Rainy Day Expatriation

Shorter hair and shorter recital dress. Trips to the hair salon and the tailor connected by a walk in England's dreary rainy weather.  And I got a chance to chat with two people in Cambridge with no affiliation to the university.  As I waited for some friends to arrive at the Oz the tailor's to pick me up, I spoke with the Turkish ex-pat for an hour in his small and modest shop while the rain came down.  I felt a new ability to listen that I had earned from my time living so far away from home.  I can't possibly understand what  it must have been like for him to decide to leave his home to avoid the army 15 years ago, to get caught with an illegal passport at Heathrow Airport and spend 3 months  in prison then 3 more years waiting for his asylum to be granted.  I can't understand the change from Turkish to British culture, or living with so little money for so long, or having such little contact with family and friends.  But what little I could understand from my own experience in Japan--of being at such a distance from what is familiar, about the loneliness and isolation that one can have in such a situation--gave me the ears to hear him in a new way.   England gave us the perfect weather for such a chat, with no pressure to leave the shelter we had, in a place so far away from home.  

A Day in Cambridge

This morning I took a walk through the fens, a green pasture area with creeks and bike paths.  A bridge was undergoing maintanence and I had to asked an older gentlemen how to get to Chaucer Road.  "Ah Chaucer road, well yes you see unfortunately that's the way you would go, but I would suggest, I would suggest....," and then he continued in his soft British accent to give me directions of the roads and paths, the forkings and turns that I would need to take to get to Chaucer Road.  I continued along his perfect directions and jogged to my destination to make up time for the diversion (detour).  In my jet lagged state I had scheduled my appointment for a day later, and so found myself with a free morning.  I walked into town, stopping in churches and college gardens, looking into shoppes, and headed down Jesus Lane toward Jesus College in Cambridge.  I got stuck in its gardens and lawns and every path seemed only to lead to a locked gate, a garden shed, a bordering wall.  The gates finally opened when a helpful woman used her badge to electronically unlock them.  I headed back through town and rested for some lunch.

In the afternoon I came back to the apartment where I'm staying to rest and practice.  I sat and watched the sky for an hour as it shifted from one weather front to another, the rain clouds sweeping in, clearing away to sun.  The little back yards of these English row houses and the open field beyond them seem made for open skies of godlike proportions.  

In the evening we went to a pub and learned about white beets and cumin as a pizza seasoning and fish seasoned with fennel.  Our dishes were garnished with water cress.  

Open Fields

Last morning in London for the time being.  We left the crowded city  and took a train to beautiful Cambridge through huge green pastures and blue skies.  Spring is peeking through.

Westminster Abbey

Today we visited Westminster Abbey and took in the glory of much of England's past.  A patchwork of memorials and tombs, of architecture from the 11th century to the present.  Historical traditions that have been continued since it's founding are still being performed: coronations, weddings, funerals, some in the same furniture and configurations.  Feeling time and its stretch from then to now, and the way that new additions to history are still welcomed within the walls.  London seems to be filled with time and a reminder that we are creating what will be written and discussed in the years to come.  That as we live will in some way be set in marble statues, set in stone.  

To London, To London

I flew in a daze of Dramamine and the sounds of Chinese surrounding me.  Two hours before the end of the flight I finally decided to take off my eye mask, and sat in the still-dark airplane cabin, thinking inside myself.  In preparation for our descent, the cabin crew had us raise the blinds and I saw the green fields and row houses of England.  I'm in England, England!  Where people on the tube hold books with covers I can read, books from the library.  Where I understand all the signs and the words that I say are understood by others.  Where the people are tall and the buildings are old in a new way, a way different from Japan.  Everything is bustling and tomorrow the city of London awaits.

Before Leaving

I'm sitting on the airport limousine bus, bound for Kansai International Airport which is my gateway to England.  Behind me is a friend from the orchestra, one who is traveling tonight to Paris.  We're all excited to have a chunk of time free to explore the world, see friends and family, or rest.  This particular friend is perhaps one of the best companions for this bus ride.  Her enthusiasm, or rather passion, for flying far exceeds any that I've ever encountered.  She knows all the planes in all the airlines, the different models and makes.  She knows about their food and service ratings, their fare and reliability.  For her, flying is perhaps one of the most exciting things to do.  She frequently posts pictures of planes that she sees in the sky, noting their model and airline, and shares pictures from within the cabin as well.  I'm happy to have her attitude so close to me as I prepare for a long flight.  I enjoy the removal from the world that flying brings, being outside of geographical space and time.  I enjoy the anticipation of what is coming, and the opportunity it can provide for reflection.  I do not enjoy motion sickness, or dry cabins, or jet lag.  But to be with this friend is a chance to focus on all the good that is coming, despite my body's reluctance.

