Myers-Briggs in Japan

Interesting thought from a brief snippet of a radio programme I caught in the car yesterday afternoon. It was an interview with a woman who was tasked with translating the MBTI (Myers Briggs Type Indicator) personality questionnaire into Japanese.

She pointed out firstly that the Japanese have no concept of preference of one thing over another. They tend to know what it is right to say and consider it inappropriate to ever say the opposite. So, for instance, a question 'Do you have few or many friends?' It is clearly, in Japanese culture, desirable to have many friends. So nobody doing the MBTI in Japan would answer 'few.'

This presents some challenges for the question-poser. Fascinating.

I'm usually INTP by the way, with much flexibility over I/E and some over P/J but not the NT. I have few friends. If you didn't understand this try here.

Japanese Traditional Theatre

Nothing quite prepares you for kabuki, one of the three styles of Japanese traditional theatre. I imagine in the same way that nothing would quite prepare a foreigner for pantomime. We did have the benefit of an English commentary (not translation) via an ear-piece but it was still one of the most inaccessible things I have ever experienced. And strangely, hauntingly, beautiful.

These images are of the theatre in Ginza. We had tickets for an afternoon performance. Performances last for up to five hours but the audience tend to come and go, pop off for something to eat or bring their own feast. This is not considered rude. In Japan I was, at five foot ten, somewhat of a giant and so the 90 minutes we did, with my knees almost touching my jaw, were plenty long enough.

In kabuki there are a number of standard works, a bit like the classical theatre canon in the UK. The play we saw was about a samurai being stirred from retirement to go and take revenge for a friend's death.

Costumes are elaborate and expensive. Movements are deliberate and slow. Black clad stage assistants run on from time to time to move props or help with the action. When one of the actors had to drop a child an assistant was standing behind to take the infant and lower it slowly to the floor. All parts are played by men. The language is an ancient text, difficult to follow even for those familiar with the tongue. Our Japanese-speaking hosts could only pick out a few words. The play also has a narrator who sings atonally against the contra-clash of a stringed, lute-like instrument. I am running out of language here. The audience appreciate the way certain movements are carried out and some lines delivered. At the entrances of the more famous stars they yell out that person's stage name as an appreciation.

I'm glad I can say I have experienced it.

Transport in Japan

It's hard to be fully prepared for the east-meets-west experience of Japan. You can read about it but it's so much more.

In this first shot we were sitting in a Costa-like coffee shop in central Tokyo, watching the western-dressed, ethnically mixed passers by, the flashing neon signs mainly in English and the cars driving on the left. We could have been in Regent Street. Go into one of the shops and the quality of the greeting, the tidiness of the place and the appearance of the staff leave you in no doubt this is another world. And that's before anyone opens their mouths to thank you for visiting.

Despite the press suggestion, not everyone wears a face mask in urban Tokyo. About one in twenty do, I'd say. This is less to do with the air quality and more to do with avoiding hay-fever (bad at blossom time). It is also about not spreading germs if you have a cold. It is a courtesy. One of many.

Cars drive on the left because the first batch of Fords delivered to Japan were from the UK not the USA and thus right-hand drive. The sign in this next picture says TOKYO MARATHON 2009.3.22. It is the course Jon and Carys ran.

Public transport is excellent and so there are few cars in the suburbs. Most people get the train or cycle.

Trains are crowded at rush hour and people board them by flinging themselves through closing doors and settling to the floor like retiring stage-divers. Everyone is too polite to criticise and simply shuffles around until there is space. In Japan personal space is smaller than in the UK so two people having a conversation will have their faces much closer together than we are used to. That said, few people talk on trains. Using a mobile phone is frowned upon. Many simply feign sleep. Most passengers had very clean shoes, I noticed. Pride again. Look at how clean this station entrance lobby is.

The announce-ments on an underground train are in crystal-clear American English. For instance 'The next station will be Oji the doors on the right hand side of the train will open.' A computer display over each door tells you the names of the next seven stations or so and the exact time of arrival.

Trains are very punctual and stop exactly so that the doors are alongside platform-marked boarding places. At one point we boarded the 1232 from Kyoto to Tokyo in error when we should have caught the 1229. We were asked, politely, to leave it at the next station and board the correct train. This meant waiting at a station 250 miles down the track for 12 minutes while the slightly slower train we should have boarded caught up with us. Two trains going one 400 mile journey at slightly different paces leaving within three minutes of each other. Both pretty full. Journey time, including change, was 2 hours 45 minutes. Brilliant.

At the mainline stations, armies of immaculately-uniformed cleaning staff come on board and take away litter. At the front of one of the underground trains for one journey I noticed through the glass panelling of the cab that it was incredibly clean and tidy and the driver wore white gloves. No half-eaten pasty or rolled up Sun here.

