The trouble is ...

A colleague and I were talking on Friday and making plans for the remainder of the semester. On Monday I was working through my email messages. One of them began with something I just couldn't process: "John died this weekend." John was the colleague with whom I had just spoken on Friday, and these events took place a year ago.

Although John was older than I, there are some parallels ... the name, the fact that he lived alone, no family in the area, among others. He died at home, by himself, in bed. On Monday when he failed to show up for class, police came and found him there.

What brought this to mind was a little quote:

The trouble is that you think you have time.
-Jack Kornfield

The trouble is how we live, not that we die. We think we have time.

dis cur sive

dis cur sive: adjective

2. proceeding by reasoning or argument rather than intuition.

Poetry and jokes have at least one thing in common: unlike narrative they're not discursive forms. You "get" them or you don't, and an explanation typically ruins their beauty.

Unlike my poetry group friends, I know only a little more than nothing about poetry. But the attitude I've come upon after reading some over the years is this:

1. poetry isn't "about" things ... it is the thing itself, in a sense. It's not discursive; it's not an explanation.
2. to enjoy it there's no objective sense in which one must "get" a poem: stop worrying about whether your interpretation is what was intended by the author. Does it speak to you? That's enough.
3. as with other forms of art, take what you want, draw it in, and don't worry about the rest, or what others think, or what you think you're "supposed" to get. It's a subjective experience: you're the only one who knows the right answer. You get to decide.

This brings to mind a quote by Bernard Phillips who is, I believe, a professor of religion:

Do not seek to find out "what to do." Every "what to do" is only an abstraction. You will never come to the truth of your own being by riding on the back of an abstraction. If you know "what to do," you can be sure it is the wrong thing.

Beautiful.

Well, despite this elaborate introduction I want to do "what shouldn't be done" and give some background on the woodpecker verse:

Spring comes
The woodpecker returns
Every year
Until now

I watched a redheaded woodpecker closely enough over a number of years to know about him and the mannerisms that distinguished him from other woodpeckers. He came in spring and left in fall.

His summer home was across the street from my house in a tall pine tree that had lost its top in an ice storm ... a gray post absent bark and branch. Every year he returned, patiently drilling out a new hole in that dead tree over the course of several days. Then he would find a mate, raise his offspring, and leave ... where to?

He liked a peanut feeder I created just for woodpeckers, who have very long and round tongues (did you know?) that can reach into tree cavities and find things to eat. In the first year, he figured out how to reach into the feeder and get peanuts, and then every year after that he taught his offspring how to do so.

He became sort of a buddy of mine. One time I watched him being pursued in flight by a hawk. It was the most amazing and (in a way, for me) horrifying thing I'd seen ... right above my house. But in this life-or-death moment, with the hawk right behind him, the woodpecker maneuvered so gracefully, as though with perfect calm, and I admired him so. After so many curves and turns and twists he finally escaped danger. It was beautiful.

So I watched him like this for probably four or five years. The year he didn't return, I somehow knew he wasn't coming back.

I still wonder about him from time to time.

What's next?

Having said most of what I wanted to say about traveling, I've wondered what to do with this space for blogging. I've debated whether or not to make the transition into comments about ordinary life but didn't want to start something I couldn't, or wouldn't, continue for a while. Maybe I'll give it a go and see what happens ...

A friend sent a little quip about my posting only Ryokan's poetry because she has seen some of my verse and has said before I should express myself in my own voice. Fair enough. I used the word "verse" here to refer to whatever it is I write because "poetry" sounds entirely too ... something. And then I was having a conversation with a colleague's spouse, who writes poetry, and she asked to read samples of mine.

Here's how I responded to her:

Sure, I can share a poem or two, but I can't resist giving some background.

Although I love language and writing, I paid little attention to poetry in school. I just didn't find anything in Western poetry that spoke to me.

That changed when I stumbled across the poetry of Ryokan, a Japanese poet, recluse, and Zen monk who wrote verse in both Chinese and Japanese. Here's a translation of one of my favorites of his, a haiku:

Left behind
By the thief --
The moon in my window

When I show or recite that to others, I usually get a blank stare. But it speaks to me.

From Ryokan I "found" Tang dynasty poets like Li Bai, Bai Ju Yi, Wang Wei, and (my favorite) Han Shan, a somewhat obscure early Tang poet. Here's a translation of one of his:

I think of all the places I've been,
Chasing from one famous spot to another.
Delighting in mountains, I scaled the mile-high peaks;
Loving the water, I sailed a thousand rivers.
I held farewell parties with my friends in Lute Valley.
Brought my zither and played on Parrot Shoals.
Who would guess I'd end up under a pine tree,
Clasping my knees in the whispering cold?

And here's one by Yang Wanli that I love:

Afraid that the autumn wind might be jealous of the peonies
I cut a branch and put it in a porcelain vase.
The heavy curtains are drawn, the doors are closed --
Why do the petals keep falling off?

My Chinese friends say that translations lose the true meaning. That may be so. But these poems still speak to me in a way that Western poetry does not.

So about 5 years ago, during a time of personal grief, it was in Chinese and Japanese poetry that I found some comfort. It was literally the only thing I could read. And since then I have read a great number of translations, and I have tried to learn a little Chinese with the help of friends and http://www.zhongwen.com (a great website).

Not long after that I started writing verse to capture and intensify little experiences that I wanted to "save." So my tiny verses are almost like a journal of little occurrences ... they're simple, direct, and without structure or ornamentation. Then some friends at a Buddhist temple I attend mentioned their poetry group and invited me and I've been meeting with them for a couple of years now. They're actually quite talented.

This was the first verse I wrote:

Spring comes
The woodpecker returns
Every year
Until now

Here are some others ...

Bluebird on a branch --
Unknown
My affection

Putting the blanket away --
Her faint scent
All that remains

My pinestraw
Is better than my neighbor's --
Two crows nest-building

Three hundred
miles away --
someone.

Well, not everyone "gets" them. :-)

Some Ryokan poems

Like the little stream
Making its way
Through the mossy crevices
I, too, quietly
Turn clear and transparent.

Early summer, floating down a clear running river in a wooden boat,
A lovely girl gently plays with a crimson lotus flower held in her white hands.
The day becomes more and more brilliant.
Young men play along the shore and a horse runs by the willows.
Watching quietly, speaking to no one,
The beautiful girl does not show that her heart is broken.

The ancient buddhas taught the Dharma
Not for its own sake but to assist us.
If we really knew ourselves
We would not have to rely on old teachers.
The wise go right to the core
And leap beyond appearances;
The foolish cleave to details
And get ensnared by words and letters.
Such people envy the accomplishments of others
And work feverishly to attain the same things.
Cling to truth and it becomes falsehood;
Understand falsehood and it becomes truth.
Truth and falsehood are two sides of a coin:
Neither accept nor reject either one.
Don't waste your precious time fruitlessly
Trying to gauge the depths of life's ups and downs.

Maples on this mountain
Will shine no more
For when you are gone
How can they?

"When, when?" I sighed.
The one I longed for
Has finally come;
With her now,
I have all that I need.

We meet only to part,
Coming and going like white clouds,
Leaving traces so faint
Hardly a soul notices.

Orchid

Deep in the valley, a beauty hides:
Serene, peerless, incomparably sweet.
In the still shade of the bamboo thicket
It seems to sigh softly for a lover.

In former days
I did just as my heart dictated me.
But now, heart,
Obey me and do what I say.

Wild peonies
Now at their peak
In glorious full bloom --
Too precious to pick
Too precious not to pick.

At my house
these hundred plants
I planted and raised --
only to give them up
to the will of the wind.

Even in the remotest corner
Flowers will bloom
If we attend them in earnest
Nothing at all though we are.

How heartless white snowflakes are
That they should be
Piling thick on the ground
On the very day when you are coming.

In the entire ten directions of the Buddha's universe
There is only one way.
When we see clearly, there is no difference in the teachings.
What is there to lose? What is there to gain?
If we gain something, it was there from the beginning.
If we lose anything, it is hidden nearby.

Who was it said, "Names are the guests of reality"?
These words have come down to us from ancient times
But even if people know that names aren't real
They don't see that reality itself has no root
Name, reality -- both are beside the point
Just naturally find joy in the ever-changing flow.

It is a pity,
gentleman in refined retirement
composing poetry:
He models his work
on the classic verse of China,
And his poems are elegant,
full of fine phrases.
But if you don't write of things
deep inside your own heart,
What's the use of churning out
so many words?

The flower invites the butterfly with no-mind;
The butterfly visits the flower with no-mind.
The flower opens, the butterfly comes;
The butterfly comes, the flower opens.
I don't know others,
Others don't know me.
By not-knowing we follow nature's course.

Once in a while
I just let time wear on
Leaning against a solitary pine
Standing speechless,
As does the whole universe!
Ah, who can share
This solitude with me?

