours so Kelly and I toured his house and had a few drinks before he arrived (more exactly Kelly watched me have a few drinks.)

Then planetross arrived and it was all good.

The next morning, we drove to Mt. Kasho (Kashozan) also known as Tengu’s Mountain. It is highly regarded as a sacred place and hosts a Buddhist Temple first established in 848. The Temple followed the Tendai Sect, and converted to the Soto Sect of Buddhism in the 15th century.

Along the way, we stopped at a shrine in the forest on the side of the road.

It felt peaceful. I could inundate poor planetross with a thousand questions and make him pose everywhere. That’s also the location I encountered my first Mizuko Jizo, guardian of a stillborn baby, miscarried or aborted fetus, or a baby who died very early on.

The worshipers pay a fee to the Temple to adopt a Mizuko Jizo (potential Buddha of the water-babies) and inscribe a Kaymyo (name given after death) on it. The ritual of honoring the Mikuzo figurines is called Mikuzo Kuyo.

I think some Mizuko are weird looking. If you compare the two above photographs, you can surely notice that one is definitely more blessed by nature than the other. Anyway, these statuettes abound all over the area which sounds a bit sinister but really isn’t.

We continued our ascent of the mountain to get to the main cluster of temples. It is said that the Buddhist priest Chuho told his successor that he was the embodiment of Kasho buddha, and that he would stay on the mountain as a spirit. Then as his spirit ascended, he left behind a mask of Tengu.

Tengu (“Heavenly dogs”) are monter-spirits which are sometimes worshiped as revered gods. Initially, the tengu took the form of birds of prey, but throughout history, have come to be humanized with an abnormally long nose (that kinda looks like something else.) The Mirokuji Temple is one of three large temples in Japan to enshrine Tengu.

This, for example, could be the representation of an earlier Tengu. I would not know. Everything is in Japanese and no one speaks English.

That was a very cool hairy Tengu. Kashozan is the home of the biggest Tengu mask in Japan: 21.98 ft and a VERY long nose of 8.86 ft! Visitors of the Temple can rent a Tengu mask for wish granting. I did not rent one since I had all I wanted and I figured the language barrier would probably hurt my chances of being heard anyway.

You can also contribute a big mask to the Temple. In 1971, the Great Tengu Religious Association gave one to pray for protection from traffic accident and for the prosperity of the Numata Chamber of commerce and Industry.

In the middle of all that Tengu spirituality, I had planetross pose everywhere. He had insisted on wearing his tennis shoes number ones, which were all new and screwed up my contrast on every shot. He even had some number threes but I had to wait two days before he agreed to wear them! Wanker!

The above photograph represents I have no idea whom but it had cool glasses so I thought I’d share.

I thought these were prayers and I was getting all solemn but, er, nenni my friends, nenni. These are thanks to sponsors! You can be a Buddhist priest and have an excellent sense of business.

Soon it was time to leave since planetross had to work that afternoon and and I had to take a monster nap. That evening, we would go to an izakaya to grab a bite and take pictures of Numata by night (which was a lot of fun from what I can vaguely remember.)

Konnichiwa!

I would go to the end of the world to meet a person who tickles my curiosity bone, not to mention my funny one.

So, I went… AND honestly, the end of the world was even further than I thought (when you add a 4 hour bus ride) AND it was totally worth every damn mile. I’m happy!

I will now leave you with my two favorite Canadians EVER and go to bed. Details of the journey will follow. No secret information will be shared… but I come back with 2,000 photographs so I’ll have plenty to show you!

planetroCKss in Japan after experimenting with hair shears

Kelly Pettit and lovely wife Harumi

note: I can be bribed (but it won’t be cheap.)

Promenade au Present et au Passe

Noelle remembers my past better than I do. We have known each other since we were 10 years old and attended the same class at the Lycee Francais in Brussels. We both came from respective highly dysfunctional families and while not discussing our lives at home at the time, we probably unconsciously bonded over this common situation.

Noelle tells me I used to confide in her being relentlessly seeking the forbidden. I remember being a wild child but not expanding on the reasons. She reminds me of the immaculate walls in my house, and how my father would go ballistic on us if we forgetfully rested our fingers upon them. She recalls how after learning to put the thermometer on the radiator to feign illness, I spent most of my time at home instead of school. I was eleven. I was a mess. Noelle is my voice of the past. Sometimes, I think it would be better if she stayed silent.

Noelle and I had a lovely walk at the Luxembourg Garden (Luco) in Paris back in May.

There was an “artistic installation” called “Some Wind in the Trees.” On each ribbon was the inscription “Etre dans le vent est une ambition de feuille morte” which means “To be in the wind is the ambition of a dead leaf.” It was inspired by the masts you find in Tibetan monasteries.

Children can rent sailboats at the special cart.

Then they can lose them on the pond.

The Luxembourg Garden is on the cutting edge of the fashion world.

Of course, it has its fair share of lovers on a bench.

Places to read in peace.

Fabulous bronze statues. The original Statue of Liberty is at the Garden but I was too lazy to walk this far.

This is “L’Effort” by Pierre Roche. It depicts one of the twelve labors of Heracles, the cleaning of the Augean Stables in one day.

The back of “Le Triomphe de Silene” by Aime Jules Dalou. Kind of looks like this butt, don’t you think?

There is a whole area devoted to chess playing. On the above picture, the whites are not doing that well.

The player are fascinating to watch. So serious! Except the guy in the middle.

Their concentration is intense.

No pastis drinking here! And no women in sight. Chess players. Not the funniest bunch.

Unlike the Petanque players. They are a whole different story. Noelle and I ate many crepes watching them argue.

“Les boules”, it’s vachement serious! And stylish. The man above is modeling Armani pants.

The spectacle is also in the audience. Look at the man next to the tree. Typical Frenchman with a little beret!

Father and son. Forget baseball! In France, it is the art of boules which is transmitted from generation to generation. Petanque players have much better manners too. No spitting. No scratching. And it’s co-ed! I’m routing for baseboule and its cochonnet.

Noelle and I ate way too many crepes. After hours spent sitting and eating, she had to go home and prepare dinner for her husband and the three children, Louise, Diane and Gael.

I stayed behind to take a picture of the crepe menu and ate just one more little crepe for the road. Then I did not feel very well and I had to sit some more…