There was an amazing contrast between the efficiency and tidiness of Narita Airport and Heathrow. On the outward journey our plane failed a security check because a can of drink was found which had not been brought on board by any of the passengers. We all had to disembark again. Delay of one hour and a half. Despite this the service at Narita was perfect. Baggage handlers and maintenance staff were positioned in line at various points around the plane's final resting place to get on with their work. We taxied straight into position despite arriving at a non-scheduled time. A long queue for passport checks was dealt with efficiently and fairly - no guessing which queue would go down quickest here. We were in a single queue at the end of which we were escorted personally to the next free position of six or seven. We were finger-printed and photographed and our bags were on the carousel waiting for us by the time we reached it.

Returning to Heathrow we left Narita on time but on arrival had to wait because our stand wasn't free. The queue for passport control was unfair, the checker chewed gum at us (this would appear very rude to a Japanese visitor), the carpets were held together with tape and a coach driver called Scott on the Heathrow to Reading shuttle was extraordinarily rude to a bunch of Americans (first experience of the country? Sorry guys) and then drove like an idiot.

As a contrast to long-haul flights and bullet trains one touristy thing to be done, especially by the natives, is to be made up like a geisha and pulled through the streets on a rickshaw. These two girls in Kyoto were clearly having a ball doing so.

And when you finally shuffle off this mortal eastern coil? Here's the hearse. Some style.

We probably walked more miles in our eleven days than we usually do but they had a zen-like quality as we observed our surroundings. Buses were pretty good too.

Back in the UK a train manager on the reading to Bristol service took some time out to show two bored children a card trick, then phoned ahead on behalf of a stressed customer to find out the platform number for the connection they were going to find it tight to make. We spoke to strangers on the train. It felt good to be home.

By the way there is a lot of Siberia. I looked out every half hour for ten hours and it was still there.

Food in Japan

So it's our first night in Japan and we pop out to a local restaurant in Urawa. There is a menu, held by Carys in this photo, and a hand-held, table-top device in front of Jon. I chose the photo of Carys and Jon. There exists one of Liz and I, who thought we were doing quite well after being awake for over 24 hours but the picture suggests our eyes were only open by a millimetre. You have done nothing to deserve seeing it.

We order our food by intranet. A selection of waiters and waitresses bring the meal to our table, delivering it with a sing-song Japanese speech which we don't hear anywhere except restaurants the whole of our trip. Jon and Carys tell us there is a formal, almost oldie-worldie, style of speech in a restaurant, not used elsewhere and especially in traditional Japanese restaurants, so the staff are saying something such as, 'Kindly bless us with the joy of consuming our delectable food.' We did. It was lovely. Small portions of several fish, vegetable and tofu dishes to share.

In a sectioned-off area of a large department store these children were being taught to cook. I'd guess they were aged about 5 to 7. They sat perfectly still and attended to their teacher as we watched through the glass. Love the chefs' hats. They seemed so proud to be wearing them. Pride in performance is a theme we noticed again and again. Whatever people were doing they did it with pride, as if it were the most important task in the world.

There is as much space given to tofu and other bean-curd products in a Japanese food store as a medium Tescos in England would allocate to cheese. Most of it is delicious. My experience of tofu is that it depends very much on the flavour of its accompaniments. In fact there is more subtlety and complexity than that.

That said, bean curd did provide us with the one 'won't swallow' moment of our holiday, although we did taste.

The white, central bowl in this illustration contains natto. Natto achieves something quite remarkable. It is a dish that is unpleasant to all five of the senses. It looks disgusting, like regurgitated porridge with green pesto. It smells ghastly. As you remove a spoonful of it from the bowl a squelchy noise can be heard not unlike pulling a wellie out of mud. To the tongue it feels like wallpaper paste with tadpoles in it (you may be getting an idea here and you'd be right). It tastes of very little with added salt. Best avoided. It was available as one of the options at breakfast in our two hotels. Then again so was pasta with meat sauce and an unimaginable attempt at a British sausage.

One style of restaurant, a bit Indonesian, is to griddle your own pancake from selected ingredients, although it turns out they don't trust westerners with such a task and bring it to you in aluminium foil and simply use the griddle in the centre of the table as a hotplate. Here I try to get hold of a piece of egg, fried cabbage, prawns and a sort of barbecue sauce. Mayo was an option but we all turned it down. It was a bit sickly but a fun time. Note the extreme concentration of the inexperienced pancake quarterer.

Food at simple, station-based outlets is marvellous. I have already mentioned I had a wonderful, avocado and shrimp hot sandwich which I will remember until my dying day.

