I am over two hours late to a dinner with my visa sponsor. He wants to see my husband more than me, which means I'm once again relegated to playing the role of interpreter. An invitation by this man to anything is never something I turn down so I speed down the highway in my rental car hoping the cops will not see me. In my defense, I called to say I didn't know what time I would arrive and this great man, my sponsor says, "You're working. Work. I'm sure your husband and I will have plenty to talk about even without you here." Two men talking about yours truly without said person's presence is always reason for serious contemplation. I have a very odd feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I am right. By the time I arrive and apologize for my tardiness my husband, my sponsor and his wife have all but finished with dinner. I scarf down the leftovers alternating between giving thanks for the lack of police presence on this evening and sneaking glances at the three hoping someone will volunteer information about what's transpired in my absence. My husband shares the news.
"We're going to Ise Shrine on Christmas," he says. I look up. The question I want to ask is "why" but I'm hoping someone will offer up the answer. Soon would be nice. Never one to disappoint, my sponsor says, "You need cleansing. The spirits of the dead have attached themselves to you, and now they're on him" pointing to my husband, "and us," now to himself and his wife. Of course.
I turn to my husband, knowing looks of 25 years together pass between us with a "Well, clearly this is not a request" stated without words. "We're going to Ise on the 25th," I say, accepting the invitation I dare not turn down. Christmas? What Christmas? I am being taken to Japan's holiest Shinto shrine on Christmas Day so I can be properly cleansed by a priest.
I must explain this whole spirits-attached-to-me thing. Stop reading here if the idea or topic of ghosts seems stupid or silly to you. I'm not asking you to believe. I'm sharing experiences and observations.
Rewind back ten years or so. My first encounter with a ghost was in a hotel room somewhere outside of Montreal. Until this evening I had few strong opinions about ghosts. Did they exist? Possibly. Probably. Maybe.
I had ordered room service after a day of tedious interpreting. The scallops, risotto and asparagus were wonderful. (Why do we remember meals attached to a strong memory?) I smelled the ghost before I felt him--a very strong whiff of cologne--not entirely unpleasant but only obvious in short bursts and in certain parts of the room. I didn't think anything of it except it got in the way of my meal, the scent mixing with the scallops leading to a sweet chemical flavor I didn't like. I moved the tray to the bed, the scent went away and the flavors returned. Success. It was much later when I associated the scent with the wearer. I could smell him where he was in the room. The nearer he was the stronger the cologne odor.
Not thinking any more of this scent I climbed into bed. That's when he came back. The air didn't move, the curtains didn't rustle but the smell of cologne was very powerful. Then the bed moved. It's as if someone sat down next to me, the mattress sinking with the weight. I open my eyes. Nothing. I'm certain, though. Someone is sitting on the edge of the bed. The cologne is strong. What does one say to a ghost? I'm not scared. Is that a good thing? While I'm thinking this he gets up, the mattress rising along with him, and next I feel the bed sink at the foot. He must have sat down again. Somewhere in all this I fall asleep.
Fast forward to post-disaster Tohoku. The topic of ghosts is discussed behind closed doors as if openly talking about the spirits caught between worlds will conjure them up into our living rooms. I became suspicious about the possibility of an additional person in our presence over two years ago while staying at Hiro's office that doubled as my apartment at night. There were simply too many unexplained noises coming from the next room for me to be completely comfortable. I began gently broaching the subject, first about ghosts in general, and second keeping the topic generic and not place-specific. Half of those with whom I spoke had seen or heard a not-quite departed soul.
One night as I battled insomnia tossing and turning I heard a crash in the next room followed by the shuffling of feet. That was it. Tonight I made it official: Hiro's office had a ghost. All this speculation and ignoring the obvious had to go.
I mention this to Hiro the next morning asking mostly what I'm supposed to do around a ghost. "Is there anything I can do or say that will help him move onto the next world?" What am I? The Ghost Whisperer? Why would a ghost listen to me? Then again, maybe no one's told him it's okay to leave this earth. Is that possible? I think all this to myself when I look up and see Hiro pale. "I'm not good with these," he waves his hand in the air, "spirit-things," he says. "Gives me the creeps." Great.
