In which we had a Christmas day dance-off...

...and won, clearly.

After our pilgrimage to the Great Buddha of Kamakura, we returned to downtown Tokyo to spend the night at a friend's apartment and get ready for an early morning trip to Tsukiji Market.  We had heard that if you can bear to wake up before the crack of dawn and make your way unobtrusively through piles of fish slime and whizzing buzz saws waiting for freshly auctioned creatures of the deep, you can watch them auction off hundreds of thousands of dollars of premium grade tuna.  Whether or not four white people, three of whom tower at 6+ feet, can be unobtrusive in Japan was beside the point.  We were getting ready for an adventure.

Of course, Joe and I realized that waking up before 5:00 a.m. was not a sensible option, and that a much more reasonable choice would be to simply stay awake until 5:00 a.m.  And what better place to stay awake in Tokyo than at ageHa, a massive club on the waterfront?

Our mother wholeheartedly concurred with the logic of this plan.

And so, our looks completed by a pair of fly kicks (Joe) and fake eyelashes (myself... perhaps not an experiment to be repeated) we set off.  Though the DJs were only okay, the poolside dance floor proved to be the perfect setting for an impromptu dance-off with a couple of Japanese hipsters.  Five years in Eastern Europe combined with countless off-the-chain-basement-raves (Joe) and more than a few kitchen-dance-parties-of-one (yours truly) to make us the clear winners.  We politely bowed, clutched hands, and smiled our goodbyes to our new friends before we returned to the main floor where hundreds of Japanese people faced the DJ and bobbed ever so slightly side-to-side as the beat pounded from every direction.

You see, Japanese people don't dance.  Well, perhaps that is too broad a statement... at all of the live performances that I have been to, the audience appeared to have all gotten together pre-show and decided that they would, under no circumstances, deviate from the side-to-side bob.  As with many things in Japan, the gaijin did not get the memo and can be easily spotted as their fellow concert goers politely bob away leaving a "safe zone" around the dancing deviant.

We eventually tired of all this space-clearing and realized that 5:00 a.m. comes faster than one might expect.  We returned home in the nick of time and promptly set off for Tsukiji Market where we encountered more styrofoam cartons of UFOs (Unidentifiable Fish Organs) that I could have ever imagined.  We did manage to sneak (re: gaijin smash) our way to the super-secret backroom where, only 6 days later a tuna would be sold for $175,000.

Eventually, we were shooed back to the main area.  Rumor has it that the bulk of the tuna auctions now happen completely behind closed doors.

Check out videos of the tuna auctions here.  They're not mine, but we were in there dodging men with hooked poles and "turret trucks" (ターレットトラック) - which look more like pod-racers full of tuna - with the rest of them.

Some photos of the carnage...

inspecting the fish and havin' a cigarette... not an uncommon sight

back to the main market area, watch the fingers now...

He could fillet a fish in less time than it took me to write this sentence.

Any guesses?  My money is on ovaries.  Ramble: I have, in fact, eaten fish ovaries.  Truth be told, they're not bad.

slabs of tuna, probably about a meter long

tea time

My apologies

My apologies, dear blog.  I have been neglecting you of late, and for that, I am sorry.  Forgetting is so easy with commercial free TV downloads and food blogs (my latest obsession and an excellent way to pass the time at work when I can't come up with anything else to laminate) and naps and trips and... I forget that I get joy from writing, that reworking phrases and running-on sentences is fun, and most of all that rereading what I have written brings back moments that might have otherwise disappeared forever.  So for all of the moments that I have already lost, I'm sorry I waited too long.

Here is one moment that has remained.

It was Christmas morning in Tokyo.  I think it is fair to say that Joe was somewhat less than delighted to be dragged out of bed and to the train station so we could head an hour south to a city called Kamakura whose main claim to fame is the Kamakura Daibutsu (literally, the Kamakura Big Buddha).

Joe:  "How big is this Buddha?"
Me: "I don't know.... big."
Joe: "Like, how big?  A couple stories?"
Me: "Look, I don't know.  It's a big Buddha, okay?  It's probs gonna be pretty big."
Joe: "grumblegrumblegrumble..."

We did a bit of wandering around the town before striking out towards the Big Buddha.  We paused at a shrine along the way.

