Japanory

Painted Lady - more tattoos

Woo Hoo! I've finally finished May 2007!

I thought I'd just pop this in here after talking about tattoos in the previous post.

A friend of mine recently asked me to write a guest post on her
blog called Typecast which I've copied here - the original link can be found at the end of this post.

 

I like tattoos. No, scrap that. I LOVE tattoos.

My fascination with skin art started many years before they became so commonplace that every man, woman and dog has one. Nowadays it seems non-tattooed people are rarer than the decorated.

 

I resisted the urge to get tattooed until I turned thirty. Choosing the perfect indelible design for me took a long time. Finally a particularly nasty boyfriend, whom I had trouble getting rid of, said he’d leave me if I got a tattoo. So I promptly booked my appointment with a local studio in south London and waved the vicious boyfriend off.  

My first tattoo was a peacock on my left shoulder blade. I was inordinately proud of it and showed it off as often as I could.

There’s a saying that once you’ve got your first tattoo, you will get more.

Some years later I went to Hong Kong on a business trip. Fuelled by alcohol and a defiant need to shock my strait-laced colleagues, I got my second tattoo. We visited a famous but rather seedy parlour late one night. While my friends looked at the pictures on the walls, I plonked myself down and had my Chinese star sign inked onto my ankle. That one hurt like hell due to it being on a bone. But it was worth it just to see my friends’ faces. Frankly, a pretty poor reason to get a tattoo!

 

 

Number three was created in Thailand. This was a completely different experience. For a start, no rebelliousness was involved. It produced my favourite piece of all. I followed customer recommendations rather than picking a random studio. The artist interviewed me first before allowing me to make an appointment. At the appointment, he just drew a design directly onto my arm, I made some changes and off he drilled for about three hours.

 

The bug (and ink) was well and truly in my system now.

 

But life intervened. I had a baby, and my beloved Dad died.

My head was all over the place and some madness prompted me get a tattoo on my other arm. I designed it myself and it included a lot of personal symbolism. Unfortunately, the tattooist was no artist. The outline was just about OK but I should never have asked him to colour it in. It was a disaster and for the first time I regretted my tat. Do not get a tattoo when you are grieving.

 

Then my husband got a job transfer to Japan. The home of beautiful tattooing! But also a country with the greatest taboos about skin art. 

Before we left the UK, I found another tattooist for ink number five - a colourful compass on my right foot meaning “a step in the right direction”. But I wouldn’t recommend enclosing foot tattoos in shoes and socks while packing up your entire house. It got badly infected and I ended up taking strong antibiotics for a while.

Once in Japan I quickly discovered my decorated skin was not appreciated. One man verbally attacked me about the Chinese writing on my ankle. He seemed satisfied that I knew its meaning. I’m also not allowed into public swimming pools or gyms. I can live with that. What does sadden me is that I am not allowed to go into onsen, the natural hot spring pools that Japan is famous for. Tattoos here are a sign of the Yakuza, organised gangs. It makes no difference that I am a Caucasian female; tattoos are “bad”.

 

However, there are plenty of tattooists around. I’ve found a fantastic, gifted artist who entertains me with intellectual discussions and wonderful artistry. Yes, I’ve had more work done… 

 

He spent a total of about ten hours blacking in my disastrous tattoo and adding decorations to it so I’m no longer ashamed of it. I also broke the golden rule of skin art - “do not have a name tattooed on you”. But as it’s my daughter’s name I will never regret it.

 

 

The last piece I had done was another of strong symbolic significance to me, a spiral at the base of my neck, pictured at the beginning of this post.

 
Am I finished at seven tattoos? Of course not! I’ve just booked another appointment with him to have more work done.

 

The only difficulty now is deciding where to place it.

 

My thanks to Nickie at Typecast for allowing me to be her guest.
Here's the link to the original post on her blog.

http://typecast2000.blogspot.com/2010/07/painted-lady.html 

Naked Men plus Tattoos Equals…?

Sunday 20th May 2007 part 2

(Lots of photos again!)

So, we've arrived at Asakusa in the middle of the biggest crowd of people I've encountered outside of a stadium gig in the UK. Most of the people are wearing a kind of uniform of matching short jackets known as Happi coats and extremely short shorts.

Bear in mind that at that particular point in time I had absolute NO idea what was occurring, so the information about this festival was researched later. For now, allow me to indulge my view of the day while I was there…

I spot mikoshi. These are portable shrines, elaborately decorated with black lacquer and gold embellishments. They are so heavy, each weighing over a tonne they need to be carried by many people. So this must be a festival of some sort.

