Our Siam Sojourn: part 1

As winter trudges on (and on), the memories of our family trip to Thailand late last year are slowly sinking over the horizon. It's hard for the mind to conjure up thoughts of white sand, hot days and balmy sunsets when you're sitting, sniffing, sheltering from single digit temperatures in a heated house, wearing more layers than a Sara Lee apple strudel. Luckily though, we have the photos and movies of our trip to momentarily transport us back to the island of Koh Samet, back to the beach, back to the warmth of our slice of paradise that we enjoyed for a while.


But before the beach came the journey, and traveling with tots is an undertaking and a half, as anyone who has had the experience will tell you. You're at the mercy of their little whims, whether you want to admit it or not, as it's pretty hard to convince a two or three year old of the do's and don't's of air travel. Our kids are pretty good travelers though and (mercifully) were happy enough to go with the flow for both flights, this time around.





Travelling's all about adjusting to new surroundings, new rhythms and new sensory experiences, which for toddlers I guess is more like... a new reality. The first big adjustment that our Miss had to make when we alighted in Bangkok was getting her head around the fact that these people, while of Asian denomination, didn't understand a peep of her Japanese chirping - much to her bewilderment. "Why won't she answer me?" She asked E (in Japanese) after proudly telling a flight attendant at BKK airport her age. "You have to speak English to her, darling", E replied (in English) to which the typically smiley, outgoing Thai lady added "Yes, speak English, please!". A request which Miss politely, silently refused. After the initial puzzlement, she pretty quickly cottoned on to the fact that we most definitely "weren't in Kansas anymore" and as an upshot, started to speak the most English she has ever had to speak in her short 3 1/2 years.



At home in Kyoto, her and the boy's day to day English input comes from yours truly, E, our friends and family on Skype and sesamestreet.org So travelling, even to another non-English speaking country, really opened her ears to English as a global language, and not just a language that Elmo and Dad speak. The real fillip for her English, though was the communication she shared with her Grandma and Grandpa, who were waiting for us at our hotel in Bangkok when we arrived in the wee small hours, and the holiday began.

We spent the first day at Chatuchak market, a hulk of a place; an incredible maze of stalls, shouting and selling everything you can imagine - impossible to grasp in a day. In fact, such is its magnitude, that it didn't dawn on me until about halfway through the afternoon that I had actually been there before, some years ago. After ambling through the myriad of alleys and absorbing all we could for the moment, we set up a home base in the park (via a lady who rented us a straw mat to sit on - this place had no shortage of would-be entrepreneurs).



By now, the kids seemed to have decided Bangkok was a perfectly acceptable place to run amok - and what better place to get to know the locals than on the playground! The universality of kid's playing on a jungle gym can never be underestimated.





After our overnight flight and a day spent careening through subway stations and the Godzilla of all markets, it was definitely time to find a place to sit down and reflect over a glass of cold Chang. We made our way to the tourist information centre to ask after a good Thai restaurant, which apparently wasn't the easiest question in the manual to answer for the young lady. She made a vague suggestion about a Thai restaurant around the corner and down the way, but seemed more intent on sending us to the shopping mall next to the train station, saying: "It's got a lot of foreign foods, you know... a food court!" She seemed to be implying that we were somewhat off our heads to be wanting to eat Thai food in Bangkok, especially when there was a McDonalds... right there! Well, we thanked her for her help, and her vague suggestion, and made a beeline for the Thai restaurant, which turned out to be a fantastic place with great staff and food fit for the King of Thailand himself. Aroi! (It did cross my mind to head back to the tourist info place afterwards and thank the lady for her suggestion ... but she probably wouldn't have believed me!)





With bellies full and senses over-saturated, we headed back to our hotel and the next morning, after a trip to the supermarket for some vitals for the van ride, we set off on the next leg of the trip: a 2 hour "truck race" and speed boat ride to Koh Samet - our island getaway...