Joe: "Is this it?  Where's the Buddha?"
Maggie: "Maybe, look, I don't know.  I don't think this is it, cause it's supposed to be big, and I don't see any gigantic peaceful looking dudes, do you?"
Joe: "What is this then?  Why aren't we going to see the Buddha?"
Maggie:  ".................."

Photos from the unidentified shrine, complete with mini-Buddha filled cave.

 
After wandering around said unidentified temple and garden, we arrived at the gate to the main event: The Big Buddha.

...walking along the path....

Joe: "Is this it?"
Me: "Yeah, I think so."
Joe: "Are you sure?"
Me: "Well, that sign right there says 'Kamakura Daibutsu', so yeah, it looks that way."
Joe: "So where's the... oh...... daaaaaamn....... that is a big Buddha."
Me: "Uh huh."

McCarrons in Japan: photo album #1

Check out some photos from our first couple days in Japan, December 24th to the 26th.  These photos were taken in Tokyo, Kamakura, and at the Tsukiji Fish Market (Tokyo).

click the link to see the photo album: Giants in Japan

More photos and stories to come later!  I'm headed to Nagano this weekend for my first (and only???) ski vacation!  The black diamonds are the slopes I should be avoiding, right?

McCarrons in Japan: The Reunion

This entry is a few months late in coming, but I hope you will forgive me.  To quote a recent facebook post of my brother's (thank you Newsfeed for doing my stalking for me), "Sometimes there are too many stories... happening to take the time to write some."  Better late than never though, so here goes the beginning of The McCarrons in Japan.

It all started with a Christmas cookie filled reunion at Narita Airport outside Tokyo on Decemeber 23rd.  My father had managed to carry a plate (the original Christmas themed Dixie) of Tracey's Christmas cookies all the way from Minnesota to Tokyo.  Tracey, resident Christmas Cookie Queen, makes a plate of Christmas cookies every year.  And every year, I wait with anticipation for the moment that I can snatch a handful.  The lemon bars (pictured) are my favorites.  Needless to say, I was delighted by the surprise and happily consumed all but the smallest crumbs as we waited for my lovely mother to arrive.


We waited in one of the ubiquitous Starbucks.  My eyes, still trained by Kanazawa to pick out a foreigner a mile away, were having a hard time keeping up with the deluge.  As I watched the crowds pass though, one man in particular stuck out.  He looked familiar.  As I stared at him with inappropriate intensity, I realized how I knew him.  We had taken a couple of Educational Studies courses together at Macalester, of course.  I went over to say hello.  We helpfully reminded each other of our names (Chris, I knew it was something Scandinavian), and it turns out he was here visiting family for the winter vacation.  Sometimes it is a small small world.


Mom and I managed to keep the reunion tears to a minimum, and soon we headed off to the Rogers's house where we would stay for the next five days.

Photos from December 24th, spent wandering around the greater Shinjuku area.

Keio Plaza Hotel - home of the JET Orientation for 20 years running

Tokyo City Hall aka Gotham City

He found the waterfall. : )

a different view of Tokyo, just behind City Hall

 

nice dragon faucet at a temple tucked behind the shanty town tucked behind City Hall... this is Tokyo

Notice the woman in full on traditional bridal wear in the back.  We were too sheepish to go ask her for a photo. 

That's a lot of balls.

Turns out he did have clothes...

Okay, after recently publishing a facebook album in just under 36 hours from the time stamp of the last photo, I have renewed motivation to be more timely in my internet endeavors. So here goes the second half of my Emperor saga:



The Imperial Palace is long and low and sleek like a 1960's rambler that Frank Lloyd Wright might have designed. I snagged a spot near the front and immediately felt bad for the people stuck staring at my shoulder blades. Almost as immediately I decided that I didn't care. Consider it karmic revenge for all those brain cells I have lost on short doorways. (on a side note: As I was standing, spine pressed to the back railing at a concert and enjoying my uninterrupted view of the stage, a tall friend of mine leaned down and whispered, "JET - my years standing at the back of rooms.")

When the Emperor finally appeared, Empress and Imperial Family in tow, I strained to get a better view of Princess Masako, the Harvard educated diplomat who is the subject of severe public censure as a result of her inability to produce a male heir. Yes, this is the modern world... though I do wonder. On the other hand, Michelle Obama would likely get a serious tongue lashing were she to show a hint of upper arm fat.

