Fourth Form of Madness

We didn’t plan it this way but it appears hubby and I are doing the festival tour of Japan.  Quite by a fluke of no planning we ended up in Kyoto for the biggest Japanese festival of the year – Gion Matsui.  Of course we went.  Foolishly we started out early in the blazing, hot sun we watched float after float of Japanese culture be wheeled down the sweltering main street.  We weren’t alone.  It appears the Japanese love a festival come rain, hail or sun stroke and were all gathered on the street with us.  One kind gentlemen I was standing next to tried to explain the festival to me, in Japanese.  I smiled and nodded politely and used up my full quota of my one word of Japanese I know (yep you guessed it “Arigatou”).  The poor man realised I was a lost cause early on and went back to sipping his beer and pointing at passing floats.  I went back to quietly melting into the pavement.

By about mid day we were all festivalled out and retired early to the air con of our hotel room and watched it on tv (yes I know there is something way wrong in this).  Tip for would be future Japanese festival groupies – don’t go until dark -that’s when things really kick off, when a day of drinking sake and walking in the hot sun really starts producing it’s profits and things start to really go off (so to speak).

So this time when we found ourselves in Osaka (or Frere Osaka as I have affectionately started to call it) and we just happened to be here for the third biggest Japanese festival – the Tenjin Matsuri – we didn’t venture out to the festival until dusk.  Once again we weren’t alone.  If you have ever been to a moshpit at Big Day Out and thought it was crowded, multiply that by 3 and you have about the number of people on the streets of Osaka surrounding the temple and river.  And they were in the mood for a party and eating as it turns out.  The streets all the way along the river had became lined with stalls, all selling delicious treats.  I have never seen so many things sold on a stick.  There was bbq squid on a stick, fried chicken on a stick, fried mysterious round balls on stick…..I’m guessing you get the picture.  And even though it was hotter than hot, people were eating all the hot treats on offer whilst sweating big beads of sweat.  We were right there with them, eating our sticked treats trying not to poke an eye out when someone accidentally knocked your arm.

Then it grew dark and the promise of fireworks grew nearer.  You could feel the excitement in the air and at the first crack of firework the crowd went a little crazy darting this way and that, trying to get closer to the source so they could see the pretty light show.  We were no exception.  We darted with the crowd, down tiny alleys, across busy streets, going in the general direction of the fireworks but not really knowing where we were going, kind of just following the crowd.  On this occasion it felt like kind of the thing to do.  Then another crack and over a distant building the merest hint of fireworks could be seen.  It was sweet victory after moving through the crowds.  We kept this up for a bit with the crazy crowd until we decided to go in search for a subway and perhaps a frozen chocolate banana if we should be so lucky in our travels.  It was then as we were heading towards home that we caught our best display of fireworks yet, right up in front of us, in brilliant colour and startling sound.  What is it about fireworks that makes one so excited to see them?  It doesn’t matter what country you are from or in when you see them, you all stand there collectively looking up at them, “ohhing” and “arhing” at the bright display like some sort of synchronised flash mob.  This was no exception and for a moment I felt like there was no language barriers and we were all kind of having the same experience.

Released from the crowds and frozen chocolate banana in possession we trundled off in search of a subway.  All festivalled out until the next time…………..

There is a saying in my family when travelling….”Don’t pack more than you can carry”.  I have never been good at this.  I have travelled a lot but unfortunately I am one of those travellers that has never been able to shake the urge to pack everything I own.   Anyway I changed the saying to “Don’t pack more than your husband can carry” long ago and lucky for me my husband has been olympic weight lifting training for the past couple of years and I am happy to say he has been lifting some personal bests on this trip when it comes to lugging my backpack around.  I get the way better deal of being responsible for his waifer thin backpack.  The last time my hubby came to Japan for a 5 week holiday he came with luggage that was allowed on as carry-on as it was so light and half of the luggage consisted of his jiu-jitsui gi.  I don’t know how he does it but clearly the two of us are from two different worlds.