Everything turns out false;
Everything turns out true
According to your way of thinking.
Falsehood does not exist outside truth
Nor truth lies outside falshood.
Fellow truth-seekers,
Why do you seek after truth only?
I'd rather ask you if your mind
To seek after truth is true or false.

My hermitage is home to a cat and a mouse;
Both are furry creatures.
The cat is fat and sleeps in broad daylight;
The mouse is thin and scampers about in the dark.
The cat is blessed with talent,
Able to deftly catch living things for its meals.
The mouse is cursed,
Limited to sneaking bits and pieces of food.
A mouse can damage containers, it is true,
But containers can be replaced,
Not so living things.
If you ask me which creature incurs more sin,
I'd say the cat!

Late on a spring night,
with the world covered in darkness
A gentle rain mingles with the snow
trickling through the bamboo in my garden
I try to assuage my loneliness
but nothing seems to help
In the gloom I fumble for the Eihei Record
And burning incense and lighting a candle
quietly begin to read
Each word, each phrase is a priceless gem
Years ago, at Entsuji in Tamashima
I recall how my late teacher instructed me
in the Eye of True Enlightenment
At that time, I already had
some experience of awakening
And therefore asked to read the Record
under my teacher's personal guidance
That was when I saw that till then
I'd just been wasting my time
Afterward, I left my teacher
setting off on pilgrimage
Ah, what mysterious affinity
joins me with the Eihei Record?
Why is it, wherever I turn, I meet
the Eye of True Enlightenment?
I've read it over and over
I don't know how many times
But in it there's scarcely a thing one could fault
Having studied under teachers of every school
In the end I came back to the Eihei Record
finding myself at one with its words
Alas, what can be done?
Everywhere today confusion reigns
People can't tell a rock from a jewel
For five hundred years, it's been gathering dust
Because no one has eyes to discern the truth
For whom was this monumental work proclaimed?
I'm consumed with longing for the past
racked with despair for the present age
All night I sit before my lamp
Crying and crying
till the Eihei Record of the ancient buddhas
ends up soaked completely through
Next day, the old man who's my neighbor comes to visit
"Why are these volumes all wet?" he asks
I try to tell him, but I can't, and it tears at my heart
It tears at my heart, but I just can't explain
For a while I bow my head in silence
searching for the right words
Finally I say:
"Last night the rain came in and soaked all my books"

How should we then live?

It is important to realize what a difference a people's world view makes in their strength as they are exposed to the pressure of life.

Francis Schaeffer
How should we then live? The rise and decline of western thought and culture

What have I been doing in the last week or so? Well, for one I've been re-reading the text above, which I first encountered in college, as well as an eclectic mix of other Western-oriented commentaries like McNeill's History of Western Civilization and various books on Western philosophy ... all with the aim of intensifying the differences in what I experienced in Asia.

But I'm not equipped with the tools of a sociologist, so I'm mostly going on very limited observation and a lot of intuition here about world views.

One subject that I have tried to write about more than once, but have failed at, is "superstition." McNeill writes of Buddhism in China becoming "heavily encrusted with magic and superstition." Wikipedia defines superstition as the irrational belief that future events are influenced by specific behaviors, without having a causal relationship. I don't mean to be pejorative and, in fact, on subsequent inspection it's not clear to me the differences between magic, superstition, and some religious attitudes.

This recalls a famous Zen story:

When Bankei was preaching at Ryumon temple, a Shinshu priest, who believed in salvation through the repetition of the name of the Buddha of Love, was jealous of his large audience and wanted to debate with him.

Bankei was in the midst of a talk when the priest appeared, but the fellow made such a disturbance that Bankei stopped his discourse and asked about the noise.

"The founder of our sect," boasted the priest, "had such miraculous powers that he held a brush in his hand on one bank of the river, his attendant held up a paper on the other bank, and the teacher wrote the holy name of Amida through the air. Can you do such a wonderful thing?"

Bankei replied lightly: "Perhaps your fox can perform that trick, but that is not the manner of Zen. My miracle is that when I feel hungry I eat, and when I feel thirsty I drink."

I'll finish this later ... I'm hungry.

Is it toothpaste?

Point of reference: as the photo of my backyard shows, I live in a neighborhood that's heavily wooded. And because it's adjacent to a 5500-acre state park I routinely have deer wandering through my yard, hawks and other raptors overhead, and cute little tree frogs in the summer. (As I'm writing this a couple of deer are bounding across my front yard.) Nights on my back deck are dark and quiet except for the flicker of fireflies and the songs of crickets.

Since returning several friends have commented in one way or another on my delight at what was mostly an urban experience in Asia, with all the hustle-bustle and the social interaction that entails.

That seems at odds perhaps with my daily lifestyle and my affection for Ryokan's poetry, and his living alone:

It's not that I do not wish
To associate with men,
But living alone I have the better Way.
A lonely four-mat hut
All day no-one in sight.

One of my friends called me shortly after I returned and made such an observation. My response? Hmm. Another, when I commented on missing the daily interaction with people on trains and in subways and the random unexpected conversations, responded with a portion of the Taoteching, an ancient Chinese text by Lao Tse:

When people see some things as beautiful,
other things become ugly
When people see some things as good,
other things become bad
Being and non-being create each other
Difficult and easy support each other
Long and short define each other
High and low depend on each other
Before and after follow each other

Hmm. Can't argue with that. Still another sent me a link to a Forbes.com list of the ten best US cities for singles:

http://realestate.msn.com/Rentals/Articleforbes.aspx?cp-documentid=694846&GT1...

Why sent? Raleigh-Durham is number six on the list, and if it's good for singles it must also be good for socializing and for meeting people in general. Hmm.

Others said I need a change and that China is the place. Or that Japan is the place. Or New York? Ugh.

A change may or may not be called for, but part of the pleasure of Asia was that it was an urban experience of a different sort. How so? While some things there were familiar (7-11 and Starbucks), it was a chance to experience an exotic culture and meet interesting people in a relatively risk-free manner.

And then there was the toothpaste, I hoped. By the time I got to Nagaoka, the last stop on my trip in Japan, I had run out. So I found a little grocery store and an aisle with what were obviously toothbrushes and then fat plastic tubes of what I assumed was toothpaste. The puzzle-like qualities of just "getting by" meant I wasn't on auto-pilot ... the risk of brushing my teeth with denture cream seemed well worth it.

Packing light

With the exception of my laptop and the clothes on my back, this is what I took on my month-long trip to Asia. Do I regret not taking more? Absolutely not.

Relying on public transportation as I did, each ounce and cubic inch mattered. Going from planes, to trains, to subways, to buses, to taxis ... lighter is better. Travel expert Rick Steves says there are two kinds of tourists, those who pack light and those who wish they had.

In addition to what I was wearing, I took the following in a wheeled carry-on suitcase: a Victorinox Mobilizer 22 Ultra-Light (14 x 22 x 8.5 = 44.5 linear inches).

• 4 sets of light cotton slacks, dress shirts, socks, and undergarments
• A pair of shoes
• A sweater and tie
• 2 casual shorts and short-sleeve shirts
• A cap

• Travel umbrella (which I lost)
• Rain poncho
• Extra nylon bag that folds into a self-contained pouch
• Extra plastic bags and ziplock bags
  

• Extra pair of eyeglasses
• Hanger and laundry line for drying clothes
• Bottle soap (within a ziplock bag for safety) for washing clothes
• Toiletries kit
  

• Cell phone and charger, with earphones and extra battery
• Canon Elf SD 110 camera with 256 MB memory card, charger, and extra battery
• USB cable for uploading photos to my laptop
• Manuals for cell phone and camera
• Plug adapters for A/C (for charging phone, camera, laptop)

• Mandarin and Japanese phrase books
• Ear plugs
• Sewing kit
• Compass, tiny LED keychain flashlight, and a key to my house

• Documents and photocopies of documents: passport, visa, airline tickets, and driver's license. Also, credit card numbers written down with phone numbers for reporting loss from outside the US.

• Money: 2 credit cards, 1 debit card, $1000 in traveler's checks, and cash: $300 + $200 in Hong Kong dollars + $200 in Chinese Yuan

Where I kept things:

• Suitcase: photocopies of documents (passport, driver's license, airline tickets) and traveler's checks.
• Money belt: passport, airline tickets, extra credit card and debit card, receipt for traveler's checks, extra cash
• Wallet: one credit card, driver's license, some local currency
• Small camera bag: camera and accessories, cell phone and accessories, rain poncho, lens cleaning cloth, tissue, chap stick, ink pen, scraps of paper, business cards, pill box.

General comments:

I was told I didn't need a money belt, particularly in Japan, but I felt more comfortable knowing that the really important things in it wouldn't accidently fall out of my pocket or get lost: I could survive with its contents even if everything else was gone.