This afternoon we had our last concert of this project.  Our conductor planted several surprises for us and the audience beforehand.  During Satie's Parade he had one of the percussionist bring him a drink, presumably from the empty bottles that he has to play shortly thereafter.  In the encore, a fast-paced flamenco dance piece (to which he danced rather than conducted yesterday) he had my stand partner throw a flower to him which he put in his teeth as he stomped his heels.  He walked into the orchestra and gave it to the principal oboist.  At the bows, he presented it to a young girl in the first row.  It's been fun to have him.

And now for something different.  Saying goodbye to people after the concert, making selections from the convenient store, bowing to those around me as I get in line for the bus--the impending departure gives an oppotunity to feel their worth  in a new way.  Looking forward and looking forward some more.

A Patient Audience Member

I rarely use the stage door so I'm not sure how long one of our audience members has been waiting before and after concerts to collect my signature on his program.  He has been collecting the autographs of all the HPAC members, and when I happened to run into my friend on the 1st floor backstage, she told me he was waiting outside and that he had asked that she let me know.  And so I went outside and found him patiently waiting there.  Perhaps I should take the stage door more often.  It was so nice to have the exchange with him, and such a kind gesture for him to wait.

A sound that doesn't search for itself, but already is.  What a gift to the world.

Dancing Conductor

Our conductor this week has programed a piece which asks percussionists to type on a typewriter, hit empty wine bottles, spin a lottery machine, shoot cap guns, spin a siren machine, and smack a bucket of water.

Once a dancer, he is bringing the life and drama of the dance world to the classical music stage.  He asked one of the percussionists to open the lottery machine so that the numbers fall to the floor and scatter.  And when he insisted on more effort in the water splashing, the stage crew decided it would be prudent to move the set further upstage, away from the audience, cover the stage in plastic, and surround the bucket with plexiglass.  Our percussionist is wearing a rain jacket for the occasion.

In Don Quixote, he modelled a dramatic entrance for our solo cellist, demonstrating that he should carry his cello over his head like a club in a fit a passion right before his chivalric entrance.  Our cellist is a very calm Japanese gentlemen in his early 70's, but is obligingly playing along with the idea.

Our conductor has no concern for the tidiness of the stage, literal or metaphoric.  He is a choreographer with a baton and I'm enjoying the new perspective that he shares.

Growing Up Again, in Japan

I always learn more than my fair share with Fukunari-sensei.  Today my added bit of advice was on the topic of cooking.  It was born of a question that I had about one of the example sentences in which one speaker stops another from adding ingredients in the wrong order.  "You add the sugar before the soy sauce, you know."  The grammar was new enough and the cooking concept unfamiliar enough that I looked to her for clarification.  And that was when she taught me a helpful Japanese pneumonic device for cooking:  SA, SHI, SU, SE, SO.  The S line of the Japanese alphabet will remind you of the order in which you should add, SAto (sugar), SHIo (salt), SU (vinegar), SEuyu (soy sauce), and miSO (miso paste).  I ran down the number of cooking faux pas I've been committing my whole life, especially in Japan, especially regarding miso.

I'm a child being raised again.  I'm learning to speak, learning to listen, learning to read, and learning how to harness the deliciousness of things in Japan and life in general.  Every week I arrive to her door and take off my shoes, put on her house slippers (Yes, it is cold, I agree when she asks) and enjoy the tea she brings to me.  Every week I toddle out from her front gate and assuredly press the button on the elevator to take me back to the first floor where my mind takes control again and I forget that I'm 4 years-old.   But I live in Japan, and will surely be reminded again, soon.

Hyogo Government Concert

Today we had our yearly concert at the Hyogo government building as a thank you for their support of HPAC.  There were some tickets available to the public, perhaps 150 or so, and apparently over 1,000 people applied to have the privilege.  There is so much support here.  It is a really wonderful community in which to be making music.

And it was interesting to be in a Japanese government building.  I wish I could be a fly on the wall during session.  About 3 minutes before the beginning of our concert, most of the politicians' seats were still empty.  But predictably punctual, they all appeared.  As they entered they bowed to those already in the chamber and when they reached their seats they bowed to the front of the room, or to us, I'm not sure which.  Some of them, out of autopilot, raised a black column at their desk, presumably some sort of name tag used during sessions.  Those that did this quickly smiled to themselves and lowered it, their eyes realizing that something in the room was not as usual today: a symphony orchestra.