Geronimo

As we continue with the typically cold Japanese winter months, coughs and colds are inevitably doing the rounds and our home life has become somewhat confined indoors. The space heating culture here (i.e heating the space you're in and leaving the other rooms cold enough to keep a polar bear happy) means that we basically loiter in the living room and hover around our heater as if it's going to suddenly start spouting the meaning of life at any given moment. Anticipating enlightenment aside, we pass the time as anyone would with a 2 and a 3 year old in a confined space: by tidying up after them!
Honestly, the speed at which our two rugrats can completely dismantle a room is astonishing. They are like 2 little demolition workers the way they systematically go about their business - all they need are 2 mini sledgehammers, a couple of tiny hardhats and little size 3 steel capped boots to really get the job done. But as we discovered today, there is of course a madness to their method.

We both came downstairs to find the living room completely trashed, with the laptop placed on the ground and everything else piled in the middle of the room; situation normal. E was puzzled as to why the boy (2) persisted with taking my laptop off its home on the cabinet and leaving it to sit on the floor, as there appeared to be no reason for it other than pure, unabashed anarchy - which you could probably argue is as good a reason as any. It did seem odd however, as he didn't bother with taking off the speakers or the photo frame at the other end of the cabinet, only my laptop. We then watched him clamber on top of the cabinet to occupy the space created by the evicted laptop, pause for a moment to take his mark and leap with the abandon only a 2 year old can muster onto the pile of accumulated cushions and assorted articles and bouncing off onto the tatami, mere centimetres from the coffee table. All this was soundtracked by whoops of delight from his ever encouraging sister; "Again, Again!" Unfortunately for the aspiring acrobat and his cheerleader though, there was no 'again' this time as mum and dad stepped in to spoil the party. The room was put back into some semblance of order and the afternoon continued*.

*Coverage of this Living Room Diving event was not caught on camera, but it is recorded here and can be used as early indicator should the boy become an interior designer or BASE jumper.

the changeover

Sestubun was last Friday, February the 3rd. Each year in Japan this day marks the seasonal changeover from winter to spring on the lunar calendar. It also means that people get to dress up as ogres, throw roasted soy beans at each other and eat a roll of sushi the size of a small canoe while facing in the direction deemed to be most fortuitous for the coming year (this year was North North West). Setsubun is probably my favourite Japanese festival, as much for the lunatic rituals as for the prospect of the coming spring. (Although to be fair there ain't nothing spring-like about Kyoto in early February!)

Appropriate then that I use the occasion of Setsubun to revamp the ol' weblog here and usher in a new title: confluence. Confluence (defined as "a flowing together of two or more streams, rivers, or the like") seemed fitting, as my endlessly endearing (enduring?) wife E and I are up to our necks in the flow of raising our two kids to speak two languages, identify absolutely with two cultures, hold two nationalities and be at one with both vegemite on toast and natto on rice - all under one roof! Yes, our home is indeed a confluence of cultures, languages and ideas. Of confusion, compromises, and, of course, cuisine. And as with any river, we as a family are in a constant state of change; ups and downs, floods and droughts but always with a permanence of flow that ensures we are always moving, whether we like to be or not! It's a lot of fun though, this confluence malarky, hence the decision to begin sketching some of it down here.


The changeover for this blog has been a while in coming, but I decided it was time I started chronicling some of the adventures (and misadventures) in biculturalism our household undertakes. I wanted to start jotting these down primarily for their own prosperity but also to latch onto ideas, experiences, thoughts and musings from others out there (yes, you) that will hopefully both enrich and enlighten our own bicultural, bilingual, biotic journey. The journey through the mountains, to the sea. (Bring your own tube;)

Soul Food

Home cooking. Osaka style!!

Introducing Tako-yaki.

(Tako=Octopus. Yaki=Sizzle).



What's this then?



It's a lot better, with a little batter...




Add some green onion, dried shrimp, and of course, some octopus...









And then. A little sizzle and roll!







A 3D octopus pancake!





Time for condiments! Osaka style..







and the verdict?...



Mmmmm. Osaka soul food!