I had enough cash that I wound up not making any ATM withdrawals. I used only half ($500) of my traveler's checks, which I converted to Japanese Yen when I arrived in Tokyo. I paid for hotels with credit cards and mostly used cash for eating and miscellaneous other purchases.

Washing: I made sure before I left that what I brought, particularly the styles of socks and undergarments, could be easily washed by hand and were quick drying, e.g., REI polyester MTS undershirts. This worked well, though for slacks and shirts I mostly made use of the hotel laundry services, which were inexpensive except in Tokyo. In Shanghai I paid 17 RMB total for a shirt and a pair of slacks: that's just over $2. For the same in Kyoto I paid 1365 Yen, a little less than $12.

Should I have packed differently?

I didn't use everything I brought, and there was at least one thing I needed I didn't have (remember the handkerchief?), but things worked out about as well as they could have. I almost needed my sweater in the Japanese mountains, but I didn't. I had no need or occasion to wear shorts or my tie. I would have been delighted to have had a smaller laptop instead of my 15" IBM ThinkPad.

I considered bringing a sport coat / blazer and am so glad I didn't.

I should have brought some blank CD-Rs for backing up photos ... bought some in Tokyo.

I most wished that I had brought a small English-Japanese dictionary instead of a phrase book, which turned out to be almost useless.

Maybe later

Ryokan often exchanged poetry with friends and family. His brother, Yoshiyuki, once expressed concern after hearing that Ryokan played marbles with the brothel girls:

Yoshiyuki:

The black robed monk
Sports with
Pleasure girls --
What can be
In his heart?

Ryokan:

Sporting and sporting,
As I pass through this floating world:
Finding myself here,
Is it not good
To dispel the bad dreams of others?

Yoshiyuki:

Sporting and sporting
While passing through this world
Is good, perhaps,
But don't you think of
The world to come?

Ryokan:

It is in this world,
With this body
That I sport:
No need to think
About the world to come.

Ryokan's compassion and lack of "spiritual materialism" have to be appreciated here. His brother, I assume, was getting at the fact that precepts for Buddhist monastics typically include vows of celibacy and may include prohibitions against touching women at all, even mothers or sisters. What about the afterlife? No need to think about that.

That's background.

While in Nagaoka, and in other parts of Japan, I had some difficulty eating or, I should say, specifying what I wanted to eat. Often I would walk up and down streets looking for restaurants that (a) had menus posted and (b) included pictures on their menus. At least that way I could point to something and use a Japanese phrase or two I had learned to get things to turn out sort of right.

One night, then, while walking and looking, I noticed a secondary street I hadn't tried before, so I took it. It looked pretty much like any of the other streets, with restaurant names in lights and well-dressed people walking up and down it and looking around. Sometimes hosts will be standing just outside the door to bring in customers, so I didn't think much about it when one said something to me in broken English and asked if I was American.

I said yeah, and he asked me a few things about traveling. He then said something about girls and that it was just 3500 yen for one hour. As I was reflecting and looking back at the sign in front of his business, a gentleman in an expensive suit walked out and the host thanked him. What was just 3500 yen for one hour?

Marbles? Or something more? I've asked a couple of Japanese and have received varied opinions, and I have my own. In any event, the host made his vague offer again as I stood there. How can one respond to such a question? How did I?

"Maybe later," I smiled and said, and I walked off looking for a restaurant.

No, I didn't play marbles in Japan.

Neo-traditional neighborhoods

In Pittsburgh there's an urban neighborhood called Squirrel Hill, a little Jewish community with a gridded street layout and a mix of residential and commercial ... you can walk a block and pick up a carton of milk or eggs without getting in a car. And there is a little old-fashioned hardware store there. I don't recall the name of the store but I remember its slogan: "if we don't have it, you don't need it."

I lived there as a grad student and enjoyed the combination of people and shops and pretty-good public transportation. Other than that I've lived in suburbs, so I could really appreciate the differences in character between them and the places I visited in both China and Japan.

Things seem to "work" in both places, but with fewer professional obligations in Japan I had more opportunities there to explore cities and towns of all shapes and sizes, urban and rural ... Tokyo, Kyoto, Nagoya, Seto, Fujigaoka, Nagaoka, Bunsui, Washima, Izumozaki. And regardless of the size each felt safe, clean, and neat, and with uniformly good public transportation and a high quality of living. The socio-economic "band" in all places seemed narrow, i.e., the gap between the best-off and the worst-off.

What I found most surprising was the smaller towns in Japan. The word that comes to mind is "vibrant." Do these self-sufficient, full-of-life little communities still exist in the US? I'm not knowledgeable enough to comment on cultural, social, political, or other pressures that have gotten us to where we are, but isn't there a growing consensus that many of our communities are alienating and isolating? Urban and regional planners have used the term "neo-traditional" to describe alternative, mixed-use communities that are more compact and that better support bicycling and walking and human interaction ... a sense of community.

This is what I saw in Japan. I was so impressed by the little town of Bunsui with a population of 16,000. I had an opportunity to visit one of the smaller elementary schools there and to talk with its principal, meet and interact with some of its students, and watch them rehearse on their traditional Japanese drums for an upcoming festival. I have no idea how they perform academically or on standardized tests, but I'll bet they excel. The kids, the teachers and the principal, the parents, the surrounding community ... all seem engaged and invested in these and other activities.

Every culture and community has its issues to work through and things to improve upon, and I'm sure Bunsui and these other cities and towns have theirs. But from at least a cursory look, there are a lot of very positive things happening there.

Welcome to America

As surreal as parts of Asia felt as first, I landed in Dallas-Fort Worth and felt just as off-balance. Thick southern drawls replaced the chatter of Mandarin and Japanese, girls were wearing jeans (and sometimes cowboy hats) instead of skirts, and when I looked around I could read every sign. The familiarity was ... unfamiliar.

Arriving from an international flight, we had to exit and then re-enter security, and when we did, one of the screeners, a rather stocky gentleman, seemed unhappy with us, so he climbed his makeshift soapbox, a chair, and offered "instructions" in a tone about as aggressive and condescending as any I can recall: "okay now look people" ... and the berating began. I noticed a refined-looking Asian couple, elderly, who recoiled. Once it was over I turned to a young lady whom I had met on the flight and said "welcome to America."

I was angry that this was the first picture of the US some travelers would see. Remember the description of my layover in Tokyo's Narita airport?

Leaving Nagaoka, leaving Asia

Getting up early, getting packed, I made it to the train station Friday morning for the ride back to Tokyo. This time my view was from the upper deck of the "double-decker" train. As in the past, riding shinkansen in Japan is a pleasant, relaxing experience.

It's early Saturday morning and I'm packing again ... for the last time, I hope, barring any flight snafus.

I leave Asia with mixed emotions. I'm tired of hotel living but I know I'll miss the people and places I've seen. Still, there's a lot I'll take back with me.

For one, I can't stop bowing to people. Just two weeks in Japan did that. And I instinctively move left when others approach while walking. But of course that's not what I'm talking about.

I have 14 hours on planes and a few hours of layover to reflect and gather my thoughts, and I'll share them here, with you, once I get home.

Dear Reader:

Thanks for coming along with me. Many of you have sent me messages during my trip and your kind words have been a real encouragement to me.

The time taken to compose these entries is, in my view, time well spent, letting family and friends know that things are okay, and also having a record for myself so I can remember the little day-to-day occurrences ... I've already enjoyed reliving some parts of my trip by reading them again. You might consider doing the same on your next trip.

So this will likely be my last entry for a day or two. But there are some general observations I'd like to make, and I'll do so here, soon.

If you've read this far and haven't done so already, I would welcome a message from you so I can know you, my audience, a little better. Thanks for this unexpected level of interest and attention.

All the best to all you, dear friends and family.

bush clover and pampas grass
please show me the way
to follow

-Ryokan

Otogo Shrine

My plan today was to rest and maybe walk around Nagaoka some since the weather was nice. I haven't explored this little town enough. But something was bothering me. I hadn't seen (I thought) Otogo Shrine, which is mentioned in a number of Ryokan poems I've read over the years. How could I leave without seeing it?

So I called Reiko, the rice shop owner's English-speaking friend (get all that?), who yesterday had driven me to Izumozaki. She said she would be happy to take me there, so I once again got on the bus to Bunsui.

For the second time I was ascending the winding road up Mount Kugami. We stopped where the taxi driver had stopped the first time and now I knew I had already seen Otogo Shrine but had just not known it. So I took a picture of the sign that, at the top points to Otogo Shrine, and beneath points to Gogo-an.

This time the weather was nicer, and I gazed at Ogoto Shrine and the little hut next to it thinking about Ryokan living there.

should anyone ask
say I'm at my hut
in the woods
of Otogo Shrine
gathering fallen leaves

Reiko helped by answering all of my questions, and then suggesting we drive near the top of Kugami where Kokujo-ji sits. It's apparently the oldest Buddhist temple in Niigata prefecture.