The presentation of packaged food in a food-court or supermarket is brilliant. Here is a bento box - a packed lunch of sushi if you like - the sort you can buy at a station before a journey. The bullet train is so smooth you can eat this safely, with chopsticks, at 220 mph. The major distinction between this and a British version is that the rice is several times more sticky and gorgeous and the fish is immaculately fresh. Oh and the wasabi (Japanese horseradish) takes a wire brush to your sinuses. To compensate, you can drink the water from the taps in most places.

On our final day we visited Asakusa - a shrine with a bustling hinterland of shops, restaurants, take-away food stands and market stalls. We watched this guy making buckwheat noodles in a restaurant window. He started with a huge ball of dough and then, constantly changing up to the next size of rolling pin, produced a single, thin sheet which he folded and cut by hand. Brilliant dexterity. We had to go in and eat and the food was lovely. I had my noodles in a duck broth. My companions suggested that the paste in a jar in the centre of the table was black-bean sauce. It was black and it was sauce. I should have been more guarded as the bowl was small and the spoon tiny. One taste took the plaster off the walls of my previously wasabi-brushed sinuses. The paste contains delayed action chillies. An hour later and I had a lovely sorbet-style blackcurrant ice cream which I could feel heating up inside me as it went down. The only joy is that I digested whatever it was entirely and felt no ill effects as it came out the other end. Either that or it has been inside me for a fortnight and is biding its time.

Our conclusion would be that, as ever, the key to great cooking is great shopping. Simple ingredients. Fresh ingredients. Not very many ingredients. The Japanese get a lot of this right. In fact they only get it wrong with attempts to placate western stomachs in hotels. And with natto.

I've noticed this week that I've put fewer herbs and spices in my cooking and let the ingredients speak for themselves. Why bother to get a fresh, organic veggie box delivered every week if you're going to keep things in the fridge for ages then disguise the flavour?

Going Up

I'm not sure what strange, inner compulsion persuades people to go to one of the most earth-tremor ravaged countries on earth and climb a high building with the durability of a pick-a-stick but hey, that's tourism for you. So we spent two nights in the Kyoto Tower Hotel, an ordinary, western-style hotel with a tower on the top. Part of our booking gave us a free trip to the viewing platform which is the orange and white sticking-out bit.

It is modelled on a lighthouse, supposedly looking out over land-locked Kyoto. Kyoto used to be the capital of Japan until someone with dyslexia in government accidentally wrote Tokyo.

I'm not sure why they feel the need to illuminate the name Kyoto Tower Hotel. In St-world the sign would say 'Take a wild guess.'

Another express-lift ride and then a wonderful view of the region at dusk. The platform publicity boasted that it recently hosted a conference for all thirty Japanese towers. I guess they meant the managers. Now that's what I call a niche-market venue.

The telescopes on the platform are very high-powered. We noticed you could not only see to the mountains and the sea but also into the coffee shops at ground level in the station opposite. Espionage possibilities were endless. Cosmo you'd love it but we'd be able to tell what you were reading.

One of the reasons why trains in Japan are so efficient (more on this later) is that the railways own the malls around the stations. These are not like the small range of shops we tend to have at British stations but galleries of designer stores, food outlets and specialist shops. One of my favourite meals on our trip was a lunchtime shrimp and avocado hot sandwich from a station shop (more on food later). The efficiency of the trains (which apparently make little money) generates the footfall to get people shopping.

The view from our hotel window (a mere eight floors up) was of this illuminated Hitachi sign. I wondered if the word 'generation' continued round the corner. It didn't. Inspire the next what? Answers on a comment.

The soundtrack to all this was of the pedestrian crossing at street level which, from 7.00 a.m. to 10.00 p.m., sounded like someone trying to shoot a cuckoo with a laser gun. You don't mess about on Japanese pedestrian crossings. For starters the journey is long and you need to make good progress to make it in time. For some of the central Tokyo ones I'd advise taking refreshments. Secondly, it is an offence to walk unless the green sign is illuminated. You can be arrested for this.

Having been listening to David Mitchell's Radio 4 programme The Unbelievable Truth I smuggled one lie into this piece. Did you spot it?

The Blossom Thing

Japan is incredibly densely populated. Although there is a large land area (made up of four large islands and thousands of smaller ones) much of it is uninhabitable. The population of 130 million or so huddle in strips near the coast.

Jon lives in Saitama City but there is little agricultural land between his flat and central Tokyo. You cross a couple of rivers but no fields. Imagine suburbia in Britain with no gardens and the houses right next to each other. Then add a few blocks of apartments every fifth or sixth house and you get the picture.

This first view is from Tokyo's Sunshine tower. It is the second highest building in Tokyo - we tried to go up the highest but it was closed to the public on the day of our visit. You will notice we look down on a thirty storey office block. The express elevator up the sixty storey tower did 60 floors in 30 seconds. The first five floors are marked, off, then floors 15, 25, 35, 45, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60. My ears popped twice on the way up and once on the way down. I'm one pop short of equilibrium. In the corners of the viewing floor the glass goes right down to the floor and you can stand next to it and look down. If you want to. I didn't.




