53 posts tagged “japanese culture”

Each year, it’s getting harder and harder to see people wearing kimono in public. They’ve always been hard to put on, and over the years, even a simple kimono has become fairly expensive. Nowadays, there are few people you are willing to go to the trouble and expense to wear them. For most people, the kimono has become something that one might wear once or twice in one’s life, on formal occasions, kind of like a tuxedo or a ball gown would be in western countries. One such occasion for wearing a kimono, has always been Coming of Age Day.

The first Monday after New Year's Day is the national holiday, Coming of Age Day, on which 20-year olds are invited to attend a ceremony at the city hall in their hometowns, to welcome them into adult society. Those attending the ceremonies usually dress up in formal wear, which until recently meant wearing a kimono. For many average Japanese people, Coming of Age Day is one of only a handful of chances they get to wear kimono. However, due to Japan's low birthrate, the population is shrinking, so there are fewer 20-year-olds each year to participate in the ceremonies, and few of them are interested in going to listen to some speeches by some old politicians who are out of touch with today's youth culture, and receive a small gift that they don't really need or want. Also, among those who do choose to attend such ceremonies, the wearing of western-style is becoming more and more popular each year. Sadly, I saw only a handful of young women wearing kimono today, and I didn’t even one young man in kimono.

For the past three days we’ve been dining on “osechi ryori”: traditional Japanese New Year’s cuisine. "osechi ryori" is a collection of dried, boiled or pickled seafood, vegetables, and other non-preishable foods; served up in a multi-tiered, lacquer-ware "jyubako" box. It may not sound very appetizing, but the foods in "osechi-ryori" are quite tasty, and each one has symbolic meaning. Eating those foods is supposed to bring you happiness, prosperity and progeny. Traditionally, "osechi riyori" was also designed for convenience. In the days before refrigerators, homemakers wanted to be able to prepare a lot of food for the whole family and relatives coming to visit, before the New Year's holiday began, that would keep for several days, and could be served and stored in the same container. That way they didn't have to cook and clean so many dishes over the holidays, and they could spend more time relaxing with their family. Even though we have refrigerators nowadays, we like most other families in Japan continue the tradition of eating and serving "osechi ryori". However, few people continue to make the more than a dozen dishes that go into "osechi ryori" from scratch anymore. Like us, most families buy the foods at the supermarket, and then just arrange them in their "jyubako" box on New Year's Day. Or a lot of people like Aki's parents place an order at a restaurant or department store for a ready made "jyubako" full of "osechi ryori" to be delivered to their door by courier on New Year's Eve. The foods in “osechi ryori” are traditionally eaten together with a kind of soup, called “ozoni”.

Starting in November, when the temperatures start to dip into the low teens, seemingly every second person, everywhere you go, is wearing a white surgical mask. Colds and the flu virus spread like wildfire here. Because everywhere is so crowded, you’re never more than a few centimeters away from someone, and it’s hard to escape being breathed on. Out of courtesy, cold sufferers put on surgical masks when they go out in public, to reduce the risk of giving their colds to others, Many of those who aren’t coughing and sniffling put on masks to protect themselves from the inconsiderate sick people who don’t have masks on. When I first came to Japan more than a dozen years ago, seeing so many people walking the streets and riding the trains with surgical masks on, was surreal, but now I’m used to it. Since catching bronchitis four weeks ago, I’ve had to start wearing one whenever I’m around other people, which is pretty much all of the time.

In addition to the “yaki imo” (roasted sweet potato) salesman, another sign of winter, is the sound of the “hi no yoshin” volunteer fire brigade members. A lot of people still heat their homes with kerosene heaters, which soon become quite hot to the touch, and there is usually nothing but a thin grille in front of the roaring flame. Because the average Japanese home is quite small and cramped, it’s easy to bump into heaters, burn yourself on them, and knock them over onto something even more flammable like your curtains. Also, as you sit down to relax in front of one of those heaters, you soon feel comfortably drowsy, and it’s not uncommon to be awoken by the smell of your smoking slippers.  Newer models are equipped with automatic shut off switches, in case the heater is knocked over during an earthquake, but older models don’t, and houses have been burnt to the ground by fires started by a fallen heater.  To remind people to be careful when using their heaters, volunteers walk around the neighborhood on cold winter nights; clapping together “hyoshigi” (short planks of wood). The echoing sound really travels far, and everyone who hears it, knows that it means that they should keep a watchful eye on their heater, or “stove” as they’re called in Japanese.

