You Know You`re in Japan When…

As the Clampitts get ready to close the book on Japan, I`ve been thinking about all the things that seemed odd when we arrived. And so begins the series, “You know you`re in Japan when….”

Today`s Entry:

“You know you`re in Japan when your dog is better accessorized than you are.”

I used to live by a rule stating I would never date anybody who had better hair or skinnier legs than me. There is now an amendment to my personal constitution. I will also not have a dog with better hair.

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Like their human counterparts, a dog`s gotta get a little running around time. But it`s not on the way to the park.

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Dog Stroller Parking at the Dog Run

Japanese dogs prefer not to jog alongside their masters. They`re all pack leaders preferring to point the way. Usually from the front basket.

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After Easter and before Labor Day, please adhere to fashion rules. The dog must match the shoes.

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The dog back pack allows the Master two fully functioning hands.

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Don`t leave the house without the shades, shoes, and running outfit-

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Or your blush and false eyelashes.

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Photo by gal on the go- Linda Border

A fashion editor will cover clothing in a separate post.

Until next time, peace from the park.

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Sign Interpretation for your Next Trip to Asia…

Every now and again I find signs which must be shared. These are necessary in order for you and your loved ones to remain safe and healthy while visiting Japan and perhaps other places in the neighborhood. Please study diligently as this may be the only explanation you receive.

Sign Location- The Great Wall of China. WARNING. This sign is X Rated.

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Luckily we didn`t run across any naked flames while hiking the Great Wall. I warned Offspring #2 that should we see any naked flames I would be forced to cover her eyes quickly and without warning lest they burn her eyes.

Truth in Advertising. The population with the highest number of octogenarians is in Okinawa. It`s not due to green tea, exercise, diet or any of the other factors recently highlighted in longevity studies. It`s the condition referred to as “Wild Health” produced by consuming Coke Zero.  Drink lots of it while you`re here.

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Bottoms Up! Here`s looking at you kid.

Railroad Crossing Safety-  There have been far too many accidents involving people walking bears and cats across the railroad tracks. STOP when the railroad crossing signal starts! And please make sure your bear and cat are in a proper sit for safety.

(I`d also recommend moving the teenagers from diapers to big kid pants)

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Toilet Etiquette– The information desk at the Kyoto train station has been overwhelmed with questions regarding toilet technique. In order to free the personnel up to answer inquiries related to bus schedules and geisha sitings, these were installed in all stalls.

Now you know.

This is not for drinking.

Put the lid up.

Sit up Straight.

Eyes face forward.

Feet flat on the ground.

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Some of you who`ve read previous posts know that the toilets here make “Flushing Noises” to cover up embarrassing sounds. Push the button, fake flushing ensues, and  neighbors don`t get the opportunity to snicker at any echoing repercussions from the previous night`s dinner.

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Ann of Green Gables demonstrates how to block out unwanted noise.

But what about the situation where you just need a cozy spot to curl up and read a good book? Fashionable ladies like the one above sometimes take the opportunity to simply sit and read on the toilet. Have you ever been in your own public bathroom reading nook only to have a critical plot twist disturbed by a thunderous fart from next door?

Problem solved. Just press the button! It`s like white noise. Flushing noise drowns out all unwanted distractions.

Next up- Cooking internationally.

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My Corporate Failure and Cherry Blossoms

“Hanami” (flower viewing) season is a time when normal activity in Japan stops so everyone can hurry to their favorite sakura spot in order to lie under the cherry blossoms drinking sake, debating life`s mysteries with friends, or navel gazing in my case reminiscing on my great career failure.

I had great hopes. For twenty years I struggled. I watched others step on my hands as they climbed up the rungs. Ever elusive was my success. My goal just within my reach. I planted and plotted.

Many did what I failed to do.

I was never able to start a corporate buzz word.

I`ve always been an overachiever.