Afterward, she asked if I would be willing to meet some of her students, whom she teaches English at a small elementary school. I was happy to do so. In addition to talking with some really charming little boys and girls, I got to see them practice on traditional Japanese drums for an upcoming festival along the river.

How did I finish the day? Tea once again at the rice shop ... I always feel welcome there.

Bunsui to Izumozaki and back

Because the Bunsui museum was closed yesterday, I decided today I would mix Bunsui with Izumozaki, Ryokan's birthplace. So I hopped on the same 9:40 am bus and an hour later crossed the red, viewable-for-miles bridge into Bunsui. I had seen it on the horizon yesterday as I walked and wondered if I could make it from Mount Kugami by foot.

My plan today had been to catch the train from Bunsui to Izumozaki, but when I stopped by the little rice store to say hi, the owner called her English-speaking friend again, and she insisted on driving me there herself.

So we got in her tiny little white Daihatsu (most cars in Japan are tiny) and headed for Izumozaki. Along the way I got a reminder of how close we actually are to the Sea of Japan. We passed an artificial river, the Okozu Divided Waterway, which was constructed to handle flooding problems along Shinano River, Japan's largest. And the water was raging ... we pulled over and I rolled down the window to snap some photos. The smell of sea salt was in the air.

Then we headed south along the coast to Izumozaki and arrived at a museum there to commemorate Ryokan. The rain had stopped and the weather was perfect for watching the sea. From the museum grounds was a picturesque view of the sea and Sado Island.

the memory
of my loving mother
makes me cherish
the view of Sado Island
every morning and evening

You can also see from there the little memorial to Ryokan, as well as the mountains along the coast ... from left to right: Mt. Yahiko (634 m), Mt. Kakuda (482 m), and Mt. Kugami (313 m).

After we returned to town, I visited the Bunsui museum, as I had intended, and saw original calligraphy of Ryokan's, though photos weren't allowed. There was also original calligraphy by Teishin as well as Kokusen, Ryokan's teacher at Entsu-ji. How did I know they were originals? It was pretty obvious, but I managed to confirm that with two women on staff who spoke little-to-no English, but after gesturing and finding a dictionary we managed to communicate: not copy, original. They were so kind and eager to help with my question.

Afterward ... the rice shop again for tea and (sort-of) conversation. While there, I was looking at an adjacent room, a formal tea room with tatami mats and such. I asked about some of the items in the room: a Butsudan, a Buddhist altar, as well as a Shinto shrine. And what were the little wooden "chips" hanging from string with Kanji? I made the "mistake" of asking and was kindly given one, a souvenir I'll cherish: a Shinto "portable" shrine with the characters "Bunsui Mikoshi" on one side, and "Tori" (year of the bird) on the back.

Then the bus ride back to Nagaoka ... another satisfying day.

Bunsui and Kugami Mountain

It is apparently still the rainy season on the west coast and the weather is cool. I don't think the rain has stopped since I've been here.

on rainy days
the monk Ryokan
feels sorry for himself

Ryokan writes of his robe never drying at this time of the year. I can understand why. It just doesn't stop.

But that didn't stop me from getting out to Bunsui town today to see nearby Mount Kugami, where Ryokan spent much of his adult life. There's a bus that runs between Nagaoka and Bunsui and it takes only an hour, so I got a schedule and decided to catch the 9:40 am one.

I arrived in Bunsui ... a little town with about 16,000 residents. I knew there was a Ryokan museum and thought I would begin there and find out how to get to Mount Kugami. But where was the museum? I wandered around town for a while and then looked into a little rice store ... the owner lept up, greeted me warmly, and offered directions. But when I got there I found the museum closed.

So I made my way back to the bus/train station and approached a taxi and asked "Kokujo-ji?" (the name of a temple on Mount Kugami) and after a little communication difficulty we were off.

Where to? After taking a highway we started ascending a small winding road up Mount Kugami where about halfway up he pulled onto a gravel shoulder and opened my door, and pointed down a path where there was a small sign in Kanji. So I got out, in the rain, in the woods, and started down a trail.

So here I was on Mount Kugami. Finally. And alone, except for skiny little yellow frogs on the path leaping out of my way.

from the mountain paddies
near this gate
the sounds of frogs,
their voices precious to me
in the evening

The path led to a small shrine ... I didn't know at the time, but it was Otogo Shrine where Ryokan once lived.

As a boy I studied the Chinese classics but soon
grew weary of their content.
As a young man I learned Zen but failed to transmit it.
Now living next door to a shrine,
Half Shinto priest, half Buddhist monk.

I thought I might find a sign there to Gogo-an, a reconstruction of Ryokan's little hermitage further up the mountain. Not so. So I wandered around, found some nearby houses, and asked a woman who pointed me in what I thought was the wrong direction. But I crossed the road and found the trail I thought she had suggested.

As I followed it I saw a small sign with Kanji and "1.4 km" and kept going, but the trail became increasingly overgrown, and it was raining, and I was wearing my JCrew khakis and dress shirt and topsiders. And water was flowing in all the low places, so the trail had become it's own little stream. Was this really the way?

Eventually there was so much overgrowth, waist-level or higher, where there was supposed to be trail that I thought, "am I really going to do this?" And a little voice in my head responded, "only if you want to."

I wanted to, so I kept going and finally came upon another little shrine with a sign that made it clear I had gone 1.4 km in the wrong direction, and I was still more than 1.4 km to Gogo-an. So I followed the map on the sign toward Gogo-an up the mountain side for probably another couple of miles. As I got closer I saw parking areas and a large red pedestrian suspension bridge and realized I could have done this more easily if I could read Japanese. But no complaints. I made it to Gogo-an, wet and tired and very happy.

I took some photos of the hut, but what I really wanted to see was the view from the hut, what Ryokan would have seen. What were the sounds? The sounds of rain in the pines and water dripping from the eaves. And the scents of fresh air and great cedar trees.

Because of the weather, I suppose, I had Ryokan's little hut all to myself. So I sat there and tried to dry off a little, and let time pass.

Once in a while
I just let time wear on
Leaning against a solitary pine
Standing speechless,
As does the whole universe!
Ah, who can share
This solitude with me?

Of course, traveling alone, I haven't had many photos of myself ... but I wasn't leaving Gogo-an without a photo, so as the rain fell I sat my wet camera on a little bamboo post, set the delay, and got my souvenir. Well, I also picked up a small stone, washed it in a rain puddle, and put it in my pocket.

After resting an old thought returned ... how to get back to Bunsui? I wandered around and found a "real" souvenir shop that was closed. There was a telephone booth there but whom would I call? Was it really so far to Bunsui? Maybe I could walk ... so I went back to the road and started my descent.

How far was it? At a brisk pace it was over an hour, so I'm guessing about four miles. Fortunately my thoroughly soaked topsiders were still comfortable.

When I got back to town I must have looked like hell. I had been tromping through the woods and brush in the rain. I was looking for the bus station when I heard a voice from behind me. I had unknowingly passed the same rice store and the woman, who had given me directions in the morning, was waving at me and motioning for me to come back. She didn't speak English but I understood "ocha" (tea) and her gesture to have me join her and her friends for a cup.

She seemed so happy to see me and was so gracious, as were her friends. She understood a few English words (more than the Japanese I know), so we were able to communicate, sometimes gesturing, sometimes writing on little scraps of paper. And I spoke the one haiku in Japanese that I know

Ura o mise
Omote o misete
Chiru momiji

The store owner understood my poor attempt at Japanese, and motioned with her hands the meaning of the poem:

Showing its back
And now its front
A falling maple leaf

They knew I loved Ryokan and I knew they did, too. And so she called another friend who spoke English, who translated for me until it was time to catch my bus back to Nagaoka.

In Washima

What takes 3 hours going and 40 minutes coming? The answer: getting to the remote town (village?) of Washima from Nagaoka, where I'm staying. Going? By train. Coming? By car.

Washima is really not so far, it's just that there are two things: mountains are "in the way," and unlike bullet trains, the regional ones run infrequently and not on time: the outbound train to Kashiyazaki left the station about 20 minutes late, though there could have been some technical trouble (I couldn't understand what was being said over the loud speaker). Once I got to Kashiyazaki I found that my connecting train for Washima would leave an hour later than I was told by an attendent when I purchased my ticket (perhaps she made a mistake?). In any event, slow trains plus a long layover equals 3 hours.

One difficulty getting around remote parts of Japan is figuring out where you're at and where you're going and whether you've arrived or not. When you get a map you get all they've got: town names, and everything else, are in Kanji, traditional Chinese characters. But this isn't necessarily bad: signage at train stations and other places (when it exists) is typically Kanji, and with practice my Kanji-to-Kanji symbol matching has gotten pretty good: I just "say" in my head roughly what they look like as a mnemonic. For instance, there's "pi in a box", "double backward k", and "cloud with rain" ... symbols that form parts of names of towns that I match from map to sign.