Over the next two years I became accustomed to the visitor in the next room as much as one can be comfortable with such a presence. I wasn't scared of him (I decided it was a he after I heard him sneeze one night) but rather was hoping he'd leave me alone. Mentioning this to my visa sponsor was clearly what led to the "you-must-go-get-cleansed" comment, an entirely new kind of Christmas present.
So, for Christmas this year, we did something entirely un-Christian. David and I, along with five other people made our own pilgrimage to Japan's holiest, most sacred and blessed spot. I don't mess around with religions. I find beauty in these traditions and while I may not agree with the specific message of each, chose to this year, allow myself to be cleansed by a High Priest.
We'll see whether the cleansed me affects the man in the next room at Hiro's place. Maybe I'll now some how be immune to him? Immune? Is that the right word?
Writing about ghosts isn't funny and I don't mean to make light of or poke fun in any way, and that's precisely why I've not written about them until now. The combination of my un-Christian Christmas trip and the reasons for it do, however, make for an interesting story.
'Til next time, The End.
Saturday, December 28, 2013
Sunday, December 22, 2013
Hell Ramen, Umami, and Chocolate of the East
Just so we're clear, I did not write "hellish ramen" or "ramen from hell." Hell ramen is a type of ramen available in Ofunato up in Tohoku. I'd heard the rumors, something about the tongues of those who eat this burning off, or some hell-like analogy of hotness and pain and fire. One night last week I ended up at the restaurant serving this boiling, steaming, red broth of noodles. The gang I am with was determined to eat this famed dish.
There are rankings. The hotness starts at one and goes to fifty. Yuji has tried the fifty, and because he is drunk tells us, pointing to his crotch and bottom, "It's worse coming out." This is, of course, way too much information, except I completely believe him. "Only three people have tried the fifty," he says. He is one of those three and his pride in this accomplishment in ludicrousness defies me.
For the record, I did not order the hell ramen. We had already eaten dinner together previously. Ramen was an add-on, a second dinner and a large one at that. I do not need more carbs right before bed, and I certainly don't need carbs on fire in my stomach taking me into a dream world of burning spice. Conjuring up Sean Connery to rescue me would do no good on nights like this.
Hiro orders a five. We all chide, cajole, tease, and throw mock-insults at him. When the bowl arrives, the broth indeed a deep red (never a good sign), he quickly breaks his chopsticks and heads straight for what will surely be a night he will later regret. Other bowls of ramen arrive and soon those eating are busy with their own milder versions of Japanese comfort food. Hiro is forgotten for a few minutes.
Someone looks up and starts laughing. Heads rise to see what's funny, and soon it's obvious. Hiro's head is completely wet with sweat. I can only see the back of his head but I see small streams of water pouring down his neck and back.
"How are you doing there, Hiro?" Yuji asks.
No answer.
Another question is thrown out which I don't hear because I'm marveling at the amount of sweat on Hiro's head. I hear Hiro reply, "Leave me alone," and we all laugh again.
Even after 25 years with my husband and quite a few years of dating before that I have decided I will never understand what it is about men who must one-up. I bring this up because I hear Yuji say, "I'm ordering a twenty." Everyone stops talking. This is crazy. "I ate the fifty," he says. "I can do twenty." Then we all start talking at once. "You won't sleep," and "You're already having stomach problems," and "I thought you were hung over," and "Won't it interfere with your meds?" During all this I look back at Hiro whose shirt is now wet, the streams having turned into a river which is soaked.
"You okay?" I ask him.
"Leave me alone. I'm concentrating."
We all laugh again.
The server who took Yuji's order is still standing in the same spot, pen and pad in hand. "Are you sure about the twenty?" he asks. This upsets Yuji who even when not drunk is already temperamental and prone to speaking his mind. "Just do it," he snaps, and the man shuffles back into the kitchen. Very soon another bowl comes out and I now alternate between watching the back of Hiro's head and Yuji's profile. Hiro finally puts down his chopsticks and holds up his bowl, a trophy of triumph. We all cheer and continue to laugh at him. When he finally stands I see his crotch is wet, but he says right away, "This is from the sweat pouring down my face. I didn't pee my pants."