A `shroom with a view

It was after a few days of consistent spring rain, when the sun shone down on the sacred park known as the Gosho, and the weather warmed their backs that the members of the Kyoto Mushroom Club congregated one Sunday morning. Armed with magnifying glasses, tripods and a zest for all things fungi, the intrepid mushketeers looked forward to a marvellous morning of mushroom viewing, The precipitation whet their anticipation. There were sure to be mushrooms galore.

Registering their names, and receiving Mushroom Monthly, the weekly newsletter.

A crew of twenty five strong set off on the route proposed by their intrepid leader, whose pendant was said to be the source of his tremendous knowledge of mushrooms. Their enthusiasm was only tempered by his dire prediction of trampled fungi should the excitable mob not tread carefully. It was with purpose then , but also a sense of caution that the hunt for the sticky thicket dwellers commenced.

The leader of the pack. A real fun guy. Note mushroom pendant AND mushroom sweater.

After a few minutes came the cry everyone had been waiting for: "Mitsukataaa!" "I found one!" They swooped on the discovery like a flock of pigeons on a chip packet, cooing at the momentous mushroom as you would a new born baby.




Tools of strange description came flying out of pockets to burrow and pick around the stem. Magnifying glasses were shared around as people peered and craned to see. Then another cry, and another, soon people began congregating in so many places that the intrepid leader didn't know who to divulge his knowledge to first. Sprouts of all sizes and shapes were being spied and examined, each one being dutifully noted in the mushroom minutes, before being left to lie limp in the soil. As if a hedgehog had snuffled it up but at the last moment decided to move along. And move along they did, after three hours they had completed a full circuit of the enormous park.







By the end of the tour 32 different types of mushroom or toadstool had been found, fondled and filed. A satisfactory morning's work by all accounts. The session finished that sunny morning with one final speech from a senior member of the group bemoaning the act of mushroom picking from the park. The mushrooms were to be appreciated by everyone, he insisted, and should not be pillaged - besides which, he noted, people still die in Japan every year from eating unknown mushroom varieties. Apparently this hobby is not without its dangers, not that it would ever deter these dedicated followers of fungi.

A tip of the hat.

Well it has been a while between posts, and for want of a better excuse let me just offer this one: err...hibernation? To be fair I have had a busy time of late what with a baby, a trip home, a wedding and a couple of new jobs occupying a lot of my time. But I have recently received some impetus to start blogging again with the chance to write voluntarily for a local travel guide coming my way. In some ways it was the nudge I needed to dust off my writing hat and get to tappin' again.

Speaking of wearing hats, the hats I wear seem to be more varied these days. While I do mean this in a metaphorical sense, I overheard someone at the pub comment once that a hat is something that should be acquired, rather than only worn. A hat, they opined, was an extension of your persona and that not just any hat could be perched on your melon. I tended to agree with that, as new hats are not always easy to wear. They take some time to start to feel acquired. However, the older your hat becomes, the more faded its edges, the softer the fabric and the more it begins to smell like your shampoo (or lack of), the more comfortable it seems to sit on your noddle. I remember hats from my childhood with great fondness - mostly baseball caps that would be shaped and smoothed over years until the colours faded and the plastic would shear through the material, exposing the mold underneath. (Yes mold without the 'u', I never kept my caps THAT long!).



But back to the original comment;I have been wearing some different hats recently, and slowly but surely acquiring them to the point where I feel they sit comfortably on my head. My new 'father' hat is a goody. I found it snug a lot quicker than I imagined I would.

A family of hat wearers. Taken last June.