It must be a wonderful thing to feel the vibrations of music in a space that seldom has reason to grace them.  As musician, I always enjoy bringing music to places that rarely hear it; academic classrooms, businesses, political quarters.  The politicians were deeply moved, and in an act atypical to Japanese tradition, rose to their feet in appreciation.  Maybe no one told them that you don't do that in Japan.  But perhaps you can do that anywhere.

Don Quixote Begins

Our conductor this week has a western face but was raised in Japan and has a Japanese name (I believe he is half-Russian).  His Japanese is so fluent that even those audible pauses between thoughts that aren't words but aren't without meaning, are in Japanese.  It is impressive to hear him speak, and impressive to see him embrace the grotesque in his metaphor and interpretation of the music–something not often done, it seems, in Japanese.  At today's rehearsal of Don Quixote he donned a T-shirt with Picasso's image of Cervante's story.  So many different ways to be a conductor.  Looking forward to the week.

Japanese Granola

There are a lot of reasons why it's great to have visitors.  It's nice to see friends and family.  It gives an excuse to go sightseeing, eat out, and relax in the onsen.  And sometimes these visitors bring home interesting things from the grocery store that somehow missed my eyes.  I suppose this one that my friend left could easily be passed over as a typical cereal, but upon closer inspection, there is a lot more to it.

Yes, Goo Ta.  Once open and in a bowl, one discovers even more excitement.  Just as the picture on the package would suggest, it is a cereal of beans: red, green, soy.  And even better and more amazing is that the little white squares are not the scratchy marshmallows of Lucky Charms, but dry tofu bits that rehydrate in milk.  Brilliant.  A cereal with tofu.  Japan, I have arrived.   

Intelligent Design

There are many challenges about living in another country.  Language is a big part of it.  Being away from family and friends is another.  And as much as living in another country can help to make the world a little bigger, it has an odd effect of also making the world a little smaller.  There are only so many people in your social circle, and those people also only have one another.  We are lucky that we have the internet to connect to the world far away, but in our day-to-day life, we are very secluded.

It is an interesting thing to observe and to experience the effects of such a social environment.  And in the middle of winter, when we all feel the need to fold our arms to our chest, to brace ourselves against the cold, it can be very isolating.  It is in these times that we can see the tendencies of stress, depression, loneliness, accruing in our minds and in our bodies and the way that these play out differently for each person.  Some people become anxious, some become frustrated or angry, some become isolated, some try to fight against the odds, to figure out what is going on and overcome it.  

It is one of the great things about the seasons that we go through this period each year.  Perhaps we can come to know ourselves a little better and see with a little more compassion the difficulty that others experience.  In these close quarters, it is impossible to ignore it.  We play together, live together, see one another almost every day.  We only have one another here.  Perhaps we can learn the extent to which we are able to control the way that we treat each other, the extent to which we need and give to one another, the manner in which we do so, our expectations and our integrity.  Perhaps we can better learn the content of our words and actions, how we choose to use them, the impact that they can have on the moral of the group.

I wonder how much control we have in the world, how much of it we create, and how much of it is a landscape we must navigate.  I think it is one of the things I'd like to explore in my time here.

Valentine's Day

Sometimes we become so accustomed to doing the things that we do that we stop realizing how incredible they are.  I remember my aunt, a director, telling dancers to smile when they jump in the air. "Most people can only dream of being able to do that," she said.

Today I heard a trumpet player play the opening of Mahler 5 and remembered how incredible a thing it is that I'm able to do.  I wonder how much I take it for granted, being able to play in an orchestra.  Being able to play music.

And today I saw my Madison Tae Kwon Do class online, and rode my bike in the snow, and shared a lesson with Fukunari-sensei, and ate chocolate desserts for a Valentine's Day tea with some of my Japanese friends.

Is it harder to see the possibilities and the miracles of life, or to be blind to them?  There are days when the snow falls so hard that it is difficult to see the beauty of the surrounding fields that it covers.  It makes us go faster, get there sooner.  Is life easier when we can't see what we are missing?

Today is an opportunity to be explicit about appreciation.  Whether it is for another person or people, for an aspect of our lives, for a moment or feeling.  There are many things to appreciate.