Of course, not knowing how the Kanji characters are pronounced means that finding someone to write down the corresponding Romaji, or Roman letters, is a help since you can't always find a sign and, if you're talking to someone, well, you need that. The twist is that sometimes you have a map with Kanji and then you come across a sign in Hiragana, a Japanese phoenetic script. Add Katakana and, well, you can't let yourself get too overconfident.

My train stop in Washima was Myoho-ji, the name of a nearby temple. When I got off the train, I waived to the conductor, watched the train pull out of sight, and ... gulp ... there were zero people in the station; it was unattended. And there was nothing around but a few scattered houses. What about getting back? A Ryokan poem came to mind:

The wind gives me
Enough fallen leaves
To make a fire.

So I started walking in the general direction of the temple, which I believed was on my way to a Ryokan museum. As I approached it, a young man and his wife were just leaving, and so I pointed and asked "Myoho-ji?" They spoke very little English but managed to communicate that he is a civil engineer, by showing me his work: he had designed a retaining wall behind the temple to stabilize a steep slope. Apparently the temple had been damaged after heavy rains, mud slides, and flooding. We looked like mimes communicating by mimicking falling rain, gushing water, and pointing to the retaining wall. He was obviously curious about my reason for being in Washima, so I showed him a brochure of the museum, and he insisted on driving me there. I happily accepted his kind offer.

Once there I walked around a complex of buildings and memorials, including the reconstruction of a small house where Ryokan met and fell in love with a young nun, Teishin. I was happy to be at a place where Ryokan had been. I also looked around in the museum, and saw lots of calligraphy, but I really wasn't sure what I was looking at.

An attendant tried to help and she called for her friend who was serving tea in traditional Japanese dress in a formal tea room: her friend couldn't speak English either, but her son could, whom she called on her cell phone ... he translated. The women were very curious about why I was there, he said, so I explained to him and he then explained to them. As he did they began looking at me in sort of a motherly, adoring, kind of way ... I was someone who shared their love and appreciation for Ryokan.

After looking around, I went to the little tea room and was served matcha, powdered green tea, by the woman's friend. And she introduced me to a Japanese businessman who was staying not-so-far from my hotel ... he kindly offered to drive me back. Enough leaves. Domo arigato.

Arriving in Nagaoka

From Kyoto, the trip to Nagaoka took only 3-1/2 hours, not 5 ... something must have been lost in translation when I first inquired. The only downside: I was on the bottom level of a double-decker train, so much of my view was obscured by concrete walls. There weren't many views to be had anyway, because a lot of the trip was into the mountains ... literally, through tunnels. But the views I did glimpse (rather quickly) of these Japanese mountains were spectacular.

To get oriented: I'm on the west coast of Japan, almost due north of Tokyo.

About 10 minutes before reaching Nagaoka station, I finally let myself start believing I would be seeing Ryokan's calligraphy firsthand, as well as places he lived, and also the little house where he met and fell in love with Teishin, a nun 40 years his junior. Tears began welling in my eyes and I looked around the train to see if anyone had noticed. I know this sounds a little melodramatic, and some readers may be scratching their heads.

But I encountered Ryokan's poetry 5 or 6 years ago, and it was his tender heart and kind words that kept me going through a period of great personal despair. Since that time I've managed to get ahold of every English translation I could find of his poems, which are, by the way, not poems:

Who says my poems are poems?
My poems are not poems.
After you know my poems are not poems,
Then we can begin to discuss poetry.

His not poems were collected by Teishin after he died in her arms: she spent the remainder of her life collecting the little scraps of paper on which he had written them and given them to others. Thank you, Teishin. And they're bubbling up inside me now. I have to admit I'm happy to be in a place where people know Ryokan-san.

In fact, as I got off the train and descended the platform stairs, I rounded a corner and was greeted by the master himself, in the form of a statue. I couldn't make out the engraving, but I knew it was him. So I went inside a little tourist information booth where I was greeted by a couple of older (non-English-speaking) Japanese women. I pointed in the direction of the not-visible-from-there statue and said "Ryokan-san?" And one of the women nodded and said ... "Ryokan san".

Kyoto temples

It's Saturday night, and it's raining in Kyoto. It's just as well because I really should stay in: I'm bordering on complete exhaustion. Traveling alone, I haven't had many "checks and balances" to keep myself to a moderate pace. I've walked too far, done too much, eaten too little, and generally pushed myself more than I should. But I've seen what I've wanted and experienced China and Japan on my own terms, so maybe it's just as well.

And it's forced me to meet people, and that ain't bad. I've had to rely on the kindness of strangers ... and so many people have been so kind to me. Yesterday a young woman, a student at Ritsumeikan University, pointed me in the wrong direction when I was looking for a temple, and about ten minutes later she found me: she had backtracked for what must have been a couple of blocks to find me and tell me she was wrong.

Before that, on Friday morning, I asked the concierge about the next and most important phase of my trip ... to Niigata prefecture. She spent probably two hours with me, helping me find points of interest and booking a hotel there. She was searching through websites (in Japanese), making phone calls to museums, and helping me figure out the best "base" for exploring that area. Her help was above and beyond what she was "supposed" to do. So I'm grateful to her, as I am to the others I've met here, and also to my friends back home, who have helped me make all of this work. Xie xie ni. Domo arigato.

I said this is the "most important" phase of my trip because it's where Ryokan lived, and I think most of my friends know the extent to which I adore his poetry. I doubt I would be in Asia now if I hadn't stumbled on a poem of his probably 5 or 6 years ago. Yes, I've combined a number of professional activities with sightseeing on this trip, but this is really the reason I'm here. Or perhaps a better way of putting it is that Ryokan's poetry was sort of a gateway to Asian culture and my interest in the East. Han Shan's mountain turned out to be elusive, but I can't let the same thing happen with Ryokan's. It means too much to me.

So tomorrow I will spend five hours on a train to get there. I could have chosen to fly, but by the time you deal with all the logistics I'm not sure it's worth it. Kyoto doesn't have an airport (which is a good thing), so getting to Osaka and flying to Niigata and then backtracking to where I need to be ... I don't think it's worth it. And I could use a little rest on a train. Thus far it's been a relaxing experience.

Why am I so tired? When I was traveling in Germany and Switzerland I remember feeling "castled out" at some point because I had seen so many (castles). Tonight I feel "templed out". And I should probably apologize here for what must be a preponderance of temple photos under the 2006-07-14 heading ... sorry.

So yesterday I saw Myoshin-ji, Ninna-ji, and Ryoan-ji. I began by taking the train to Myoshin-ji, a Rinzai Zen temple, where I got caught in the rain and sat on stairs underneath building eaves to stay dry. As an aside: where was my cheap plaid umbrella? After the showers cleared it was still hot as hell and even more humid. But I loved the architecture.

After that I walked to Ninna-ji, a Shingon Buddhist temple, with the cutest little zig-zag bridges (walkways, really) connecting many of the buildings. Again, an architectural delight.

From there I walked to Ryoan-ji, which is affiliated with Myoshin-ji, and home of the most famous Zen garden:

"What's so special about the garden at Ryoanji?" I asked him, naming the famous rock and sand garden in Kyoto's most brochured and pamphleted Zen temple. "The spaces between the rocks," he replied, with his mouth full of toothpaste.

-Alan Booth, Looking for the Lost

What I found interesting here was all of the people sitting, gazing at the rock garden, which was smaller than I had imagined. I sat and gazed, too, of course, but I somehow hadn't expected to see what looked almost like sports fans, sitting there, focused, watching their favorite team. It was nice.

For a change of pace, at night I walked up and down Shijo Street, which is closed to traffic because of the Gion festival which is taking place now in Kyoto. Thousands of people are out walking and enjoying each other, buying food and drinks and arts and crafts from street vendors. And lots of women and girls are out wearing traditional Japanese dress, yukatas, and wearing little tabi socks and traditional sandals. So cute.

Today I got up and got out again to see Daitoku-ji, also affiliated with Myoshin-ji, and within saw Daisen-in, where photographs were not allowed, and also Ryogen-in. Overall, Daitoku-ji felt perhaps more "comfortable" than the other temples I visited ... something about the atmosphere there. In Daisen-in the gardens were as beautiful or more so than any I've seen. Also, the words of Soen Ozeki appeared in various places and I liked them, so I scribbled them down. First the inward:

Each day in life is training
training for myself though failure is possible
living each moment
equal to anything
ready for everything
I am alive -- I am this moment
my future is here and now
for if I cannot endure today
when and where will I?