How this could have been? I had such catchy candidates. The cherry blossoms got me thinking again about my corporate failure. Stretched out on the blue tarp swirling the sake in the plastic cup. Thinking. So useful, my buzz words. I could apply them to every circumstance.

Like my HOMAGE to Sakura Season in this Photo MONTAGE. (Montage just makes me laugh when I hear the word so I thought it might lighten the work atmosphere. For me anyway)

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The CACOPHANY  of sounds around Naka Meguro during Sakura season was driven by Cherry Blossom flavored Sake. (Discordant sounds at the same time. Think middle school orchestra or the area of the office populated by several cubicles)

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A side effect of Sakura flavored Sake is the effect it has on one`s IDIOLECT. (a person`s individual speech pattern. Imagine the fun at the office with this one.) Mine becomes more exaggerated and inappropriate for children after a few rounds of sake.

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A few shocking examples that made it.

Vis a vis. I still can`t figure out what that means so I can`t use it. Spouse has tried to explain it to me several times. He`s much smarter than I.

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The GESTALT of the cherry blossoms can be magnificent depending on location. (The all time winner of Buzz words- used often and incorrectly)

My MENTOR liked to boat around the moat of the Imperial Palace best during Sakura Season. (My least favorite-I hate being to told what to do)

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Who wants to guess what this building is? Hint- Cheap Trick- Live at _______

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Now I will leave you with one of my favorite- enduring- MOTIFs- Fuji-san.

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My hair has finally reached the right height. I got a hair TSA pat down recently.

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The Warabi Naked Man Festival

I see you were as intrigued as I to see  gain further cultural enlightenment. The unofficial title drew a bus load of screaming, rabid “50 is the new 20” year olds. Not since the opening of the first male strip clubs in the 80`s have I seen a group of women claw their way on to a bus loaded with kid snacks driven by a Japanese man named Gary.

The official title- The Warabi Hadaka Matsuri doesn`t quite draw the same crowd.We found ourselves the lone Westerners. (Except for Tokyobling who hid among the crowd with his widow maker. See his great pics here) For the Warabi Hadaka Matsuri, local folks gathered to have the babies born the previous year blessed with rice stalks and mud ensuring their prosperity and that of the community. Mixing a temperature of 20 degrees, an icy pond, babies in various states of mind, and sake forms a combustible environment ripe for entertaining blog pictures.

Unlike my usual posts where I amuse (myself) with puns and feeble attempts at humor, this story is best told with pictures.

Once upon a time, in a land known as Chiba prefecture, a rowdy crowd of Japanese people would gather on the coldest day of the year to dunk their bravest and mostly nude men in  to a muddy pond while juggling a baby snug against their chests. Their quest was to bless the baby with mud from the enchanted lake- uhh- rice paddy pond using a rice stalk.

First, the floating ice was scraped and piled on the side of the enchanted lake -errrr- rice paddy pond.

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Somewhere in the depths of the temple, Dads, Uncles, Grandpas and family patriarchs stripped down and were handed their charges.

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A festive procession of screaming children and cold men made its way to the Shrine.

The men cursed the evil enchanted lake rice paddy goddess for not demanding this ritual take place during the summer further fueling the goddess` father issues.

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All the older brothers and sisters were so excited. One followed the procession beating each Dad on the butt. She finished with a peck to her Dad`s cheek.

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Next came the blessings. It was “boo`d” by all the babies. Loudly.

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After a long procession down a long icy hill, the most brave waded in to the enchanted lake/rice paddy pond.

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The babies were then dropped off at the shrine so the men could fight sea monsters or each other. Fending off enchanted lake – I mean rice paddy pond- sea monsters and neighbors requires sake.

Several rounds.

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Mix men, mud, and sake and soon you get chicken fights and mud wrestling. The goddess threw up her hands in exasperation.

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But then they remembered their second purpose- the crowd should also receive a blessing.

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No one was spared.

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Photo by Sheryl LaScala

All were blessed. All ate good food. The brave men and babies had a nice nap.

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Photo by Sheryl LaScala

The End.