So, as few people have
gardens, the parks are very popular. As spring arrives it becomes warm enough to sit in the park and the custom has grown up of picnicking under the blossom of cherry trees. People go crazy photographing blossom. They'd rather have a blooming cherry tree in the background of a family photo than anything else in all the world. Here are some pictures of some blossom, of us watching people photographing blossom (Jon joining in). And one of me being ironic. Can you guess which, viewers?

The parties in the parks seem gentle enough with families and groups of friends pitching up with blue plastic groundsheets. You can see our rather poor effort at same. Also Carys with a cherry blossom flavoured ice-cream. A sort of Vimto Mr Whippy if the truth be told. Jon says that as dusk falls the parties turn into massive binge drinking affairs. There are side stalls selling fast food products which vary from their take on toffee apples, to barbecued herring or bean-curd in pastry - a delicacy.

Come the autumn the whole thing is repeated with maple leaves being the focus of attention although, as Jon says, this is a nation which has a ceremony when they turn on the air conditioning.

Thoughts from Saitama

I thought you'd be very bored by my holiday stories so I'm going to publish them in short posts. Seems more blog-like to me.

For those who don't know, or haven't kept up, my son Jon lives and works in Japan. Liz and I recently took the opportunity (of a lifetime) to visit before he comes home for good, and have a guided tour. Jon speaks very competent Japanese now. Our ability to have bred successful, independent beings is a source of great joy.

We spent some time experiencing ordinary Japan in and around Jon and his girlfriend Carys' apartment. Whilst we did do the tourist thing of ancient monument and gift shop visiting it was this local stuff (off the tourist track) which we really appreciated. Many visitors would simply miss this.

This is me and the lad in front of the Golden Pavilion (Kinkaku-ji) in Kyoto. Although the structure looks really old it is the same age as me, having been completely rebuilt in 1955. The Japanese tend to describe a building as 'centuries old' and then add, 'In that time it's only needed three new sets of walls and four new roofs.' Like the old joke about the spade you've had for twenty years and has only needed two new heads and three new handles.
As many of these ancient places are made of wood, and the winter temperature plummets, it is no surprise that fire has been the major cause of damage to old buildings in Japan over the years. War and earthquakes have also taken their toll. Some of the grounds around temples, pavilions and shrines are beautiful havens of stillness, especially those with koi-laden pools.

A heron sits at the side of this one, watching for the next course. Pictures all by Liz.

A visit in spring is ideal - I will post some thoughts on blossom some other time though. It's complicated.

Tokyo Marathon UIpdate

Spoke to son Jon on Skype earlier today. He finished the marathon in a creditable 3 hours 40 mins. Thanks to all who have sponsored him and Carys for Cancer Research. Not too late to join in. Click here.

Tokyo Marathon

Jon and Carys (son of mustard and partner) are running the Tokyo marathon for Cancer Research. Should you know them, or even if you don't, and wish to sponsor them visit their site here.

You will see a photograph of Jon with a very attractive young lady. We know he's punching above his weight.

Sniff

Many years ago, before shaving became necessary let alone a blog, Mummy told me not to sniff. I was brought up to believe that people who knew how to behave carried a handkerchief. Since then, despite regular failure to avoid touching my nose on the inside in public, I have always carried a large, clean handkerchief. Bit of a trademark.

I failed to pass on this education to either of my sons who have never, as far as I can recall or observe, carried handkerchiefs unless they have a cold and then they use paper ones.

I now learn that in Japan it is very rude to blow your nose in public but sniffing is fine. Junior (who lives in Japan and will be visited this year) has found hog heaven. How will I cope?

Yesterday in Harvey Nicholls, where we went for a visit to the Jimmy Choo museum, there were many Japanese. I rounded a corner whilst wiping my nose on a handkerchief and observed, for the first time in my life, the look of complete disgust on the face of someone who had been well bought up in a different culture.

Confused.

Advent Thought 17

A far eastern tradition at this time of year is to hold an Old Year's Party rather than a New Year's Eve one. The title of this event, so I am told, translates as 'The end of hope.'

I find it curiously optimistic. We make New Year's resolutions, some of us, but the idea of holding a party to celebrate the reality that your hopes turned into? How cool is that?

Let' s take a few days to rejoice that we need have no further hopes for this year. They have turned into reality.

John Cleese's character in the movie Clockwise, despairing at probably missing a vital appointment but not yet certain of failure said something along the lines of, 'I can live with the disappointment; it's the hope I can't stand.'

What were you hoping for 350 days ago? What happened?