This was never so apparent as the other day when we visited a Kyoto film studio park (a little like the Japanese equivalent of Universal studios).  I know it is very tacky and I am not quite sure why I wanted to go see this studio as usually temples, shrines and tea ceremonies are more my speed.  But there we were trundling along the deserted streets of studio sets of pseudo Edo towns.  It was kind of eerie being the only ones there, like we were the only ones that survived the end of the world (yes you can tell I was having fun with this in my imagination can’t you).

Anyway after spending the first 15 minutes getting dressed up as a geisha for a holiday happy snap which seemed to provide my husband with plenty to laugh about for the remainder of the day, I spied a haunted house to visit.  I don’t know if you are the same, but sometimes I do things that make no sense.  This was one of them.  I am not really one for ghosts or haunted houses or for asking to be voluntary scared for that matter, life can do that quite nicely by itself often on an involuntary basis.  But for some reason I wanted to go into house.   I breezed over the disclaimer that they got us to read (and in English which was impressive) without giving it a second thought ….. and without even noticing that it had words to the effect that once you have entered you can’t come out the way you have gone in.

It wasn’t until the door behind me snapped shut and my husband and I were alone in a dark, small room with yet another disclaimer playing on a tv set up on the wall that I wished I had payed a tinsy winsy bit more attention to the disclaimer or given a smidge more of a thought to where I was going into.  It was here in the dark, hot, airless small room that I suddenly remembered something else that had been happening to me since I landed in Japan – bouts of claustrophobia.  It started the first night in our hotel room, the sudden overwhelming fear and crushing angst that is claustrophobia.  I am one that usually has even steady breath, so to suddenly feel like you can’t breath is an almost unbearable situation.  To be fair I suffered from a few bouts of this back in my  teenage years but I haven’t had it for so long I was taken by surprised when suddenly it was back – fabulous!  This time, however, I at least have yoga breathing I could focus on in the midst of a bout and I really think this helps.

So there I was with the door rolling shut behind me and a full on bout of claustrophobic fear rolling over me.  It’s fair to say I lost it as it first came on but then that tidal wave of fear is so strong it would be hard not to lose it in the first few disorientating seconds of it.  Every sense in my body screamed “Get me out of here” as I proceeded to knock on the door that had just closed behind me and scream something to that effect.  Hubby, bless him, had started to look up the phrase for claustrophobic attack on his Japanese iphone app but the haunted house operators wouldn’t budge, they would not open the door to the tiny room to let us out.  But they did very helpfully, speak to us in english over the microphone into the tiny room saying “Keep moving forward” and opened the door that led into the depths of the haunted house.

So there we are, me trying not to completely go insane with fear whilst focusing on my breathing and with hubby yelling out something in Japanese whilst banging on the door whilst a monotone voice announced over our heads “Keep moving forward”.  I couldn’t make up stuff this good if I tried!  It was then it happened.  I became acutely aware I was watching this fear, this situation, just sitting back and observing and in that instance it became really, really funny and I felt it the fear recede out of me like a wave goes back out to sea and I turned to my husband and said “oh well, we may as well go ahead as they aren’t going to change their minds”.  So there we were making out way through the pseudo haunted house with the occasionally person jumping out and trying to scare us with me laughing to myself the whole way thinking “this is nothing compared to what I just went through”.

The whole situation got a whole lot funnier when we got outside and realised that the word that hubby had been shouting out in Japanese to the haunted house operators loosely translated as “she is making a big deal out of nothing, is fidgety and restless” with a side note at the bottom that sometimes it could also mean claustrophobic!  We couldn’t stop laughing over that one for quite some time.  I got to say, hubby was a rock in this situation.  Even though he must struggle with how I was so filled with fear just standing in a room when he is someone that choses to throw themselves out of airplanes and to be choked out and restricted of air on a regular basis through jiu-jitsui. He gracefully allowed me my space to deal with my own fear (which on my part may have been not so gracefully).