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Is It Right to Hate China? The Clampitt`s Investigate

Among ExPats, Japan is referred to as “Asia Lite.”  While shopping one gets confused as to location- there`s more English signage than Japanese and random animals of various size and denomination don`t cross the road along with the pedestrians. Cars drive in the same direction, even stopping at red lights. It could be any American city. (Except Seattle where leash laws are in place for chickens or Boaz, Al where they`re not)

Since Tokyo is so American, other Asian countries, from China to Malaysia, Indonesia and Thailand, have Sodom and Gomorrah type reputations, inferior in every way, home to the rudest and most crass people. Entirely made of dirt. Mighty vats brewing pestilence ready to lay siege on the arriving traveler.

Since China is the current economic power house capable of copying everything but democracy, it is the heralded poster child of all things bad. Mix in bad feelings from thousands of years of fighting with the neighbors and no one has anything nice to say about China.

With this as our expectation, OS#2 and I left for China prepared to be killed on one of the sub standard Chinese manufactured trains or planes, choked by pollution, assaulted by rude, anti-American Chinese people, or poisoned with bad food.

We hadn`t flown out of Japanese air space before Air China let her safety colors fly. The safety video was still reviewing rules and regulations when we landed in Beijing four hours later. It was the in flight entertainment. OS #2 and I watched fascinated as a woman demonstrated the appropriate technique for removing high-heeled shoes and ear rings in case of a water landing. While I envisioned beating the person between me and the door with my 5 inch Jimmy Choos to speed the exit process, Air China imagined a scenario of deflated flotation devices. OS#2 was asked to place both feet on the floor and raise her window shade for take off. I expected an announcement:

“15A- have they finished loading the bags? We`re ready to push back. Please advise a crew member.”

The pilot spoke English, the video covered every possible scenario for exiting the plane including via toilet, we didn`t smell smoke- the two of us gave Air China a safety rating of “Good Enough.”

But the people. Oh the people. Wherever we went, people pulled in the welcome mat and slammed doors shut. Just look at the pictures below. Going out of their way to be rude, they followed us through the sites grinning ear to ear, asked the guide our names and where we were from, wanted us to pose for pictures, practice their English, or thank us for visiting.

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Often people would just run up beside us and someone else would snap a photo. Then they would all run off.

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A few times we took their picture after they took ours.

Hmph. Just like a bunch of New Yorkers if you ask me.

While on the subject of people, let me clear this up right now. The military police are truly nothing to worry about. Several friendly guards paraded around Tiananmen Square -like the furry hatted men at Buckingham Palace.

Here I am about to goose one for fun.

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It was so much fun I decided to do it again. The next soldier was much more friendly. He was so tickled he asked for my number. My passport number. He also wanted to see it. And just to make sure he could find me again in this city of 22 million, he requested my American Driver`s license. So thorough, he wanted to see my Chinese Visa to see how long I`d be in town. He made sure to get all my particulars. The picture just doesn`t show off his sweet side.

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Chairman Mao on the entrance to the Forbidden City. The real Chairman Mao was actually on the opposite side of Tiananmen Square in a glass coffin. If I`d had my glasses cam I may have been able to sneak a pic but at that point I had been assigned a military escort. The North Koreans have learned what a tremendous tourist draw General Mao has been and are now working on a similar site for Kim Jong Ill. I wonder when they`ll realize that tourists are a key component to success in the equation.

Wait- I`m off topic and headed toward politics. Back to it.

Food.

Since OS#2 and I were certain to face certain death or imprisonment in this communist haven, we rolled the die and ate their notoriously poisonous food. Supposedly only a trip to Mexico is a better guarantee of death by diarrhea. It was here that we lost our guide.

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Noodles in spicy black bean sauce, spring rolls, chicken with 100 peppers, and pickled radish.

Fatal or not, it was certainly delicious on the way down. Since OS#2 and I survived until dinner, we kept the breakfast bars stashed and took another gamble. The genuine Peking Duck. In Peking. Which I didn`t know was Beijing until this trip. Apparently I am as ignorant as others claim.