And then the outward:

A Song of Gratitude

The whole family, harmonious and devout.
Aware of debts to our parents and ancestors.
Revering Nature, grateful for society.
Always humble, learning from others.
Able to give, demonstrating kindness.
Making one's motto: "A bright life."
Overlooking others' faults, correcting one's own.
Moderate in speech, not getting angry.
Gentle, kind, honest.
Let's appreciate the joy of life.
Patient. Peaceful.
Not getting angry.
Careful in speech.
This leads to a long life.

Kyoto and Hanazono University

I made it to Kyoto today via train from the Nagoya area. I had planned to hang around a few hours longer and walk around because Fujigaoka, the little town in which my hotel was located, is such a cute place. Clean, neat, orderly, and peaceful. But I found out at the last minute that check-out time was at 10:00 am, so I scrambled to get packed and decided I would go ahead and take the local train line to the station and catch the "real" train to Kyoto. That turned out to be pretty easy to do; public transportation in Japan has been uniformly good, so far.

Once in Kyoto station I stopped at the information desk and figured out which bus to take to the hotel and got checked in, and then did my usual: I set out on foot to see what I would encounter. My approach to sightseeing has been to pick out a few key things I want to see or do, take my time getting to and from those places, and allow an opportunity to find interesting things along the way.

I started out heading toward Myoshin-ji Temple, one of the prominent Rinzai Zen temples in Japan, but when I saw it was taking too long to get there I took a detour to Hanazono University, a small Buddhist university founded by Myoshin-ji. Why? I wanted to see what it was like, so I entered the main gate and asked the security guard if he could help me get some information. He led me to an administrative office where a gentleman with minimal English-speaking skills welcomed me and offered me some green tea, which I happily accepted. I told him I was an American professor and that I wanted some information about programs there. After he gave me some brochures, we chatted a little and then said goodbye. As I was leaving I noticed some students practicing kendo in a gym and stopped and watched for a while, until one of the participants, a young girl, noticed ... she smiled but seemed uncomfortable, so I turned and walked away.

I was hot and tired and it was late, so I found the train station, figured out which line went near my hotel, got a ticket from the machine, and made my way home.

Walking around Seto

Today Atsuo asked one of his students and his assistant to show me around the Seto area, which is famous for its ceramics. We started with a tour of the Setogura-Ra museum and then had lunch, followed by a walking tour of downtown Seto which included several temples, the first of which, Hosenji, is a Soto Zen temple. We then saw the Fukagawa-jinja and Suehiko-jinja Shrines followed by Houngi Temple which has a large ceramic bell on its grounds.

After some afternoon meetings I had an informal dinner with several professors and students at an izakaya, a Japanese pub. It was relaxed and informal and a lot of fun. We stayed out late, and I drank too much sake. Possible?

Arriving in Nagoya

Today, I got up early and checked out so I could face the Tokyo subway during rush hour. The result? It turned out to be a non-event. I somehow imagined hordes of people trying to squeeze themselves through narrow subway openings. Not so. Sure, there were more people riding the subway this morning than I had experienced, but it really was painless. I entered the subway at around 7:25, boarded the train easily, and went a few stops from Asakusa-Mitsuke to Tokyo station, all without a problem.

So I arrived at the platform for the bullet train to Nagoya, the Shinkansen Nozomi, about an hour early and had a snack while I waited, watching businessmen and others coming and going.

While there I noticed the various shop vendors selling drinks, snacks, newspapers, etc. Have you ever seen a perfectly organized vending shop? I'm serious here. These shop clerks are extraordinarily disciplined, and in their shops everything has a place and there's a place for everything ... they're like samurai. Really.

And when each train arrives there's a team of custodians standing at the ready to hop on board and prepare it for the next set of passengers (see photos of the ladies in pink). You see this kind of thing everywhere: people with the discipline of soldiers, standing at attention, waiting to serve should the need arise.

I have the sense that the various "systems" in Japan can cope with additional demands. Very few things seem pushed to the limit as they sometimes do in the US. Here it feels like "things" are done with such care and attention that if something out of the ordinary comes along it can easily be absorbed.

The hour and 43 minute (exactly, as advertised) train ride was very pleasant, and it gave me a chance to see more of the Japanese landscape and little towns in between, as well as some glimpses of Mt. Fuji.

When I arrived my Japanese professor friend, Atsuo, was waiting and picked me up and took me to the Tokugawa Art Museum which included art, furnishings, armor, swords, and garments collected by the Owari Tokugawa family. Among the items there was a copy of the twelfth-century Illustrated Tale of Genji. I can't say I've read this story by Murasaki Shikibu, but I do know some of its poems, which its characters use to express themselves as the story unfolds. Here is one of my favorites:

The memories of long love
gather life driving snow
poignant as the mandarin ducks
who float side by side in sleep.

Floating side by side in sleep ... is there a more beautiful picture of romantic love?

It was also here that I bought my first "souvenir" ... I mentioned the lack of towels in washrooms, so I had had enough: I bought a little handkerchief with a print from Genji, and have been happily using it since, and thinking of this poem each time I use it.

From there we went to a little Japanese restaurant (ha!) and he ordered for me vegetable tempura (batter dipped and fried vegetables) ... it was perfect. Then we headed for the campus of Nanzan University in Seto, talked about research, and found a number of common areas of interest. The campus is very attractive and well maintained. After that we and some of his colleagues had dinner at what must be considered a luxury restaurant in the traditional Japanese style ... and we had our own little room with a staff of young women to assist.

It's hard to imagine being treated with more attention or respect. All in all? A great day.

Green tea ice cream

Most of my friends know I love green tea and green tea ice cream (gtic). It's hard to find good gtic in the US. Not so in Japan. I was just in an am/pm convenience store and came across this. So, not only do Japanese get to enjoy pitchers of green tea when they fly, they also get Haagen-Dazs green tea ice cream? Totally unfair.

Wrapping up Tokyo

In Tokyo, paper napkins in restaurants have a glossy finish, public restrooms have no towels, trash receptacles are uncommon, drinks sometimes come in aluminum cans with twist-off tops, eye contact is made only infrequently, guys wear clothing in shades of either gray or blue, girls wear heels and feminine clothing, and banks have attendants waiting to assist you as you walk in the door (and places to sit until your number is called).

Also, in Tokyo the Chinese Yuan appears to be in a separate category from other currencies. I tried changing my excess Yuan into Japanese Yen at the airport, the hotel, and a couple of banks in downtown Tokyo before finally finding one that would do so. The odd part was that I showed my Yuan at several banks (to make sure they understood what I wanted) and they had me fill out a form (as usual) only to tell me afterward that they could't convert Yuan (strange). Anyway, Mitsubishi Bank in downtown Tokyo was great (though I kept thinking that at some point my transaction would be terminated before completion ... but not so).

As for the lack of towels in restrooms (not only in Tokyo but also in Shanghai and Hong Kong), everyone seems to have a handy little towel or handkerchief tucked away.

And yeah, I have to admit I've noticed what young women wear ... they're much more femininely dressed in Tokyo than in the US, and even more so in Shanghai and Hong Kong. In fact, in Shanghai I kept thinking: the weather is so uncomfortable, it's hot as hell outside, everyone's walking or riding bikes over large distances, and yet girls are all in heels and often in skirts. Riding bikes in high heels?

As for eye contact, it "feels" like the Japanese are focused on getting things done and that they have sort of a "minding their own business" attitude. But if you stop and ask someone for help, they will go out of their way and try even if they understand little English.

In just a few days in Tokyo it's easy to see where the "discipline" part of Zen Buddhism entered the picture, and how it flourished in Japan. It may or may not be thriving in Japan now, but you get the sense that it's still "around" and that people still speak that language. In my room are two books: the New Testament and the Teaching of Buddha.

Tokyo feels so different from Shanghai. I mean, the way people interact among themselves and with me are totally different, and I'm not sure if words alone can capture the feeling of being in either place. There seem to be fewer customs in the way people interact in Shanghai, and people there are maybe easier to read. Whereas Chinese will readily engage in a conversation with a stranger (me), Japanese seem to be more cautious about it.

Also unlike in China, no one here has approached me to start a conversation ... this happened frequently in both Hong Kong and Shanghai. It's the "minding your own business" thing I suppose ... and like I said, very little eye contact.

Oh, and driving here is quite orderly and disciplined, as you might guess. Horn-honking is rare, and taxis won't run over you.

Tomorrow I'm catching an 8:50 am bullet train to Nagoya, the Shinkansen Nozomi that apparently runs at speeds of up to 186 mph. It will take an hour and 43 minutes to get there. That's assuming I can make it to Tokyo Station via the subway during rush hour.

Just to make sure I knew what I was doing, I took the subway today to Tokyo Station as sort of a dress rehearsal and also to see a different part of Tokyo. There are great little side streets in some areas, and the Japanese aesthetic (Edo style architecture, banners with Kanji, etc.) can be found in many little shops and restaurants. And this area is where I found Mitsubishi Bank ... and a Starbucks for a light snack and a cool drink. There are many here, though perhaps less frequently seen than in Hong Kong.