We don’t have the Good Humor ice cream wagons here in the summer, but we do have “yaki imo” (Roasted sweet potato) wagons and tucks here in the winter. On cold nights, you can hear the familiar sound of the “yaki imo” salesmen, as they makes their way through residential neighborhoods, all across Japan; chanting:

Roasted sweet potatoes! Roasted, sweet potatoes! Sweet potatoes roasted on hot coals! Sweet potatoes! Sweet potatoes! Delicious sweet potatoes! Get em while they're hot!

When I came to Japan over a dozen years ago, sweet potato salesmen were mostly retired men, who pulled a wooden cart around the streets, in search of some supplemental income and something to do on a lonely winter’s night. Nowadays, many sweet potato salesmen are middle-aged men in small pick-up trucks; in need of a second income. They sell sweet potatoes by the gram; piping hot, right out of the wood-fire oven in their back of their cart or truck. After they're weighed, the sweet potatoes are wrapped up in newspaper, so that they're easy to hold. People gradually unwrap the top half of the sweet potatoes, break it open, peel off the skin with their fingers, and bite pieces off of them. They're really tasty, and in Japan where most buildings don't have insulation and central heating, a baked sweet potato and a kerosene heater may be your only sources of warmth. So when people hear the call of the sweet potato salesman, people often answer.

Amy and I had a great time at the National Science museum yesterday. From this week until the end of January, they’re hosting The Great Robot Exhibition, which shows how robots have developed in Japan, as well as how they have influenced and will continue to influence Japanese culture. They had displays of “karakuri ningyo” mechanical dolls from the 1700’s, and there were displays of Astro Boy comic books from the 1960’s. There were models of robots that appeared in the Gundam series of animated movies and TV shows, and there were a number of impressive industrial robots showing how fast and efficiently they could do all sorts of factory work. However, what made the exhibition exceptional was that it wasn’t just a collection of objects placed out of reach behind velvet ropes, or encased in glass. There were also places where people could interact with robots. Amy spent a lot of time petty a cuddly robotic baby seal pup, that writhed and yelped with each touch. She spent even more time at a station where kids were given a radio controller, and free reign over a 16” (40 cm) tall, $2000 robot. She loved that almost as much as the performance by Honda’s helper robot Asimo. On a stage resembling a home, Asimo took part in a number of demonstrations that were designed to show people how Asimo would be the perfect personal assistant, butler, nanny and companion, for every member of the family. Upon leaving the theatre, Amy stumbled upon a passageway that went undiscovered by nearly everyone else; containing another Asimo that could perform about a dozen pre-programmed movements and commands, when buttons on a remote controller were pressed. Amy was awestruck by Asimo, and she quickly became a fan. She played with that Asimo off and on for about a half hour, until I finally managed to coax her away with a promise of a delicious ice cream cone. Amy will do almost anything for ice cream. Anyway, on the way out of the museum, we passed by a special table set up by Honda, outside the museum gift shop; selling Asimo souvenirs. Amy just had to have an Asimo souvenir pen and notebook. Then today at school when Amy’s teacher asked her what she wanted to do when she grew up, Amy said that she wants to make robots.

There was a flea market in the next neighborhood today. I probably never would have know about it, if it weren’t for the “Chindonya” that passed me by on the way to the station this morning. “Chindonya” are traditional street performers, who act as walking, musical advertisements. Businesses hire them to publicize new store openings or sales. They usually consist of three members, but sometimes have as many as four or as few as one person. They  walk around the neighborhood of the business that hired them, wearing gaudily colorful clothing and clown-like make-up, and loudly playing jazzy music, on drums, cymbals, clarinets and sometimes on saxophones.  They’re so loud and colorful that you can’t help but notice them, the advertising placard they carry, and the general location of the business that they’re publicizing. The name “Chindonya” is an onomatopoeic expression. In Japanese, “chin” is the sound that cymbals make, “don” is the sound a drum makes, and “ya” is the suffix attached to the end of the names of stores or businesses.