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Not just for cooking pizza.

I would have loved a better picture but at this point everyone in the restaurant was taking a picture of me ogling the ducks. Having never been the center of attention I was unwilling to give up the spotlight, OS#2 saw it differently, pulled a giant hook out of her purse and yanked me out of the restaurant. As I was mid pose, I had to snap on my way out.

The Chinese do work all the time diligently holding fast to a Communist culture robbing them of all fun. Therefore, a toboggan ride was installed at the Great Wall to encourage Chinese tourists to get to the bottom and back to work as soon as possible. I couldn`t take pictures on the way down because OS#2 was not convinced she actually wanted to go down via toboggan. I offered to go first in case crashing in to me was the only way to slow her descent- I needed to hang on.  Next vacation I`m adding the helmet cam to the packing list for situations just like this….

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Contrary to what the Chinese claim, the Mongolians were not kept out by the Great Wall. As you can see, even their savage reputation has been exaggerated over the years.

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Pollution? I could see everything within 50 feet of me just fine.

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View of the Forbidden City from top of hill

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All kidding aside. Expecting other cultures to behave like your own always creates a disappointing vacation. The saying “When in Rome, do as the Romans,” best describes the attitude travelers need to adopt outside one`s own culture. Being open, non judgemental, and keeping a sense of humor will also prevent the natives from viewing you as your country`s negative stereotype.

Usually.

We loved China.

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A Forced March to the Terracotta Warriors- Xi` An China

I`m the only one who wanted to go. Two of the Clampitts flat refused. One actually had a good excuse being that he is living in Canada at the moment. The other got a lecture on culture, missed opportunities, and a stern warning not to blame me for not seeing the Terracotta Warriors in therapy later. The last Clampitt accused me of over packing the agenda, “Like you always do.”  The travel agent was skeptical- but he didn`t understand that a fast walker with a short attention span cuts an agenda in half.

Offspring #2 and I marched toward China. In her case, it was a forced march. As much as she enjoys her time at the pottery wheel, I couldn`t get her to rally any interest around these fellows. We connected and flew an additional two hours to Xi` An. Home of the Terracotta Warriors.

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Raise your hand if you`d never heard of Xi`An (pronounced Shee Ann) before you saw this. This city we`d never heard of is as big as New York City. Population 8 million. It`s all under construction. (Beijing is 20 million, Hong Kong 7 million)

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A drive by. I would like to be the owner of the crane company selling to China. This was taken about an hour outside the main city.

An hour from Xi` An is the excavation site of the Warriors. In the 1970`s some farmers were digging a well and happened to dig in to the very corner of 8,000 buried life-sized Terracotta Warriors.

Surprise!

Fearing they`d unearthed a Zombie apocalypse, they commenced to hashing and slashing. They soon realized these zombies were not the fighting sort and took a closer look.  Unfortunately for them, they had dug up something significant on their now former farm.

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A mere 2,200 years ago, Emperor-Qin Shi Huang, the first Emperor of China and the first to unify it commissioned the creation of the warriors. They took 37 years to complete.

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The museum was built over the excavation site. 1,000 of the soldiers were uncovered however, the rest remain buried. Each soldier is unique and painted to be lifelike, however, upon exposure to air the paint disintegrates. At this point the technology doesn`t exist to prevent the degradation of the paint so the remaining 7,000 will stay buried until they can be excavated safely. Since they are different, I guess you can`t say if you`ve seen one you`ve seen them all.

A picture from the Travel Book shows how they looked painted.

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The Warriors are lined up in battle formation. Or so I was told. Infantry in the front. Further down the line, soldiers wear armor. That`s all I can recall of that conversation. Something else about horses being in a certain spot, and guardsman in another, and maybe certain people face different directions? Each also had weapons however, most were stolen during the last two millennia. Anyway, I`d prefer not to give away any Chinese military secrets as their military police are the scariest most bad ass dudes I`ve ever seen anywhere and I`m still afraid. Here. My lips are sealed.