There is another well known saying in our household “It isn’t a holiday until hubby gets sick”.  Every holiday we have gone on usually involves some drastic form of food poisoning wiping my husband out for a few days (or in the case of Nepal – a few weeks).  I have now added a new saying to our repertoire thanks to this last event and another close kidnapping caper that happened in France a few years back — “It ain’t a holiday until I have lost it”….. well folks I am happy to declare this officially a holiday………

Since arriving in Tokyo, I have found myself wandering aimlessly through the impossibly clean and orderly streets clutching an empty can of drink that I finished an hour ago.  Where are all the bins? Seriously, there are no bins on the streets.  But here is the kicker – it is so clean, not a piece of rubbish anywhere to be seen, not even the odd cigarette butt in sight.  My husband, the ever knowing oracle of travel that is presently reading this over my shoulder as we make our way to Kyoto on a bullet train, pointed out that the only place you will find a bin is at vending machines.  And he is right.  This is an interesting observation.  Place to purchase, same place to dispose.  Cut out all the other options and chances to litter and hey presto a tidy freaks paradise (for those that know me, I am clearly not referring to myself as the tidy freak here).

I secretly wonder what the penalties for littering must be in Japan, they must be severe as they seem to work.  Or perhaps there is no such penalties just an inbuilt (via socialization so perhaps not so inbuilt) sense of respect that the Japanese seem to have in abundance.  There is a quietness, a certain serenity about the Japanese that I doubt even 24/7 yoga would produce in me.  Travelling on their super crowded metros is a lesson in crowd control I shall never forget.  The carriages even though packed are quiet and peaceful.  There is no shouting of loud and obnoxious conversations down mobiles, no bragging about drinking feats and sexual conquests on past weekends to all and sundry.  I soon see there are signs up advising passengers to move to the travel spaces in between carriages if they want to use their phones.  So instead there is silence and calm.  Just the sound of the trains motion and the sounds of myself straining something trying to appear as impossibly stylish and serene as the beautiful, eloquent Japanese women.

But for all their style and poise, there is something else I feel when with them, something beyond poise, a certain stoicism.  A certain accepting attitude that whatever comes their way is how life is meant to be and one should humbly live the outcome, come what may.  It is no coincidence, I find myself unconsciously humming “Que Sera Sera” in my head a lot here.

Take for example our gentle and knowledgeable Japanese guide at the Edo Tokyo Museum.  We had arrived at the part of the museum that detailed life in Japan during the second world war.  Our guide had been a young boy in his early teens.  Instead of riding bikes and hanging out with friends, he had been brain washed by the Japanese military (his very words) whilst basically starving to death due to food shortages.  Not to mention that the Japanese military hid the truth from the Japanese people right up to the end of the war.  Whilst everyone in Japan was being told that they were on the cusp of winning the war, the Japanese military officials were signing the surrender papers conceding their defeat.

To hear our gentle guide tell of his dismay at how one day his country went from thinking they were near victory and all their sacrifices were worth it, to the next day being advised that the war was over and Japan had lost was very humbling.  He told of how depressed both himself and the country were following the war, depressed and destroyed.  He showed us pictures of Tokyo at the end of the war and there were not too many buildings standing at all.  So as I looked around I realized that in about 70 years since the war they had rebuilt everything around me.  Such resilience in people always makes me well up a little, how can you not when in the presence of such beauty.

And not only did they rebuild, they kind of thrived.  This country loves an electronic gadget.  I’ve already written about the toilet experience so I will spare you that one again.  But even something as simple as a hotel hairdryer can become an intriguing affair.  There were so many buttons as well as things that didn’t ever look like buttons that when touched did things like helpful alternate between hot and cold air.    I was in awe, the usual hotel hair dryer experience involves it being stuff to a bathroom wall and barely turning on let alone blowing hot air.   In fact, I am starting to see, that anything that has possibly been thought of has been invented and is being sold here in Japan and more often than not, is available from a vending machine.  In fact, there a so many vending machines dotting the landscape of Tokyo offering so many different drinks, that I do believe I could go my whole trip and never drink the same product twice.  And believe me I am trying, I am currently making my way through all the cold milk tea drinks that are on offer over here.