Yuji does not finish the broth. As we all stand outside in the cold night air Yuji sucks air through his teeth and tells us it's like dry ice on his tongue. Whatever.
All this focus on Japanese food reminds me of the conversation I had recently with a couple who run one of the largest an producing companies in Japan. An is the sweet bean paste made from azuki (aduki) beans--something so full of nutrients that it should be the new staple in all diets--or so the president tells me. They both tell me anko is the chocolate of the east, sweet and delicate, potent and mild, nutritious but still a candy. Having grown up eating this fine food product, I do agree. If I had to choose between chocolate and anko I would spend a good deal of time on the decision.
The president likes to talk about umami, the fifth flavor ingredient in Japanese cooking. The five are: sweet, salty, bitter, sour, and umami. Often translated as savory, it's essentially what MSG does to food: it tastes better with it. With the campaign touting the evils of MSG there's been a push to find a non-chemical and more holistic method of creating this distinct taste (the way it was originally). All I can say about umami is that while I like the other four and find myself craving chocolate, french fries, salt-and-vinegar potato chips and the like, there comes a point where I've had enough of any of these tastes. I would never eat an entire chocolate cake no matter how good it was. Umami, however, is a flavor I will not tire of. It's like my taste buds are doing a slow tango. I don't want it to end, but when it does I'm entirely satisfied.
I have to wonder about the hell ramen, if umami is some how a part of this broth that makes men do crazy things. I will never try this dish, umami or not. If I die with this regret so be it. I'll find my excitement elsewhere, thank you.
There are rankings. The hotness starts at one and goes to fifty. Yuji has tried the fifty, and because he is drunk tells us, pointing to his crotch and bottom, "It's worse coming out." This is, of course, way too much information, except I completely believe him. "Only three people have tried the fifty," he says. He is one of those three and his pride in this accomplishment in ludicrousness defies me.
For the record, I did not order the hell ramen. We had already eaten dinner together previously. Ramen was an add-on, a second dinner and a large one at that. I do not need more carbs right before bed, and I certainly don't need carbs on fire in my stomach taking me into a dream world of burning spice. Conjuring up Sean Connery to rescue me would do no good on nights like this.
Hiro orders a five. We all chide, cajole, tease, and throw mock-insults at him. When the bowl arrives, the broth indeed a deep red (never a good sign), he quickly breaks his chopsticks and heads straight for what will surely be a night he will later regret. Other bowls of ramen arrive and soon those eating are busy with their own milder versions of Japanese comfort food. Hiro is forgotten for a few minutes.
Someone looks up and starts laughing. Heads rise to see what's funny, and soon it's obvious. Hiro's head is completely wet with sweat. I can only see the back of his head but I see small streams of water pouring down his neck and back.
"How are you doing there, Hiro?" Yuji asks.
No answer.
Another question is thrown out which I don't hear because I'm marveling at the amount of sweat on Hiro's head. I hear Hiro reply, "Leave me alone," and we all laugh again.
Even after 25 years with my husband and quite a few years of dating before that I have decided I will never understand what it is about men who must one-up. I bring this up because I hear Yuji say, "I'm ordering a twenty." Everyone stops talking. This is crazy. "I ate the fifty," he says. "I can do twenty." Then we all start talking at once. "You won't sleep," and "You're already having stomach problems," and "I thought you were hung over," and "Won't it interfere with your meds?" During all this I look back at Hiro whose shirt is now wet, the streams having turned into a river which is soaked.
"You okay?" I ask him.
"Leave me alone. I'm concentrating."
We all laugh again.
The server who took Yuji's order is still standing in the same spot, pen and pad in hand. "Are you sure about the twenty?" he asks. This upsets Yuji who even when not drunk is already temperamental and prone to speaking his mind. "Just do it," he snaps, and the man shuffles back into the kitchen. Very soon another bowl comes out and I now alternate between watching the back of Hiro's head and Yuji's profile. Hiro finally puts down his chopsticks and holds up his bowl, a trophy of triumph. We all cheer and continue to laugh at him. When he finally stands I see his crotch is wet, but he says right away, "This is from the sweat pouring down my face. I didn't pee my pants."