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I guess a flat top never really goes out of style.

Generals are stationed at the corners. (Our little secret)

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Interesting mane arrangements.

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The reins are long gone.

This is how they originally looked.

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Two sets of bronze chariots and horses were unearthed.

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Following are pictures from the “Valiant Imperial Warrior 2200 Years Ago” Guide which highlights the level of detail on each warrior.

Hair Tips. I did this over the weekend and it came out really nice.

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Surprisingly well manicured.

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Armor.

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I sprung for the autographed copy. Naturally the farmer just happened to be on a “break” when I was in the gift shop. Probably a bunch of ladies in the back signing these.

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After all these years, still happy to pose with tourists.

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Ok- this is a fake. Hate to admit it. Three fakes and a back drop. It cost me 30 cents. How could I not do it? OS#2 said it was easy not to.

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The Truth Behind van Gogh`s Missing Ear…

I now know the true reason van Gogh cut off his ear for the Clampitts recently faced similar circumstances.

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van Gogh Self Portrait

A well-intentioned van Gogh signed on to a group tour of the South of France in order to divine inspiration from the picturesque surroundings. Upon arrival he discovered the only way to enjoy the bucolic setting without having to listen to the woman next to him complain about her hemorrhoids was to cut off his ear. After the removing the ear, he was still able to hear the screaming of the kids forced to participate but too young to be without an afternoon nap and a bottle as the listening part of the ear was still in tact. He then stuffed his ear canal with cotton and covered it with gauze. This was not enough to drown out the prattle of the tour guide determined to impart 1500 years worth of farming history in to an hour`s bus ride. He finally decided to tease his hair in the front, wear his painter`s cap backwards and adopt a maniacal stare in order to appear crazy and unapproachable.

 This didn`t solve the problem that he was bored stiff while waiting on his compadres to buy every kitschy souvenir available before the bus could leave so he painted a self-portrait while waiting.

The Clampitts just returned from a 3 day tour of the Snow Festival in Sapporo. Like van Gogh, I was half crazy by the time we were given our freedom.

There are no pictures of the first two days of the tour. Offspring #1 summed it up nicely in the following dialogue:

Picture a bus load of Western tourists posing for pictures in front of a wooden 1800`s Western style building dominated by a clock tower. Two teenaged offspring and their mother watching.

OS#2   “Mom- why aren`t you taking any pictures?”

OS#1    “That`s Mom`s way of saying `I don`t give a shit.`”

Oh the wisdom of kids in pointing out one`s flaws.

It got better. The pictures will be in the next post.

On the third day we were free to wander the Snow Festival unencumbered by the bus.

Hallelujah.

Two boulevards were set up with Snow and Ice Sculptures. The snow sculptures were all carved by the military reserve units. Although only a short ferry ride from Sapporo to Russia, the military must feel fairly confident that this skill is a useful one in case the defense of Japan is necessary.

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An alter set up for the Opening Ceremony

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I remember loving Ultra man as a kid but I don`t recall him being cross-eyed.

The official opening was not until the afternoon of our departure and most of the Ice Sculptures were under construction.

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The artist uses a toy lion as his model

I was ready to pony up to this.

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Whiskey Bar

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Ice Emperor and Empress Dolls

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We spent as much time with the food as we did the Sculptures.

Here`s a hint:

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Next time…

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Living Dangerously, On the Edge, That`s How I Roll

Living dangerously, on the edge, pushing the boundaries between life and death, an adrenaline junkie seeking the next jolt. This is how I roll. Every day. All day. Yet a challenge remained untested and chiding me from afar. It was time. Time to face the taunting challenge two and half years in the background.