Enjoying Another Chill

The children today seemed to have taken in some of the sunshine that blessed this corner of Japan this morning.  Their clapping and bravos were difficult to quell, despite their winter masks.  Or perhaps it was the musicians, happy from bike rides along shining water and the promise of longer days.  The instrument demonstrations had an added element of enthusiasm and humor.

But it seems that tomorrow it will snow again.  The return ride home was windy and gray.  I suppose that for a little longer we will still have perfect weather for an evening at the onsen and warm noodle soup.

Cold Wakuwaku

This is the beginning of the end of our Wakuwaku program for the year.  Only two more days, only four more performances.  It seems that winter settled on the children of this afternoon's concerts, their hands were cold to clap.  Our conductor shook his "Ta Da!!" hands of wakuwaku magical excitement, but somehow the February air could not communicate the thrill.  It is always hard this time of year.  The days are getting longer but somehow it can be hard to have the faith that they will continue to summer when the warm air brings excitement to everything it touches, the light encourages us to bask in the beauty of the day of life.  

Perhaps tomorrow there will be a little thaw.  Perhaps the excitement will warm the air a little more and spring will come to us, from us.  

Railroad Hike

It's cold in Japan.  But we decided to explore a walking route near Takarazuka that follows old train tracks through tunnels along a river.  It was beautiful in the late afternoon light.  Apparently it is also really beautiful in the fall and spring.

And if one can count on a good bowl of warm ramen at the end of the day, it makes the walk seem a little less cold.

Kyoto Morning

I spent three hours in Takeshi Okuno-san's Kyoto workshop at the foot of Hokuzan mountain, just around the corner from the Temple of the Golden Pavilion.  I stared out the big windows, watching the intermittent sun and snow over Kyoto, sipping green tea he had served me while he worked on my cello.  His cats took turns opening the sliding door to get to their food bowl, encouraging him to take breaks to close it again to keep out the cold from his beautiful sleeping garden.  One came over for some attention before jumping into the warm sunny window, sleeping under a row of hanging cellos.  Okuno-san worked and worked, polishing, gluing, measuring, refining.  His father and mother came over from the house at various points, asking about lunch, looking for one thing or another;  his wife and two-year-old son finally came to sit nearby at his office desk, inaudibly playing with stamps.  I heard her softly thank her son in a very polite form for all the stamped paper her was making for her.

Day in Kyoto (Fushimi Inari Shrine, Ginkakuji, Philosopher's Path, Gion)

Is it possible to have a bad day in Kyoto?  We began with Fushimi Inari Shrine with its thousands of torii gates.  The shrine is the oldest (first built in 711) and the head shrine for Inari, thought to bring good luck for businesses.  Of course, every business wants to give money to have a gate for their business (from 400,000 yen ($4,000) for small gates to over 100,000,000 yen ($1 million)) at the shrine and the result is an amazing 2 hour hike up and down a mountain through a path of orange in forest sun.

entrance to the shrine

a small portion of the gates

two paths from which to choose

gates in the sun

a place along the path where we stopped for boiled eggs

gates in the sun

After Fushimi Inari shrine we took a bus to the Ginkakuji (Temple of the Silver Pavilion) and enjoyed the beautiful rock gardens and landscaping.  I've always loved this space; it is very different from its cousin Kinkakuji (Golden Pavilion).  It was conceived by Ashikaga Yoshimasa to match his grandfather's Kinkakuji.  He had planned that it would be covered in a silver facade, but plans never came to fruition.  We noted the rough and seemingly neglected finish to the building, a stark contrast to the gardens saturated in care.  How could they have failed to do a paint job?

But it seems it is a expression of "wabi-sabi," a Japanese aesthetic concept that acknowledges the impermanence and imperfection of all things in life, a feeling of acceptance that things should be as they are.  The perfect asymmetry of the garden spreads this feeling throughout the space–perhaps it is what keeps me coming back, to walk in its midst.

Ginkakuji, the non-Silver Pavilion

We walked through tempting shops with lots of sweet samples and headed to the Gion District via the Philosopher's Path, so named for a 20th century Japanese philosopher, Kitaro Nishida, said to have walked along it.  There were temples, shops, cats, a little stream, and beautiful views of the city sky.  In the spring it will burst into bloom, and in fall it will rain red.

view from the Philosopher's Path

We continued the journey along various streams towards the Gion District.