Yuji does not finish the broth. As we all stand outside in the cold night air Yuji sucks air through his teeth and tells us it's like dry ice on his tongue. Whatever.
All this focus on Japanese food reminds me of the conversation I had recently with a couple who run one of the largest an producing companies in Japan. An is the sweet bean paste made from azuki (aduki) beans--something so full of nutrients that it should be the new staple in all diets--or so the president tells me. They both tell me anko is the chocolate of the east, sweet and delicate, potent and mild, nutritious but still a candy. Having grown up eating this fine food product, I do agree. If I had to choose between chocolate and anko I would spend a good deal of time on the decision.
The president likes to talk about umami, the fifth flavor ingredient in Japanese cooking. The five are: sweet, salty, bitter, sour, and umami. Often translated as savory, it's essentially what MSG does to food: it tastes better with it. With the campaign touting the evils of MSG there's been a push to find a non-chemical and more holistic method of creating this distinct taste (the way it was originally). All I can say about umami is that while I like the other four and find myself craving chocolate, french fries, salt-and-vinegar potato chips and the like, there comes a point where I've had enough of any of these tastes. I would never eat an entire chocolate cake no matter how good it was. Umami, however, is a flavor I will not tire of. It's like my taste buds are doing a slow tango. I don't want it to end, but when it does I'm entirely satisfied.
I have to wonder about the hell ramen, if umami is some how a part of this broth that makes men do crazy things. I will never try this dish, umami or not. If I die with this regret so be it. I'll find my excitement elsewhere, thank you.
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Crows, Blowing Winds, and Conspiracy Theories
The wind has been fierce for the past three days in Rikuzentakata. Stepping outside means noses run, eyes tear, cheeks burn, and hair requires rearranging. It's hard to walk. It's hard to stand upright. Window panes rattle causing an eerie whine.
We are located on the ocean here in Rikuzentakata so the argument can be made this kind of weather is normal. The restlessness I sensed among the locals meant these winds are anything but. Finally last night I heard the whole story.
Yuji is drunk. This is not the month for him to detox per his doctor's orders so he's downing beers as fast as they can be reordered. By the end of the evening when we've all switched seats several times mingling and talking, laughing and chiding, I end up next to Yuji who has his own version of what these winds mean.
"It's not normal whats' going on," Yuji says slurring his words.
"What do you mean, it's not normal?" I ask.
"The day before the disaster was like this. Winds ridiculous and seemingly never-ending."
Yuji is the one who shared with me a web site "from somewhere in California" predicting earthquakes. While I put no stock into this type of "science" he's certain there's enough truth not to dismiss.
"Look," he says, showing me his cell phone. "Look at these dates. We're due, most of Japan is due, 100% it says for an earthquake larger than a M5.5."
"But, that was for yesterday," I say. "It didn't happen."
"That's why I'm concerned about the wind. Maybe it's a day off."
Before I can protest his logic he continues, "Then there are the crows."
Here we go. I've heard about the crows before from plenty of locals.
"This morning there were a ton of them sitting on the telephone wires..."
"Just like there were two days before." I've interrupted him and we're now speaking in unison.
"You heard about the crows?"
"Yes, I heard about the crows."
Over and over, I've heard about the crows. Two days prior to the disaster of March 11, 2011 hundreds sat on telephone wires all throughout town, black lines in the sky. They all shat, creating a maze of white lines on the ground.
"The crows were back this morning," Yuji says. "That and the wind and this web site..." and now he's trailed off, reaching for his beer again.
What do I do with this pseudo-science? Nothing. Partly, there's nothing I can do--this is not a real enough warning system--and partly I don't believe the strong-winds-mean-impending-doom theory. The crows I'm less inclined to dismiss. I can't help thinking animals might sense something humans have long since lost the ability to detect. Surely if there were hundreds of crows lining the sky today I would have heard by now. Wouldn't I?
I'm tempted to bring up to Yuji the multiple conspiracy theories I've heard over the past two years about what really caused the giant earthquake. It was Ken who first told me.
"Don't get mad, okay?" This is never a good way to start out a conversation and I should know better than to agree not to be offended by what surely will be offensive. I'm a slow-learner as I told Ken to go ahead.