I'm back at the hotel now with few plans other than to prepare a little for meetings tomorrow in Nagoya ... the Japanese professor from there has a full agenda for me for the next couple of days. I think I should rest up.

Asakusa and Senso-ji

Tokyo surely seems to be a very livable city. Despite some cultural differences it almost feels like some place in America that's just a little more neat, clean, and organized. The standard of living here is quite high and, even if there are language issues, I don't think it would take that much adjusting to live here. Of course I'm drawing that conclusion after a few short days.

I met up early today with a former student and his father and they took very good care of me. First we went by subway to the Asakusa area of Tokyo where we had soba noodles and hot sake for lunch at a delightful little place that's renowned for its soba. I didn't manage to catch the name.

From there it was a short walk to Senso-ji, which has a row of market vendors just inside the gate and on the way to the temple. Some visitors were wearing traditional Japanese yukatas and buying and carrying around a type of cherry plant, hozuki, with large orange pods. Daiju's father explained that today is a special day and that the plants, which are said to have thousands of seeds in the inner cherry, have some significance: prayers said today are multiplied thousands of times. And having the plants in one's home is said to bring good fortune. Daiju bought a little orange pod for me and placed it in a clear cellophane bag. We also enjoyed some iced green tea and kibidango, sweets made of rice and a coating of sugar on a little stick.

From there we went the Fukagawa Edo Museum, with reconstructions of Edo-period shops and homes, and Kiyosumi Gardens, with its Kaiyu-style garden landscape, where a girl in traditional Japanese dress was doing some kind of photo shoot. It was a pleasant day for a walk. Also there was a monument to the poet Basho with one of his most famous haiku inscribed:

An old pond!
A frog jumps in --
The sound of water.

Our last stop was the Edo-Tokyo Museum where we saw, among other things, a tiny little reproduction of kabuki with puppets.

Later that evening my friend's friend took me to the Roppongi Hills area where we went to the top of Mori Tower for a spectacular view of Tokyo as well as a walk through the Mori Art Museum. I didn't find much in the museum that spoke to me, but I did happen to see a piece earlier today in the hotel's collection by Bernard Buffet ... I'll try to get by there tomorrow and photograph it, if possible.

Meiji Jingu and Shibuya

Today I was interested in getting out and seeing a few things, so I got in touch with a friend of a friend who introduced me to the Tokyo subway system and took me to the Shibuya station area for a walk. We started with the Meiji Jingu shrine, which is reached after a serene walk along a gravel path in a wooded park.

I don't know much about Shinto (the religion of the emperors) but there was an opportunity there to write prayers on pieces of paper and "submit" them in a little wooden grated box. Lacking a petition of my own, but interested in "participating," I jotted down a favorite poem, Ryokan's death poem, placed it in an envelope with a few coins, and made my offering:

Everywhere you look
The crimson leaves scatter
One by one
Front and back.

How will the gods respond?

From there we walked to Shibuya station with its famous crossing, big-screen TVs (so to speak), and the statue of the little dog who waited 10 years in the same spot for his deceased master to return.

We had noodles for dinner. Mine had chives and a raw egg in miso (I think) and something white squeezed from a bottle. What? I don't know, but it was good.

Leaving Shanghai, arriving in Tokyo

My last full day in Shanghai consisted of a meeting followed by ... logistics, and the realization that I needed a place to stay the next night in Tokyo. Where in Tokyo? I found a room at a place that's too expensive, booked it online, then walked home from the internet cafe and fell into bed.

I made it to Shanghai Pu Dong airport the next day with time to kill, thinking I might have internet access there. Not so. So I looked around and for the first time came close to buying something to bring home: some original calligraphy on a hanging scroll. It consisted of three characters: wu (not) something something, and was mounted very attractively. I liked it. So I asked the saleswoman about the remaining characters ... she said she really liked it because she doesn't want to die, and that everyone should have its words in their home: something along the lines of wishing "not death" or long life or something to that effect. I passed, but thanked her anyway.

Getting through security took a little longer than expected, and I managed to set off the metal detector and was asked to step aside. A young Chinese woman waved a hand-detector around me and then set it aside, and began ... frisking me? She was gentle but quite thorough. I miss her already.

Though delayed, the flight was easy, and Japan Air is great. And so is the food. When they started serving I noticed all the guys were having either beer or wine, and no money was changing hands, so I had an Asahi with dinner, followed by green tea. The attendants come around regularly with pitchers of (very good) green tea. What's not to like?

After an easy hour-and-a-half shuttle ride I made it to my too-expensive hotel. A bell-girl (?) saw me to my room, brought my luggage in, set it up, and asked how she could serve me ... so I asked about our proximity to subway stations and getting around to a couple of places. I knew there's no tipping in China but didn't know about Japan, so I offered. She stepped back so politely, and bowed, and said she only wished to serve.

So I thanked her for her help, said good night, and tried to catch up on some email.

Duo Lun Road

We had torrential rains last night in Shanghai that were still heavy in the morning. The question? How to get to breakfast at the Experts Restaurant. Well, I had an umbrella, a nice travel one that someone in Hong Kong is now enjoying. I left it along the harborfront and when I came back 10 minutes later, it was gone.

I had a friend when I was at Auburn who commented that it was easy to lose a good pocket knife, but since he got a cheap one he just couldn't manage to lose it. Even if he left it lying around someone would fetch it and return it to him. So I bought a cheap, plaid umbrella at the Guest House and headed to breakfast. I wonder if I can lose it. It's ugly enough that I may try.

After breakfast I knew that, despite the rain, I had to find a bank to convert some extra Hong Kong dollars I had. Lots of places don't accept credit cards.

Banks in China? They all seem to be named along the lines of "China X Bank," where X is one of: Merchants, Agriculture, Industry and Commerce, Construction, etc. I opted for X = Construction. On entering there's a little machine that dispenses a number, but the problem is that there are different numbers for different lines and the proper selection is made when getting a number from the machine ... with directions in Chinese.

The security guard noticed my difficulty and kindly offered help ... in Mandarin. He smiled politely when I said "wo bo hui shuo pu tong hua" (the most helpful phrase I learned before coming here ... I don't speak Mandarin). He placed his hand on my shoulder and guided me to a teller who spoke English. I completed my transaction and thanked the guard again as I left. Xie xie.

I made it back to the Guest House ... thoroughly and completely soaked by the rain. But Shanghainese seem to manage just fine in whatever weather. Rain doesn't stop bicyclists, who simply ride with ponchos over them and their handle bars in a way that's common to all, and it apparently works.

I spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon resting since I couldn't manage to arrange more meetings. In the evening I went out with my Mongolian friend to see part of old Shanghai ... the Duo Lun Road area. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Even more fascinating was a little "village" called Li Nong (which literally means "inside road"). If you didn't know to look for it you would never notice it. But once through the narrow entrance there's a calm little community of families living in very tight quarters. I got several smiles from curious children, and tried to imagine what it would be like to live there.

Meetings on Tongji's historic campus

Chinese hip hop ... the other day in the taxi, today in the internet cafe. Hip hop in any language is bad, at least to my ear. With Chinese being a tonal language, the frequent changes in pitch make this style of music all the more ... unusual.

Today I had more meetings, this time on the historic campus of Tongji with the College of Civil Engineering. They went well and we managed to find some common interests despite their finding my professional background somewhat ... unusual. Interdisciplinary research like mine, spanning the fields of engineering, computing, and operations research, is less common here. The School of Software Engineering is perhaps a better match.

One of the professors put me in touch with a travel agent to see if Tiantaishan was doable. I found out today that without a private car it just won't happen. Alas, Hanshan's mountain, "cold mountain," is unreachable:

People ask the way to Cold Mountain.
Cold Mountain? There is no road that goes through.
Even in summer the ice doesn't melt;
Though the sun comes out, the fog is blinding.
Imitating me, where does that get you?
Your heart and mine are not alike.
If your heart were the same as mine,
Then you would already be here.

This evening? Dinner with my Mongolian friend.

Oh, could have taken some photos of Civil Engineering, but didn't ... so, no photos today.

Tongji's Jiading campus

As I've mentioned, Tongji has several campuses, and today I've been at meetings with the School of Software Engineering on the new campus, the Jiading campus, west of Shanghai and near Suzhou.

The Director of their office of international cooperation met me at the Guest House and escorted me on the 40 km shuttle drive to Jiading.

It's a thoroughly modern campus with state-of-the-art computing facilities and loads of international sponsors, including IBM, HP, and even AutoDesk (!). Because of the wide open spaces the scale isn't obvious. These are really large buildings.

I was well cared for, given a nice tour of campus, and met a number of professors and staff before returning late in the afternoon. We found a number of common interests and opportunities for future collaboration.