While I was happy to watch and enjoy the hypnotic drumming and fizz of adrenaline in the air, the others wanted to get away as quickly as possible. So I ignored them as they marched off and lingered to soak up the atmosphere.

And that atmosphere was exhilarating beyond belief. The festival was incredibly spectacular. And very loud! People were happy and joyful and the emotion was infectious. I saw a few geisha and maiko, but mostly the crowds comprised large groups of obvious collectives. These were the groups of people in matching uniforms - the Happi coats and headbands.

Suddenly I noticed groups of naked men. As you do. Well, nearly naked - they wore a white thong affair, like sumo wrestlers. Only these guys were nowhere near the size of sumo. And they were covered in the most wonderful tattoos.

A lightbulb went off in my head. Oh. My. GOD! These men must be members of the Yakuza! Yakuza are renowned for their tattoos. Among other things…the Yakuza are groups of people some compare to the Mafia. Organised crime etc. Anyway, whatever they do - it's not my place to comment, nor do I have the knowledge.

However, I am a huge fan of body art, as you will see from my next post.

Tattoos are a complicated matter here in Japan. It's hard to explain precisely why, but I understand it's something to do with the fact that the Yakuza have extensive, often full body tattoos so therefore tattoos equal Yakuza. I am tattooed. And this means I am not allowed into public swimming pools, gymnasiums, or onsen (natural hot springs). I also cannot use many of the spa's here for massage or other treatments. The fact that I am obviously NOT a Yakuza member - being Caucasian - makes no difference whatsoever. My decorated skin is forbidden. Tattoos should be covered.

Whatever this festival was about, it was a one of the few occasions to see the Yakuza tattoos on public display. So what a treat for my eyes to see these (mostly) rather attractive bodies and their amazing skin art! Of course, I had to take some photos… for reference purposes only, of course ;-) - see further down the page for close ups...

Some of the guys had jumped onto the mikoshi and were jumping, chanting and blowing whistles in time to the drumming, at the same time as the numerous people carrying the weighty shrines were bouncing them on their shoulders.

 

I adore people-watching, so had a wonderful, but short time, doing this. During the summer, fans are freely handed out by many companies - these made me laugh. West versus East!

I couldn't resist taking photos of these decorated men. I make no comment on the pink hat. Well, would you?

 

 

It was Sanja Matsuri - the festival of Asakusa Shrine and has always been known as the largest and rowdiest festival in the whole of Japan. Sanja Matsuri lasts for three days, starting on the third Friday of May with hundreds of people walking through the area for a purification ritual. The purpose of the procession is to bring good luck and prosperity.

During the procession the mikoshi are shaken violently as apparently this brings extra luck to the district. Sanja Matsuri is a joyful festival where everybody has a lot of fun and all this merriment includes music, dancing and drinking. The Happi coats bear the symbols of certain businesses, guilds or groups. I'd love to have experienced this whole day and night, but unfortunately haven't been able to for various reasons.

In recent years this festival has been threatened with cancellation as overzealous participants have taken to climbing on the mikoshi, damaging them and insulting the sacred items. However, because these particular participants are members of the Yakuza, police are reluctant to prosecute.

And to date (2010), it still hasn't been cancelled.

Sumida River Boat Trip

Sunday 20^th May 2007 part 1

Yes, I know - I've muddled up dates again.
Never mind. I'm so far behind, consider this blog as a travelogue rather than a chronological diary!

One of Tim's workmates is over from the UK for an extended visit so we decide to take him (and us) for a boat trip. Starting from somewhere and ending in Asakusa.

We take the train. Trains. It's quite a trek from home to the starting 'port' and among many line changes, includes a journey on a driverless monorail which weaves through the skyscrapers of Tokyo. Then there's a long walk to find the boats. The place is incredibly busy, which was quite surprising. But in retrospect, if we'd known what was occurring at the other end of the trip, totally understandable.

To be honest, the boat trip wasn't particularly memorable. There's none of the historical interest of seeing, for example, London from the Thames, but the many bridges are interesting… if you get excited about bridges.

After half an hour or so we arrived in Asakusa.

And it was the busiest I have EVER seen it. There were people everywhere. Thousands and thousands of them.

Now it's normally a very busy tourist spot, but this day was something else altogether. We could barely move. Rhiannon was in danger of being trampled so Tim hoisted her onto his shoulders for safety.

What was going on? See the next post… boy, was I in for a treat!

The Sound of One Hand Clapping…

Friday 25^th May 2007

Heirinji Zen Temple (lots of photos)

I have been gently coerced by important people into joining a trip to the Heirinji Zen Temple.