My `teacher` hat feels like a hat I have inherited somewhat with most of my Dad's family being teachers at some stage in their lives. I wear it with pride. My `foreigner in Japan` hat is easily recognised for what it is. I have recently been trying on my `cook` hat more and more, and have found it a hat I would like to wear more often. (As an aside, the book I am reading now is London by Edward Rutherford - an historical novel which follows numerous families' lineages through London's entire history. Fascinating to see the origins of interesting surnames such as Silversleeves and Bull as well as simpler ones such as Carpenter or Burgess. Being able to see how genealogy effects people's lives and traits more than we realise. Another reason my 'cook' hat is starting to feel 'acquired' methinks.) As I mentioned, my writing hat has been dusted off and it still fits! Finally, my 'husband' hat, which was given to me by a truly remarkable and wonderful woman. Needless to say, I love all of my hats, indeed that is why they are mine!

So I will be donning my writing hat a bit more regularly I hope. A tip of the hat to Chikako and the team at Journal Kyoto too. Thanks!

Pledging Fledglings Flying Fletchings

(Photo by ericity)

Today is Seijin-no-hi, or Coming of Age day in Japan. The dullness of winter is temporarily interrupted by a sudden rush of colour as youngsters who have turned 20 in the past year dress up and gather with their friends to celebrate their transition to the adult realm. The girls wear their best and seemingly brightest kimono, with the splashes of pinks and reds inescapable as you walk down the street. The boys on the other hand usually don a smart suit - perhaps foreshadowing the attire many of them will spend most of their adult lives wearing anyway! Needless to say, the kimono-clad beauties strike a much more festive chord, as they add a little bit of music to the dreary winter streets of Kyoto.
20 is the all encompassing age for most adult activities in Japan, the main exception being marriage, with the legal age for this being 18 for boys and - get this - 16 for girls! Turning 20 however is the major milestone for young people here, as they can now drink, smoke, vote and drive to their hearts content, although advisably not all at once, nor in that particular order.
This set of responsibilities is often given in exchange for a pledge made by the youngsters at ceremonies organised by local governments, in which they promise to be respectable members of society. Then, with pledges made and responsibility garnered, they head out into the cold winter`s night with their duty-bound companions to drink smoke and vote - as is their social obligation.

We went to see a particular Seijin-no-hi event yesterday at one of my favourite temples in Kyoto; Sanjusangendo. Every year a Kyudo (Japanese archery) competition is held here, following a long (long) tradition of the art at this temple. Kyudo is the oldest of all Japanese traditional Martial Arts, and has strong religious connections with Seijin-no-hi. Of course I was unaware of all this until yesterday, but such is the beauty of living in a city like Kyoto!

; The Way of the Bow http://www.shindokan.dk/offentlig/artikler_andres/zen_og_kunsten.php

Admission to the temple was free, a rarity in itself, and as we joined the throngs of people pouring into the grounds to catch a glimpse of the performance of this art by sensei and seito, I was struck by the colour and beauty of literally hundreds of kimono-clad twenty year old girls lining up for their turn to fire an arrow at the target. What a sight! The sensei(s) had gone first I suspect, followed by the boys, and we had arrived in time to see my fiance's cousin take her shot along with some 2000 others. There was something at once addling and enchanting about the sight of all these sweet, innocent looking doll-like Japanese girls, with elegant hair and make-up so delicately applied all armed with 6 foot bows and arrows at the ready. Each a picture of purity, but also lethality - to a maiden.

We watched as the colourful archers took aim and let fly with varying degrees of accuracy. To advance the students had to to hit an 80 cm target that stood some 60m away twice with their only two arrows, while under the persistent and expecting gaze of countless spectators, not to mention the constant flashing of the spectators own weapon of choice. It was an unenviable position to be in I must admit. This pressurised situation must have really called upon the Zen fundamentals of the art, to be able to block out all the distractions of the day and focus solely on hitting that circular target with your arrows.

At the end of the day though, this was not a battle, and the target was not going to shoot back. This was an exercise in discipline and concentration. These young adults were lining up to ritually enter the adult world by focusing on a task and giving it their best shot. The majority of the arrows missed their targets, but I don't think was so important. I think the fact that these young people had the spirit to stand there in front of a thousand people and focus on nothing but their goal resonates a lot more with becoming an adult than being able to hit the target 100 times out 100, or being able to buy a packet of cigarettes.