[Professional details causing addtional loss of interest ommitted.]

I did find out through casual conversation, though, an interesting tidbit.

There are lots of buildings in Shanghai that are inadequately cooled, not cooled at all, or cooled by individual units here and there, leaving common areas warm and uncomfortable. Even new high-rises in Shanghai are constructed with individual, external air-conditioning units outside each apartment. This I didn't understand, so I asked my guide today about it. Apparently there was a government or municipal edict in the 1950s that buildings south of the Huang Pu River would not be centrally heated and cooled. Something about energy consumption. Hmm.

Jade Buddha and Yu Garden

As the photo above shows, bugle playing is clearly prohibited on the grounds of the Tongji University Guest House. Not so elsewhere, as the quasi-musical multi-modal cacophony continues.

Hailing a taxi, leaping into that torrent, is the only way. How so? Find a native Mandarin speaker to direct the taxi driver, or hand him a little slip of paper with directions in Chinese. No English.

There are places, however, where some English is spoken. Around the Jade Buddha temple, my first stop, I was literally overwhelmed outside by the number of people approaching and grabbing me and saying clearly in English: money. Once inside? Statues and gardens and incense and tourists, as expected.

After that was Yu Garden and Bazaar, with more tourists and buying and selling and bargaining. And hot as hell. As in Hong Kong, I wanted to want to further contribute to the Chinese economy, but the only goods I encountered where those a tourist (?) might buy.

As I was carried along by the current of people, a Hanshan verse came to mind:

Yesterday I saw the trees by the river’s edge
Scarred by blades of a thousand axes.
Frost strips the yellowing leaves
River waves pluck at withered roots.
This is the way the living must fare
Why curse at Heaven and Earth?

So, no cursing, but I would like to get off the beaten path if there's a practical way.

Tomorrow? Meetings at the School of Software Engineering.

Lin shi bao fo jiao

Today I spent more time exploring the campus of Tongji. Early in the morning one can find practitioners of qi gong and other arts starting their day. I say "the" campus but Tongji actually has several campuses, and I've been at its historic one. And there's a lot of construction and renovation going on here.

The renovations gave me an opportunity to watch workers erecting bamboo scaffolding from the very start. And the workers seemed fascinated at my interest, giving me smiles and "thumbs up" at times. And also "posing" playfully (in one of the photos, the worker with "leg in air" isn't falling ... he's just having some fun with me).

My exploration lasted until the sky turned dark, so I made it back to the Guest House before the heavy winds and rain came. This gave me an opportunity to prepare for meetings next week and to relect a little.

Having heard about the booming Shanghai economy I'm a little surprised that so much is done "the hard way." With so many doing things in a labor-intensive manner (including just getting around) it's obvious that there's a lot of struggle here just to make it. The Mongolian student who helped me find my way to the Guest House had commented when we met that he viewed education as the way out, the way to success.

When talking later about Tibetan Buddhism, he mentioned an apparently common Chinese phrase I found interesting: "lin shi bao fo jiao" or, literally, temporarily hugging a leg of a statue. The example he gave was of a student unprepared for an exam, imploring heaven for help during a time of crisis ... temporarily.

Getting around in Shanghai

Is it possible that Shanghai's weather is even warmer than Hong Kong's? Maybe it's just more humid. One step outside the door and I'm literally already breaking a sweat. And getting anywhere involves considerable walking. I'm starting to feel a little like Issa, the Japanese Haiku poet:

One bath
After another
How stupid

It's pointless. Even inside in some places the temperature is quite warm. I know because I brought my little REI compass/thermometer combo ... as warm as 85 F inside in places. (As an aside, the compass has kept me from getting lost on more than a few occasions ... highly recommended).

Sitting here in the same internet cafe, like yesterday, I keep thinking it's raining outside. Girls come in retracting their umbrellas, and each time I have the same thought: "oh no, I forgot mine." But it's protection from the sun, not rain.

I'm still trying to get around without getting in the way of bicycles, mopeds, motorcycles, three-wheeled motorized things, cars, trucks, buses, and other pedestrians. I still can't get used to the incessant beeping, buzzing, and honking of horns from those employing every mode of transportation. Well, haven't been honked at by a pedestrian ... yet.

I really don't know, but I have the sense that all the honking isn't coming out of frustration; it's just a practical way of dealing with a complex and crowded transportation system. It has the feel of a musical choreography being played out ... they're just saying: "I'm here," sort of like in the US when bicyclists say "passing on your left" when overtaking pedestrians.

That said, the street vendors and beggars (?) here are much more aggressive than in Hong Kong, where flyers are foisted on passersby but there's no physical contact. Here, I've had to stop and say more than once, "get your hands off me."

The campus area is more tranquil by comparison, and attractive even if the occasional building is a little drab. And there are lots of trees. It could be the campus of any major university in the US ... except for the statue of the Chairman at the entrance, and the traditional Chinese garden with stepped bridges, bamboo, and the little gazebo-thing in the pond (what's it called?). Leading to it is a little zig-zag bridge that is supposed to be more difficult for unfriendly beings to cross (if I remember correctly from verse by my poetry friend Tom).

I have tentative meetings set up for Monday at the School of Software Engineering, and with the Vice Dean there. I really don't know what to expect, but I should prepare a few things and gather my thoughts this weekend in addition to seeing sights. I still haven't figured out how to get to Tiantaishan ... need to finish this blog and work that angle too.

Uh, where am I?

On my way to the airport in Hong Kong this morning I noticed signs to Disney Land. And now that I'm in Shanghai it's clear: Hong Kong not only has a Disney Land, it is the Disney Land of Asia. Hong Kong is a tourist and businessman's destination. Shanghai is real, or at least more real.

When I first arrived in Hong Kong I was greeted at the airport by a Sheraton attendant and escorted to hotel transportation. And when I arrived there the staff were always around, almost underfoot, ready and willing to help with any question, like with the sim card thing.

If I hadn't met a young Taiwanese woman on the flight to Shanghai, I'm not sure I would have made it here to Tongji University. I didn't have the address of the Guest House, and at the curb the taxi attendant just couldn't understand when I said "Tongji." Fortunately she explained and got me into a cab and sent me on my way.

We drove for what must have been over an hour ... we zoomed along at 130 kmh around and between trucks that didn't stay in their lanes. There's an excessive amount of nudging, jockeying for position, and horn tooting. "Shanghai driving" works for Shanghainese, but I doubt whether I could master it. Eventually we hit rush hour traffic which was complete gridlock and yet somehow my taxi driver was navigating through it, inching in, squeezing by, and prompting more honks.

I tried to reach some of my Tongji contacts with my cell phone as we drove, thinking I might get some help and have someone meet me. But, alas, my Hong Kong sim card just wasn't working ... it successfully registered itself on some Chinese mobile network but I kept getting some kind of recording that began with "dui bu qi" and then it was all downhill from there.

But eventually we arrived "somewhere" (where the hell am I?) and my non-English-speaking driver opened my door and placed my luggage on the sidewalk. "Ni hui shuo Ying Wen ma?" (Do you speak English?) He didn't answer, but pointed in the direction of what I assumed was Tongji. A student and his girlfriend noticed me and helped out and got me to the Guest House. He spoke English well, was from Mongolia, and studying surveying at the university.

Arriving here wasn't like arriving at the Sheraton, and the staff here speak very little English. But they're all friendly and they try to help. Unfortunately, there's no internet access here and there's a charge for using the local phone, so I decided another (local) pre-paid sim card was the way to go.

So I ventured out tonight, again making sure not to get lost, and came on a little "phone card" stand in front of some shops and got a card and number for 100 RMB. The girl at the stand couldn't speak English, but when I pulled out my phone and opened the back cover she knew what kind of card I needed, and she let me put it in to make sure it worked before I left.

So I continued walking in the excessively hot and muggy night air of Shanghai and came upon a larger-than-average store with bright fluorescent lights and people heading into it. So I followed inside and saw the store's name in English characters: "Wu Mart: Hypermarket". It was fun to look at all the Chinese variations of groceries, appliances, and other goods ... I did notice however, that in the tea section there were more boxes of Lipton (not marked as such, but I recognized the packaging) than of traditional Chinese teas. Hmm.

I left the store with a cold Sprite and a can of Pringles and headed back for the Guest House. Along the way I was stopped by an older woman and what must have been her husband, and she began talking to me (imploring me?) in Chinese. I assured her I couldn't speak Chinese and that I was American. "Wo bo hui shuo pu tong hua. Wo shih mei guo ren." But the more I repeated myself the more emphatic she became. Finally, I turned and walked away.

I made it back, hot, tired, and ready to fall into bed. My bed? The only firmer surface I've slept on is a floor. But I like it enough that a thought ran through my head: "I wonder if I can get one shipped to Raleigh?"