Before coming to Japan, I heard the saying that “Tokyo is the most beautiful ugly city you will ever see”.  I understand that now.  Everywhere you look there are concrete and steel, often mismatched looking buildings thrown together.  An odd mixture of old and new, not only in the buildings but in the people.  But it is a combination that seems to work so well and produce an air of mystery and intrigue as well as safety and comfort that I have I never experienced before when travelling.  And a quietness and gentleness even on the busy streets and trains that I will marvel over for quite some time and hope to emulate in my own lifestyle in days to come.

So hubby and I am are finally in Japan, together.  For quiet a few years now I have been attempting to visit the land of the rising sun.  The first attempt saw my husband go and me have to cancel at the last minute due to work commitments.  I was not a popular person for that one.   But here I am and it was well and truly worth the wait – I am officially in love with this place and the people (and the food).

Admittedly the holiday did get off to a great start with hubby sneakily booking business class seats, no easy feat apparently when using frequent flyers.  I was completely clueless as I hadn’t seen our tickets for the trip (or if I am honest even looked at a single thing regarding the trip – I know I am a bad wife but hey I’ve been uber busy).  So I was about to ask hubby if he had gone completely bonkers when after clambering onto the plane he promptly sat himself down in a business class seat when he finally showed me our boarding pass.  I squealed in delight and covered my hubby with kisses of appreciation as I realised that the long flight ahead was going to be spent in the lap of luxury with champers on tap and free pjs.  So tucked safely in our little pods, and thanks to a few vinos, we slept a good deal of the long flight and woke up in the magic that is Japan.

Admittedly my first thoughts of the place after stepping off the plane at 6am was …… “Damn it’s hotter and more humid than hot yoga!” followed by “Wish I wasn’t wearing skin tight jeans” closely followed by  “Wish the check in for the hotel wasn’t 3pm!”  After an enlightening train journey into Tokyo proper where I marvelled at how calm, orderly and silently a 127 million people move through the subway system and how thoughtful the Japan train companies are to play relaxing bird noises over the PA system (very zen), we found our hotel and disappointedly found out how strict the Japanese hotel staff are about checkin times.  So with plenty of hours to kill and still wearing my skin tight jeans which I am now having serious doubts that I will ever be able to get off, we head for our first Japanese adventure.

Did I mention how hot it is?  I am melting and after about 2 hours of walking somewhat deliriously around in the hot sun wandering up the swanky Ginza shopping strip and visiting the Imperial Palace gardens I suddenly get very interesting in visiting a block printing exhibition in one of the nearby art galleries which I am most certain is air conditioned.  I honestly can’t tell you much about the art as for the first half hour I wandered around in a sun induced trance seeking out any air con vent I could find.  It was here in the v.trendy art gallery that I had my first encounter with the gadgetry marvel of the Japanese toilet.  Seriously folks set aside a full hour for your first visit to a Japanese loo – these beauties make the average Australia loo experience look decidedly boring.  There I was caught up in the magic of pushing buttons for music, seat warming, perfumes etc that I quiet forgot all about time.   Hubby was beside himself with concerns that I had been kidnapped by the Yakusa (flash back to the Gard de Lyon kidnapping capers on our French trip) – I wish, I found him instead battling to keep his eyes open and body perched upright on a seat where I had left him feeling all the wonderful day after effects of a complimentary red wine too many.

We decide at this point that a spot of lunch in Cafe 1894 might be a good idea as it looks ulterior cold – this is my new criteria for a restaurant at this point.  So surrounded by all the Tokyo supermodels that apparently love to lunch we tuck into our very trendy Japanese fare.  It was then I noticed that we were the only two people eating Japanese food and that the other 20 or so Japanese people were eating western food (mostly pasta).  How strange life is sometimes.

