aki matsuri

This morning I sat down to my computer copy of the New York Times with a mug of green tea and a sliced persimmon. Doing so provided me with the realization that I had conveniently forgotten, the past two months, just how important having one's own space is. Well, it is completely untrue that I forgot, but I guess I should say that having my own apartment now reminds me how much better you can feel when you do have your own corner of the world to inhabit.

Hylton moved into the apartment next door yesterday, to the stale smell of a former smoker. Amidst personal distaste for the odor and also allergic reactions, this move hasn't been all for the better, but I think that problem will lessen with time. Even so, it's already better. I no longer have to sleep on the floor, and our personal messes are now safely a wall away from one another. And I always seem to forget how much I love nesting--- something I haven't really been able to engage in until now. I strung shells from nearby Motosuke Beach on twine I bought in Chiba last week, and I also put up the small lantern I bought in Asakusa on our first jaunt to Tokyo. I bought the lantern from a lantern maker for 500 yen, after admiring his hand painted monsters that go for far more money. I found out a few weeks ago that the lantern I ended up purchasing is the one that gets put up around town during aki matsuri, the festival that announces the change over to autumn.

I really have to resist the urge to throw my hard-earned money to the wind at the sight of Japan's creative, colorful and unquestionably cute homewares market. It's everything you could dream up and more. Having a pudding-soft heart for cute things myself, it is difficult to pass up that smiling bunny sponge holder I never knew I needed. Apart from not actually needing the majority of that stuff, I won't be staying here long enough to merit any but the simplest purchases. And anything that I see and think, well, maybe I could splurge just a little... has to be confronted with the oh yeah, how in the world would I get this home? From cute rugs to unique dishware to large stuffed capybaras, it (sigh) all has to pass that test. That said, Hylton keeps seeing unique Japanese guitars he keeps wanting to buy... so at least I'm in good company.

This morning so far has been a continuation of yesterday's clean-and-organize project, but I think this afternoon Hylton and I are heading to Tokyo. Aspidistra Fly, a band from Singapore, are playing in Shibuya and according to the resident Aspidistra Fly expert next door, this is something not to be missed. As I am planning on heading to Tokyo the third weekend of November for Design Festa, I kind of rue having to spend the money to get to Tokyo and back basically for one night. But maybe we'll get there early enough in the day that we can check out more cutesy stores for me to coo over. And if not, Tokyo is a (newsflash) monstrous metropolis that we've only so far seen the tiniest sliver of.


And now, finally, I write something about aki matsuri:



It was any other Sunday night, and Hylton and I had decided to take a stroll over to the nearby Buddhist temple. I spotted the red hillside temple on our first day in Naruto, when an advisor from our company was "helping" us move in. Amidst the three hours this guy spent getting lost trying to find our apartment (that I spent jammed in with all our luggage in the back of Hylton's tiny car), we drove by the place a few times. The temple is set on the side of a forested hill overlooking the area just east of what I consider downtown Naruto. It is quite a beautiful little place, an apt photo op that I would have presented here already if I knew anything more about photography than point and shoot.



On that preceding Saturday we had caught sight of the festival on our side of downtown while on our way to our Saturday afternoon Japanese conversation lesson. It's quite something to see this traditional procession complete with taiko drums and flutes leading slowly down the road, obviously annoying some motorists on their way somewhere, passing convenience stores and barber shops (both of which abound in my side of rural Japan). As we regretfully left the procession and went back to our Japanese lesson we thought that had been the end of it. But as we strolled over the bridge and towards the red temple that Sunday night we realized something was going on just further down the road. The lanterns (like the one hanging above me just now) changed as we walked on. Shop keepers were standing idle outside their stores as dusk encroached, and regarded our passing with mild interest. Past the shops we heard the music, and finally came upon what we figured to be two different floats, that of upper and lower town. We came to that conclusion from Hylton's kanji study (as the people pulling and performing on the floats had different kanji on the back of their traditional dress) and from talking to an elderly town leader who took an interest in our presence. After watching upper town pass us by, we followed the smaller and fewer-peopled lower town float farther down the street to what was a new part of Naruto to us. Night had settled by the time the float stopped in front of a small square with tables, chairs and kegs of sake. On the float were flutists, and around the float soon paraded men make-uped as frightening autumnal women. From the top of the float and from the clowning men bags of white and pink mochi were passed and thrown about. Previous to coming to Japan I had known mochi as the yummy ice cream balls covered with a thin, chewy substance sold by your neighborhood Trader Joe's. Once here I realized that mochi is actually sticky, hard-packed rice, usually formed into blocks or balls (or the covering of that ice cream product from Trader Joe's).



Being the sole non-Japanese people there, we accrued around six bags of mochi from concerned middle-aged women. People were overall really nice: the elderly town leader we had spoken with before came and made conversation, and passed Hylton a large plastic cup of sake which was then dutifully passed to me. I was able to take about four sips of the rice wine before the rest of it met its ultimate demise in one of the omnipresent open sewers just around the bend. We were given a free packaged pastry each, and a brood of middle-aged women gave Hylton and I a painstakingly detailed explanation on the correct preparation of mochi. We were only able to cook about two packages of the mochi before we both felt like our stomachs were packed with rocks, but it was definitely worth doing.



After we had seen enough excited children (especially the ones that caught the gigantic wheel of mochi that was thrown from the top of the float) and brightly lit lanterns for the evening, we slowly made our way home, bowing profusely until we were out of sight of that generous square of people. From what had started out as just an evening walk definitely had become something far richer, and it is experiences like that that make living out in the sticks completely worthwhile. In the rare moments you, as an outsider, get to glimpse the intricate weavings of what I hesitatingly call traditional Japan, expensive rides into Chiba, Tokyo and other big cities seem a small price to pay. I don't think my terrible Japanese would be taken as well in areas more tired of the bumbling foreigner. And I don't think bike riding along city streets, though likely far safer, would be as cleansing as my daily rides past shrines, fields and autumn trees heavy with persimmons.