On clear September nights like this, when the harvest moon looks bigger, brighter and more beautiful than usual, people take time out to celebrate that beauty, with simple, family moon viewing parties. When westerners look at a full moon, we see a man's face looking back at us. But the Japanese see a rabbit, pounding rice into rice paste cakes, with a wooden mallet. Looking at a rabbit making rice paste cakes, usually makes Japanese people want to eat rice paste cakes, so at this time of year, confectioners, supermarkets and even convenience stores, all sell small, round, rice paste dumplings, made from rice paste cakes. People usually washi down the rice cakes with some sake (rice wine) as the gaze at the beauty of the harvest moon.

As sort of a going away present, and as a thank-you present for attending her ballet recital, Amy was given a Lica-chan doll from one of her neighborhood friends. Lica-chan is the Japanese equivalent of the Barbie doll. Although it’s made by the Japanese toymaker Takara-Tomy, except for it’s over-sized eyes like those seen on Japanese comic book and cartoon characters, the doll isn’t very Japanese-looking at all. She’s a natural blonde, and the Lica-chan character herself, is supposedly Parisian. However, she appears to be quite cosmopolitan. For the 40th anniversary of the doll, Takara Tomy has developed a new Lica-chan’s World Tour sets  that allow you to dress the doll up in outfits and accessories from the world’s major cities. The Shanghai set comes with a China dress. The Paris contains a beret and sketchbook for going to the museums and art galleries. The Milan set contains a sophisticated dress and violin for Lica’s music recital there, while the hip-hop clothes, and oversized stereo headphones to fit over her reversed baseball cap, give Lica street cred. in the New York set. The Nairobi set comes with a safari suit, pith helmet, and even a baby elephant figure. Lica-chan even has her own blog, which documents the exploits of her world tour. I got an complete education about Lica-chan today at a nearby department store today, when we took Amy shopping there for lica-chan clothes. The doll Amy was given only came with the clothes on its back, and without a change of clothes, it’s not all that much fun to play with. As moving day looms nearer, we thought that if we got Amy a few more outfits, we could get Amy to play with Lica-chan more, while we pack. It’s kind of hard to get a lot of packing done when Amy wants us to play with her, and we don’t like to leave her in front of the TV all day long.

 

I went to the bank today to stamp the loan agreement for my housing mortgage, and open a new bank account there. I couldn’t just sign the papers, because like in some other parts of the Orient signatures are not legally recognized here in Japan. Instead, legal documents must be stamped in red ink, with one’s personal seal, which bears the person’s name written in Chinese characters. In Chinese it's known as a "chop", and in Japanese it's known as a "hanko".

If you've ever seen a Chinese or Japanese painting, you'll usually see a square, red stamp on one side of the picture, with the artist's name on it, instead of the artist's signature as you would see on a painting in western cultures. Artists, public officials and companies usually use square seals, while common people generally use round ones. Personal seals come in different sizes, and are made of different materials, such as ivory, bull's horn, marble, crystal and wood. Clerks and manual laborers often use a plastic or a rubber seal, to stamp memos from their boss to show that they've read them, or use them on a checklist of chores, to show who did which of the staff's work responsibilities. However, more formal, legalistic documents require more formal, extravagant seals, which stamp your name in more elegant, stylized Chinese calligraphy. Today I had two bring two different personal seals to the bank. The larger of the two had my name written in beautiful, extremely formal-looking, and almost unreadable Chinese characters, that are all connected to each other like cursive handwriting would in English. The smaller one contained my name written in a different style of simpler, less formal-looking, unconnected characters, with some space left between each one. I have four different personal seals, which are made of four different materials, and contain my name written in four different writing styles. Which one I use depends on the formality of the situation.

To learn more about the history, use and different types of personal seals in Asia, please click on the links below.

The History and Usage of Personal Seals in Asia

A Seal Making Shop's Home Page