The trip is organised by a group called "Elizabeth Kai" which is part of the Japan-British Society. "Elizabeth Kai" is a ladies only group. To quote from the Japan-British Society website, "Lady members of the Japan-British Society may join the Elizabeth-Kai, which presents a varied programme of cultural events and outings, and provides many opportunities for Japanese and British ladies to meet informally and share mutual interests. There are more than 200 members divided into seven groups, each of which organises its own detailed programme, whilst major events of the year, especially the annual tea party given by the wife of the British Ambassador, are open to ladies from all these groups."

OK. I'll see how it goes, and besides, I want to see something other than the screen on my PC, the walls of my house and also distract myself from the ever-nightmarish school-run-parking-fiasco - I've delegated that to Tim today.

I have to make my own way by metro via umpteen line changes to the meeting place somewhere out in the sticks. By some lucky chance I actually do find it! The rest of the group are easy to find as are all gaijin in Japan. Quickly I realise that I am at least half the other members' age and far below their intellectual status. But this matters not, and I am welcomed with open arms and swift acceptance by a large group of absolutely charming and lively ladies.

As we reach the gate of the magnificent temple, the heavens opened. Torrential rain pelted us, preventing our trip around the beautiful, lush gardens. Such a shame; I was really looking forward to seeing a real Zen garden. As this was an organised visit, we were greeted by a black robed monk for our special tour of the temple and handed a small package. Upon later inspection, this contained a pamphlet (in Japanese) about the Temple with a single page of English information inserted into it. And a delightful orange charm displaying a discreet symbol of this temple. Rather puzzlingly, the packet also contains a few sheets of tiny stickers of Kanji phrases. I still haven't worked out what these are for.

Heirinji Zen Temple is one of the only temples that doesn't have shops or stalls selling these charms, so this is an extremely special gift.

The reason the Temple isn't commercialised is because it is primarily a teaching monastery. It is a Rinzai Zen monastery. In this tradition, the Zen master trains his monks by assigning them each a Kōan as a focus of meditation. A Kōan is one of those "unanswerable" Zen questions. We were told that the famous Kōan, "What is the sound of one hand clapping?" originated at this very temple.

The temple was first built in 1375 but was burned down during a feudal war between 1573 and 1592. It was rebuilt in 1663 and has remained a centre of peacefulness ever since. And it is peaceful. It's hard to put into words the sense of tranquillity this beautiful place invokes.

From what I saw of the gardens, there would be plenty of opportunity for meditative communing with nature in Japanese terms. The trees are a mix of rich greens and deep red Acers, all clipped into attractive, yet natural shapes. Enormous stone lanterns peep from behind bushes and large ponds containing vivid Koi are dotted around. But all the time the rain is doing a great impression of a monsoon.

 

After our tour of the workings of the temple, we are led into a large hall for a lesson on meditation. The room is light and airy with floor to ceiling windows down the two long sides, looking out over the gardens. What a view! At the front of the hall sits a jovial looking monk who speaks good English. Chairs for "non-kneelers" are set up down the centre of the hall. I take one of these - my legs are too long to be sitting on the floor and my back "went" shortly after Rhiannon was born and hasn't ever recovered. As the youngest there, I felt a little guilty to see ladies in their eighties nimbly kneel on the floor.

Our Zen master explained how to meditate and told us that normally he would sound a bell or chant to help us but today the sound of the rain would be our focus as it was supplied by nature and therefore far more powerful.

I can't meditate. But it was a good experience.

Once this had finished the Zen master happily took well considered questions from the ladies and then our visit was over.

But there was still one more treat in store. Lunch!

The monks supply the food for an authentic Zen restaurant nearby and we were to be treated there.

The entrance to the deceptively tiny restaurant was stunning as you can see from the photo.

A couple of tables were set up downstairs for those not able to sit at the traditional Japanese tables upstairs - meaning you kneel on the floor. I stayed downstairs… until I realised that everyone - except one lady aged 95 with no English - had gone upstairs. Ah well, sod my back, I'll join the experience and see how I do.

Surprisingly large upstairs, long, low - very low - tables were set up and everyone was kneeling at them. I needed help so moved to a space with a wall behind to my back at least would be supported. But the wall was made of straw and I was terrified of breaking it. Oh, but I was fidgety! However the food was exquisite. Each red lacquer tray was laid out with care: beautiful bowls contained tasty vegan delicacies, most of which I didn't recognise but thoroughly enjoyed.

Zen and the art of good food.

Conversation was lively, entertaining and intellectual.

Somehow I managed to get up afterwards, again embarrassed by the nimble octogenarians, but they were all too refined to notice my difficulties.

A truly wonderful day trip.

To those who have emailed me

SORRY!

I'm really sorry I haven't had time to reply to you all. I'm definitely NOT ignoring you, but life and work have eaten up a lot of my time this year.