Day two sees us wake to a day packed with fun (or that was how I was selling it my husband anyway).  I had taken over the tour guide role and I must say I have a bit of a flare for it.  First stop Edo Tokyo Museum – a very ultra minimalist building with lots of very interesting facts and figures about life in Japan both past and present.  As I have mentioned above, I love Japan and it’s people and here is example number one as to why.  Not only is the price of the entry to this museum very decent (~$6) but they give you a free english audio machine that tells you interesting bits and bobs about various museum pieces.  I know I am showing my age but I love these things particularly when they have someone with a ultra soothing voice like Sean Connery doing the commentary.  When we were in Paris a few years back, they charged a phenomenal amount for the use of audio headsets and also kept your passport as ransom until you returned the headset.  What can I say the French aren’t very trusting of foreigners.  Not the Japanese – their audio headsets are free and they send you one you merry way with a nice smile and instruction sheet on how to operator the devices.  But wait there is more.  They also offer the services of volunteer guides to accompany you around and explain some of the more interesting pieces to you.  Once hubby and I realised this service was available, we lost interest in the audio head set and instead made the journey around the museum with our very own english speaking guide – for free!  Have I mentioned how much I love the Japanese?

After a lunch which involved a green bun that tasted vaguely of melon and had custard in the centre (yes we are doing a lot of unidentified eating in Japan) we set off for a 3 hour nap (yes what can I say travelling in business class really wore us out).  The 3 hour nap fuelled our enthusiasm for adventure and we set forth again through the never ending underground train system to Shimokitazawa where apparently all the cool kids are hanging out.  Not sure about cool kids but we found lots of shops and some second hand clothes stores and some really cute dogs which made me feel a tad guilty about shipping our poor pouch off to holiday prison camp before going on this trip.

We left Shimokitazawa to arrive at our date with destiny – Karaoke – private party room no less (and a good think too as I am sure they didn’t want the two of us unplugged in public).  The two of us cut a mean duet when left alone in a room with alcohol and two microphones.  I am not one to brag but Olivia Newton John better watch her back as there is a new set of pipes in town (you too Kylie if you are reading this).   But the true superstar of the evening was hubby who’s rendition of Johnny Cash’s “Walk the Line” still brings tears to my eyes (of joy not the tears caused by permanent ear drum damage).  Later reliving the magic that was our performance over freshly made sushi and sake shots, we agreed that an hour of Karaoke was probably going to be enough to last us a lifetime and then some………

What makes a home?  I have been contemplating this over the last few weeks as my mother prepares to sell our family home and move somewhere smaller and more secure.  Is it the structure, the bricks or mortar? The furnishings, the personalised decor, the knick knacks that collect on a corner table next to family portraits?  Is it the memories or the hopes for future plans?  These are the questions I ask myself as I walk around my mother’s home.  I have agreed to walk through the house with “fresh eyes” so to speak to see if I can detect any possible reasons why it has spent weeks on the market and despite a collection of uber positive comments, has remained unsold.  What was preventing the deal from being closed?

As I enter the house I am really conscious of a instant homely feel.  This house oozes comfort and promise that a nurturing, enjoyable life is close at hand.  I would even go as far to say that there is a feeling of a celebration of life with beautiful wedding photos and flowers displayed on various surfaces and a fire place that whispers of cosy times spent listening to the crack and pop of cinders whilst watching the hypnotic dance of the flames.  I too am beginning to wonder why this place hasn’t worked it’s magic on a new family as yet.  It is priced reasonably and is situated in a particularly peaceful and beautiful part of the south west. And then I see it.