"There are those who say the Americans, your military, shot a missile into the ocean floor and that's what caused the earthquake and that's what caused the tsunami." I roll my eyes.
"Why would Americans do this?"
"To ruin the Japanese economy."
"Look," I start. Ken interrupts.
"You said you wouldn't get mad!"
"I'm not mad. It's stupid, that's all. If my country wanted to ruin the Japanese economy, now don't get mad," I grin, "it wouldn't target Tohoku. There's not enough going on here that it would bring down all of Japan."
"Huh," he says, clearly not happy I make sense.
What would Yuji make of this? I would completely ruin his theory about crows and winds being viable methods of predicting a natural disaster if the earthquake and subsequent tsunami were anything but natural. I decide Yuji is too drunk for this tonight and let the conversation flow out to sea.
My takeaway from Yuji's concern over crows and wind is this: thoughts of the next big one is right under the surface. If only we could predict.
We are located on the ocean here in Rikuzentakata so the argument can be made this kind of weather is normal. The restlessness I sensed among the locals meant these winds are anything but. Finally last night I heard the whole story.
Yuji is drunk. This is not the month for him to detox per his doctor's orders so he's downing beers as fast as they can be reordered. By the end of the evening when we've all switched seats several times mingling and talking, laughing and chiding, I end up next to Yuji who has his own version of what these winds mean.
"It's not normal whats' going on," Yuji says slurring his words.
"What do you mean, it's not normal?" I ask.
"The day before the disaster was like this. Winds ridiculous and seemingly never-ending."
Yuji is the one who shared with me a web site "from somewhere in California" predicting earthquakes. While I put no stock into this type of "science" he's certain there's enough truth not to dismiss.
"Look," he says, showing me his cell phone. "Look at these dates. We're due, most of Japan is due, 100% it says for an earthquake larger than a M5.5."
"But, that was for yesterday," I say. "It didn't happen."
"That's why I'm concerned about the wind. Maybe it's a day off."
Before I can protest his logic he continues, "Then there are the crows."
Here we go. I've heard about the crows before from plenty of locals.
"This morning there were a ton of them sitting on the telephone wires..."
"Just like there were two days before." I've interrupted him and we're now speaking in unison.
"You heard about the crows?"
"Yes, I heard about the crows."
Over and over, I've heard about the crows. Two days prior to the disaster of March 11, 2011 hundreds sat on telephone wires all throughout town, black lines in the sky. They all shat, creating a maze of white lines on the ground.
"The crows were back this morning," Yuji says. "That and the wind and this web site..." and now he's trailed off, reaching for his beer again.
What do I do with this pseudo-science? Nothing. Partly, there's nothing I can do--this is not a real enough warning system--and partly I don't believe the strong-winds-mean-impending-doom theory. The crows I'm less inclined to dismiss. I can't help thinking animals might sense something humans have long since lost the ability to detect. Surely if there were hundreds of crows lining the sky today I would have heard by now. Wouldn't I?
I'm tempted to bring up to Yuji the multiple conspiracy theories I've heard over the past two years about what really caused the giant earthquake. It was Ken who first told me.
"Don't get mad, okay?" This is never a good way to start out a conversation and I should know better than to agree not to be offended by what surely will be offensive. I'm a slow-learner as I told Ken to go ahead.
"There are those who say the Americans, your military, shot a missile into the ocean floor and that's what caused the earthquake and that's what caused the tsunami." I roll my eyes.
"Why would Americans do this?"
"To ruin the Japanese economy."
"Look," I start. Ken interrupts.
"You said you wouldn't get mad!"
"I'm not mad. It's stupid, that's all. If my country wanted to ruin the Japanese economy, now don't get mad," I grin, "it wouldn't target Tohoku. There's not enough going on here that it would bring down all of Japan."
"Huh," he says, clearly not happy I make sense.
What would Yuji make of this? I would completely ruin his theory about crows and winds being viable methods of predicting a natural disaster if the earthquake and subsequent tsunami were anything but natural. I decide Yuji is too drunk for this tonight and let the conversation flow out to sea.
My takeaway from Yuji's concern over crows and wind is this: thoughts of the next big one is right under the surface. If only we could predict.
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