Also, I changed a load of web details which affected my email system and I've only just worked out where to find your lovely emails.

Many apologies, especially as you kindly took the trouble to contact me in the first place. I really appreciate it.

I promise I will reply to each and every one of you very soon.

How to Wear a Kimono…

Wednesday 23^rd May 2007

Today, school is having its annual Japanese Day. The kids dress up as something typically Japanese and participate in various cultural activities such as Ikebana, Sho-do (Japanese calligraphy) and origami.

The note from school made comment upon the types of outfits the children could wear - presumably to get more variety and imagination. Suggestions include manga characters (I have no idea about these and no real interest to be frank), aikido Gi, and various uniforms worn by most workers in Japan.

However, a five year old girl is, of course, going to want to wear a kimono.

Rhiannon has a nice little souvenir-type of "kimono" which will do. Despite her protestations that she wants a Real Kimono, they cost a huge amount of money, so the answer is a firm "no"! I did buy some tabi - little white socks with a separate toe so they fit the zori. Zori are shoes with a wedge-type heel (shown on the left).

Geta (below right) are another type of sandal that has either a separate heel or blocks of wood at each end. The latter look impossible to walk in and are commonly worn by men in traditional clothing. I have actually seen men riding scooters wearing these!

I also bought a gold "obi". Again, this isn't the real thing but will certainly do for a small girl for what is, essentially, a fancy dress day. A real obi is the wide belt that wraps twice around the body and then tied at the back in an incredibly complex knot. Formal obi for women measure 4 metres long and 30cm wide and are made of silk brocade, often heavily embroidered. Young girls tie their obi in a butterfly bow, while older or married women use a simpler fold called a taiko because it is drum shaped. Like men's bow-ties, you can now buy pre-tied obi apparently.

Now, bearing in mind that we are in Japan, attending a school with many children of Japanese descent, I'm worried that I will not get the dress right. There are very specific rules to wearing this beautiful outfit and I am terrified about getting it wrong and offending someone. Getting properly dressed in the full regalia is extremely complicated and people can take classes on how to put on a kimono. There are also professional dressers for hire.

So I spent a LOT of time researching and reading about the subject. Absolutely fascinating!

We got up early in the morning to get Rhiannon ready. I was pretty sure she wouldn't want to wear the outfit all day. Plus running around at break time… so I made sure she had shorts and a t-shirt on underneath for the inevitable disrobing. I pinned up her flyaway hair with about 100 clips and consulted my book for the correct way to wrap the kimono… wrap the right side of the kimono over the body, then the left side wraps over the top. Right on top of left is only used to dress a corpse for burial.

So I checked and double checked. All good. Added the "obi" and tied it in a wonky bow (I've never been able to tie a nice straight bow), and put the belt of her kimono over the top of the obi. I was rather pleased with my efforts.

 

So off we went to school to be greeted by the striking sight of hundreds of little girls in colourful kimonos, looking like a rainbow of butterflies, but much louder. Such a beautiful change from their normal dull navy uniform. The boys were wearing a range of Happi coats and aikido gi, but the girls stole the day.

Then I saw my good friend Yoko and her daughter Natalie, my heart leapt into my mouth.

Oh my god! Natalie's kimono was wrapped the opposite way to Rhiannon's. Had I made a huge mistake? If anyone should know the correct way of wearing this, it would be Yoko, being pure Japanese and having studied her culture too. Yikes!!! So I asked her.

Laughing, she shrugged and said she'd always had someone dress her in kimono so hadn't taken much notice. She didn't know which way round and besides, she was running late and didn't notice.

 

I think I may have taken this a bit too seriously! But the research I did was interesting and absorbing and provided material for one of my Tokyo Tales articles.

At the end of the school day I collected a very dishevelled Rhiannon. It's already pretty hot here at this time of year, so although she was still wearing her kimono and obi, she was all disarrayed and extremely hot. She said "my tummy was too hot in the obi and I wouldn't want to wear this all the time! I couldn't run properly and my legs get tangled up".

The major highlight of her day was this:
"There's a MAN teacher in year one and he dressed up in a PINK kimono and had a pink wig too!!! He's really funny and I hope he's my teacher next year!"

 

(Note - Rhiannon attended a State school in the UK for a couple of months where there were no male teachers at all. She genuinely did not know that men could be teachers. I've spoken to other friends with children in the UK school system and they all say the same - there are few, if any, male teachers. What a sad reflection of the UK society that men no longer feel safe in a teaching environment. I fondly remember many of my male teachers - mostly for their eccentricity, sometimes for their teaching. How things have changed. And not in a good way.)