As I am gazing through the study, seeing not just looking, my eye catch “with sympathy” cards that are on the window sill and desk.  I glance to the book cupboard and I see a prominent funeral home brochure leaping out at me from the other numerous novels.  I move into the main lounge and suddenly feel that I have been transported to the funeral parlour so often seen on Six Feet Under.  There are flower arrangements on wood craved stands and lace doilies.  I get it. This house is selling life on the surface, perhaps on a conscious level, but then underselling it with reminders of death.  There is one thing you don’t want to do when selling a home, when selling someone there new dream, and that is to remind them, no matter how subtly, of death.  This is a certain deal breaker.

After a little chat, Mum decided to pack up her doilies and clear all mentions of death from visual display before the next home open.  We both wait now, eager to see if we have changed the conversation that her home is having with people on the conscious and unconscious level.  Fingers crossed……

I am at a yoga retreat at the moment.  Years ago when I first started yoga and was going through a particularly dark time in my life, I came across a book that the teacher taking the retreat had written.  Some would say it wasn’t a book about yoga, it didn’t have any pictures of asanas or breathing instructions etc.  It was more a book of her experiences and her journey and to me this instinctively felt like yoga.  Her words helped me  find a path through a time that I fear I did not yet have a compass for.

So there I was on day 3, sitting right in front of her as she talked us through the next inquiry we would be taking.  I was sitting there thinking how different this retreat was from what I imagined it was going to be, sitting there thinking that every cell ached in my body due to massage I had the night before and that actually sitting there on the cold floor was probably the last thing I wanted to be doing – even if it was in front of and listening to someone that I had the deepest respect for.  I was marvelling at the softness and organic movement approach that this woman was teaching and how it was challenging all of my past yoga experiences.  And then I realised I had that over whelming desire to leave, to get away from this woman and her knowledge and even though this desire was strong and it felt unpleasant to stay, I did allow myself a little quiet laugh.  I always get this feeling when I am being taught something, it’s like you almost have to drag me there, I resist so much and want to stay where I am.  I’ve had this all my life.  Only in the last few years have I have truly recognised it and what it means when it surfaces.  Usually it is when I am going to do my best “unlearning” and like everything I am still clinging to my old “learning” like it actually part of my identity.

So we begin the next inquiry which starts curled in foetus position on the floor on a blanket.  You are to focus on your core, midway between the belly button and pelvis, to feel the breath beginning here and radiating out through all the four limbs and to only move other parts of the body when the breath moves through them.  Very soft, very gentle, and at this point to me very strange.  I’m still considering edging my way to the door and escaping but a tiny bit of fear of the teacher sees me curl into a reluctant foetus on my blanket.  This teacher is one for the softest spoken people I have been around and her movements are like poetry but one look into her eyes and I sense someone not to be crossed.  So I remain there in foetus for ages just breathing and recognising how reluctantly my body wants feels this shape today.  Then I venture into a little movement. a slight shoulder opening, the merest of a hip opening and then I roll shut again.  Somewhere in that simple movement i kind of get it, so I continue breathing and moving very simply, very organically.  Really feeling the developmental stages of these core movements.

By the time the teachers voice indicates that it time to end this inquiry I am laying there on my blanket, all limbs open and heart and face open up to the sky with big wet silent tears rolling down my face.  Early on in the movement I encountered the strongest of emotions and though I didn’t fancy having this release there in the retreat, I am not one to stand in the way of nature (she is another I try never to cross).  So I stay with the ebb and tides of the emotions and  roll on the blanket quietly and patiently with them like a friend would do when you unburden yourself of your woes to them.  As I lay there at the finish, I heard lots of blowing of noses around me and realised, that in my experience I wasn’t alone and this is always important to remember on our journeys.  I scanned my mind through my body and realised all the pain in my cells and muscles from the massage the night before had gone and that I felt amazingly relaxed and mellow and that really the ideal thing for me to do was to take a nap.  Instead we break for lunch where I had my second bout of unlearning to do (this was turning out to be quite the day of learning – no wondering I felt like running) – but that is a whole other blog for a whole different time.