I picked my wardrobe carefully. Comfortable shoes in which to face an uncertain afternoon. A dress for respectability -and in case Spouse couldn`t find one in which to bury me. A wallet full of cash. I informed the Offspring of my whereabouts for the search party`s starting point in case of my untimely demise.  This time my Wing Man waited at the Shibuya Train Station instead of the car most thought carried a diplomat.

I had chosen to roll a dangerous set of dice.  Could I manage this dangerous Japanese foe and live to blog the tail?

Cue Geisha, hair all akimbo playing wildly on the shamisen.

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Metropolitan Museum of Art

It was time to face this foe.

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The Pufferfish is the ultimate example that when living on an island the inhabitants will eat whatever they catch. At least once.

Only licensed chefs and restaurants can handle pufferfish, “fugu.” Knowing immediate death ensues when the wrong body part is ingested makes the government nervous so the serving and handling is closely regulated. Apparently it is a pleasant death preceded by convulsions and tremors. Some locations are rumored to serve portions of pufferfish that will guarantee the pleasing tremors and seizures without the pesky and more permanent accompanying death. I brought along some Benadryl just in case as I find it useful in all kinds of life threatening circumstances. (Usually not my own- often when someone around me is at risk of being sent to the great beyond- bug bites, crying children on planes, keeping the dog from barking while I`m taking a nap, etc)

Andretti-san had researched our spot. Known to be a man of few words and big actions, this was, not surprisingly, his favorite meal. It was easy to find. This is why I haven`t learned to read Japanese Kanji- with signs like this it`s a time waster.

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Just in case we didn`t look up, a tank of unknowing pufferfish swam against the glass out front.

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Restaurants serving fugu serve only fugu, so we ordered fugu. Andretti-san ordered the “Fugu every which way.” (But loose)

1) Fugu Skin marinated in ponzu:

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2) Fugu Sashimi:

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3) Fried fugu with eyeballs. (Haha, that`s a ginkgo nut)

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4) Grilled Fugu.

Just in case we hadn`t gotten enough fugu, we decided ordering more would ensure a complete taste test. Andretti-san explained that as an American I could eat more than the average sumo and ordered more. The waiter was unconvinced.

The man of mystery that is Andretti-san

The man of mystery seen formerly only as a hand model in this blog revealed for the very first time-  Andretti-san

5) Fugu marinated in ponzu. We ate several orders of that. Everything tastes better slathered in ponzu.

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6) Boiled fugu and vegetables.

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This was the first time I`d seen anything boiled in a paper bag.

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This face means, “You`re not finished ordering? Oh wait- is that the chef I hear tapping out something in Morse code with a knife on the wall? Uh yea- we are out of fugu. I have the check right here.”

Sashimi style fugu has a firmer texture than most fish. Cooked it is like- God I hate to say it- chicken. ( Emeril Lagasse come up with a better simile, neh? ) I don`t recall eating the eyes, however, I`m sure they were somewhere in the meal as it was the only thing other than the table we didn`t eat.

7) If you are wondering why the pictures are getting progressively worse, it`s because we also had fugu in sake which is where the tails and fins are served. The whole thing is lit and covered with a top. The box contains the overflowed sake. After several sakes I accused Andretti-san of serving mine in a trick dribble cup which would explain why sake stains were all over the front of my dress. Unfortunately it was the sake dripping off the sake cup as it marinated in the cup.

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About mid way through the meal my hands and feet started tingling and I began a frantic dig through my purse for Benadryl  hurling lipsticks, old receipts and tampons all over the restaurant eventually dumping its contents on the bench. Andretti-san assured me it was the sake and not the fugu as he quietly collected all the paraphernalia I had littered throughout the restaurant and reassured the other patrons I was leaving soon.

Alas, our meal came to an end. This was to be our last  experiment with food. It was our official good-bye.

My wing man, partner in perilous plots to outwit the bank, sensei and tomodachi, and somewhere way down the list, driver, was moving on to the new family taking our place. I am now without my friend and accomplice.

But don`t worry readers. The story of Andretti-san will be told on its own. And it won`t be a sappy story ending with tearful good byes. Oh no- it will be quite the opposite….