Princess Masako is on the far right next to her husband, Crown Prince Naruhito of the flowy hair.



Anyway, the fam came, they waved, we all stood as his royal highness gave a birthday speech. Then the real fun started as the entire crowd launched into the customary shouts of "banzai!" and frantically waved their flags.

I wonder how many times his highness gives that speech per birthday and if he changes it up just to keep himself from dying of boredom.

Probs not... might disturb the wa (和).










We were filed out post speech at which point I suggested to my new found companion that we head to the station Starbucks and camp out for some quality people watching. It was just a half second before he rearranged his face into the look that we have all acquired for dealing with particularly confusing, frustrating, and just outright obnoxious JTE's. The "oh, okay, that's what you want to do? hmmm, well, *deep breath* alright, I guess we can work with that" look.

He was obviously horrified.

I should have realized that he was the kind of guy who was genuinely excited that he got to stand in line at the crack of dawn in the freezing cold to go watch an old, short Japanese man give a 4 minute speech that he couldn't understand. Don't get me wrong, I am just tickled that I got to see an emperor, or I should say, since he is currently the only one in the world, and I have been trying to explain to my students the difference between "a" (one of many, nonspecific) and "the" (unique, specific), I got to see the emperor. How ridiculous is that? I saw the only emperor in the entire world. Well, obviously there is only one because it is such an absurdly fairy-tale-esque title. Like saying you went to see the local hobgoblin or the sorceress next door. Ridiculous.

If there is one truly amazing thing about Japan, it is the ability of Japanese people to take the most seemingly phantasmagorical things with the utmost seriousness and ceremony.

My friend, coworker, and fellow tall gaijin often jokes that he feels like a giant, stomping through this island country with an Arnold Schwartzenegger like slowness to his speech, destroying doorways and centuries of tradition with even the slightest sudden movement.

We are elephants learning to walk on eggshells.

The Emperor Has No Clothes

The word "emperor" is mentioned, and I just can't help but think of a vain old man parading naked in front of the unwashed masses. Maybe that is just me though. I'm sure that that was not the thought process of the thousands of Japanese people queuing to see "His Imperial Majesty the Emperor" on December 23rd when the big guy turned 76.

After an 8 hr night bus ride, I arrived in Tokyo at 6:00 a.m. on December 23rd. Seeings as it was the current emperor's birthday and one of the two days per year that he and The Imperial Family come out to greet said masses, I wandered my unwashed self on over to the Palace to check out the shindig for myself.

All I could see were layers upon layers of barricades and traffic cones. There didn't appear to be anyone around. Was it possible that I, Maggie McCarron, gaijin extraordinaire, was the most patriotic person in all of Japan?

Inconceivable.






the 12 most patriotic people in Japan








Then, across the stillness of the morning, I heard a hearty chuckle that could only belong to the second most patriotic gaijin in Japan. He was at a corner across the street from me, chatting to several older Japanese folk who alternated between looks of terror and looks of absolute befuddlement. Turns out that Sandy and I tied for 13th most patriotic. He, a JET from some village north of Tokyo, had also arrived on a night bus with time to kill before his afternoon flight. So we killed some time.

We killed a lot of time.
















The line grew, people queuing down the block like ants behind a particularly insurmountable twig. A man passed out paper Japanese flags. I snacked on my box of combini chocolates. My toes went numb. The sun crept across the intersection toward us, carefully warming inch after slow inch of asphalt.

Finally, we moved. It was after ten in the morning. I had waited almost 3 hours to see a guy whose name I still don't know.















After a quick security check, we were on the lawn. We waited. The sun warmed my back. I saw people trying to inch out of my shadow's reach. Sometimes it is good to be tall.

I ate more chocolate.

















And then all of a sudden it was here, the moment for which we had spent all morning waiting. We were crossing the bridge into the Imperial Palace, Tokyo sprawling in every direction from this ancient grassy knoll.

As the crowd swelled across the bridge and flowed up the curving driveway though yet another set of gates, I wondered if this was what the Russian peasants felt like when they stormed the Winter Palace.


Yeah, it was probs a little different for them.