Kanpai! (Cheers in Japanese)

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To Be or Not to Be….That Is The Question

To Be or Not to Be?

The question on the mind of the Ouisar-san. Now posted to you.

Some of you have expressed delight concern as to where I`ve been. Not only have I not been aggravating readers who happen upon “Hey From Japan”, I`ve not been stirring the pot in the comments section of other bloggers sites and FB pages.  The secret is this-I`ve been fully immersed in scouting the next exotic location for the blog tag line. Starting last June, the Clampits began entertaining several options to pitch the tent.

I provided Spouse with my list of “Must Haves” for the ideal location.

1) Palm Trees, Banyan Trees, Coconut Trees, Banana Trees, Olive trees or any other Species of tree that does not turn yellow, red and drop it`s leaves in winter.

2) Within 30 degrees of the equator

3) Does not have a cost of living requiring I abandon my current occupation of touring and laundry.

4) Must be at least 4,000 miles away from my family so they have to call before they show up.

He  chose Canada.

So here`s the question.

Do we need another blog from Canada?  I personally follow at least 4 Canadian bloggers. As an American, can I spot the cultural differences? I have some fodder set aside from our “look see” trip that might be entertaining….

One thing I know from my Canadian side of the family is that even though they`ve never put a man on the moon, you can put one in to orbit by provoking one with something along the lines of, “Canada is really just a northern extension of the US.”

Fighting words. Don`t say it unless you can run fast. In the snow.

I  read hilarious author Leanne Shirtliffe`s article “You Know You`re a Canadian When…” and had no idea what any of it meant. Apparently although I`m half Canadian it is blood only.

This leads me to suspect significant differences previously unnoticed.

Spouse left last weekend. The Offspring and I will be cramming every little bit of Japan we haven`t seen in to the next 5 months so I`ll continue on until June or so.

In the meantime-

Canada- to be or not to be? What do you think?

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How Could Something So Pretty Smell So Bad?

And I don`t mean my smelly brood.

I`m referring to one of the World`s Great Mysteries. Not as famous as Crop Circles, the building of the pyramids or the disappearance of the Mayans, but equally mysterious.

Just how is it that these beautiful and majestic Ginkgo trees can smell so bad? One trot through a Ginkgo row and you`ll rival Usain Bolt in a sprint for an escape route. Noxious, nauseating, nefarious- all perfect descriptors of this suffocating stank.

To further the mystery, once the funk reaches a peak and the berries drop to the ground, people clamor to pick the fallen fetid fruits in order to remove the nut inside. Which somehow is then eaten. The first person to discover and eat this nut must have been one hungry hombre. Or Bear Grylls.

When I was in college, there was a lone ginkgo tree outside the Biology building beside the door. One required true dedication to attending class as entering the building during stink season not only meant walking though the stench to get in, but getting whiffs of it through out class. Because of my four years of scent sensitivity training in college, I was able to take these pictures.

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Just like the cockroach and the crocodile, the Ginkgo is a living fossil. Resistant to disease and containing insect repelling enzymes, this tree claims to have specimens up to 2,500 years old. One sniff in that direction and you too will understand why bugs won`t even set up shop in the bark. According to Wikipedia the smell is similar to “vomit or rotten milk.” Others describe it simply as “butt.” Perhaps these creative- and accurate- descriptions can help you understand without resorting to scratch and sniff technology just how putrid these trees can be.

I just wonder why no one ever takes an axe to these specimens.

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These poor school kids. Forced to pick the leaves.Where are child labor laws preventing this abuse?

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At least a few of them are wearing masks. This poor little guy is so discombobulated he has his chin strap attached to his nose.

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Is this the Japanese secret to academic success? Using these ginkgo leaves for their reputed memory enhancing properties thereby creating a SAT super student?

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I guess beauty really can hide a multitude of sins. In this case anyway.

These trees are truly breathtaking- in every  scents of the word.

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