Twilight in Kyoto

And once there, we caught the evening with lighted lanterns in temples, shops with glowing fabrics, chopsticks, and ceramics.  We walked along the old streets before finally settling for our first official meal in the city of Kyoto–nabe, yudofu, tempura, rolled egg omelets, miso soup, rice and vegetables.

warm food after a long cold day

Happy Birthday from Home

Over two weeks, the birthday package that my parents sent for me arrived.  Cookies, brownies, almond butter, and new shoes on top of many wonderful various things.  There are some niceties about living at home that living at such a distance does not allow.  Seeing your family bring a homemade cake into the room while everyone sings Happy Birthday, waiting for you to blow out the candles is something that cannot be replicated over snail mail.  I always enjoy opening these boxes from home, seeing my mother's, my father's, my brother's handwriting and reading the little comments on each of the items.  And seeing a touches of birthday cheer, weathered by thousands of miles and time to reach my door.

Spring is Getting Closer

The cold has returned.  Fukunari-sensei said it is often like this in January and February, back and forth in a teasing game of warm and cold weather.  I suppose there is a reason we have a groundhog in America and a reason that the Kansai region began the traditions of Setsubun during this time of year.  They are things to keep us occupied as our eyes expectantly look to the horizon of spring.  In the end, these wintry returns cannot overcome the passing of time.

I learned a new word today, 近づく, chikazuku, to get closer.  春が近づいています。Haru ga chikazuiteimasu.

First Quartet Concert

Just as audiences pack the halls at HPAC for our orchestral concerts, so too was the audience filled for our small concert of Mendelssohn at the art museum this afternoon.  They sat only four feet from us, in front, on the right and left.  There is no hiding in times like these; the audience is already in that space in the lungs where a held breath retreats.  And so there is no choice but to release into those around you.  To give them what you have to offer.

We still have a lot to learn, individually and as a group.  I think that as long as we are honest, this will always be true.  But to have the calm, accepting, supportive presence of a trusted audience to guide us is a real gift.  They are the silence that bridges the insecurity of want.  And as much as we persistently work for more, we have so much to give already.  It is such a pleasure to be able to play for others and open this channel of trust.  Thank you for coming.  Thank you for listening.

Gifts

It was Mendelssohn's birthday yesterday and we celebrated it today by rehearsing one of his quartets.  We all gathered in my little practice room and enjoyed one another's warmth for three-and-a-half hours while we watched the intermittent snow falling–something that only seems to happen on beautiful cold sunny days in this area of Japan.  When we finally looked at the time, we decided we had gifted Mendelssohn as much as possible and "Otsukare"d one another as we packed up our things.  Our violist shared some treats he had brought back from Tokyo and I shared some roasted soybeans from Setsubun.  My table is full of givings.  Tomorrow a concert for Mendelssohn.

Cold Winter Ports

Every time I fly from the Kansai airport or return through it, I have to take a bus that travels through several miles of industrial harbor along the ports of Osaka.  It is a part of the world to which I have no relation–it seems untouchable, incomprehensible, though likely it is responsible for much of the conveniences in my life.

Today we ventured to the harbor in hopes of riding the giant ferris wheel that always greets me on my returns.  And yet as slowly as ferris wheels move, it was most certainly stopped.  We sat down in a nearby restaurant for some udon and asked the waitress what was happening with it.  Maintenance.  It was taking a break from January to April.  I suppose it's fair.  We all need a break sometimes.  We walked along the water for a bit to justify the trip, viewing cranes, boats and the making of the modern world from the underbelly.  

a beautiful day for a ferris wheel

mermaid and the Japan Coast Guard

looking away

We ventured back to the middle of Osaka and braved the crowds and consumerism of Shinsaibashi, likely brought through the channels we had just visited.  We found refuge in a small coffee shop and then a tea shop where the rush of the river of people outside seemed to pool in a calm remembrance of another way of living.  

The warm promise of spring has been rescinded for a bit.  The wind has picked up and our hands were happy to come home to warm soup and tea.  Winter still has a few more comforts to come.  

Setsubun and Birthday in Japan

The day started with more trees in shodo class.  Sensei gave me something new but I have accepted the kanji for tree as my shodo white whale.  Something about the four simple lines, their different lengths, beginnings and ends, their relationship to one another on the page.  There is still more to explore.  During one of my breaks, one of the women in the class pulled me aside to share a video of the little bird, uguisu, which had inspired the whole class to chirp in last week's session.  Apparently it is called a Japanese warbler in English.

I left shodo a bit early to meet my friend Jessica at the train station.  She arrived from Germany this morning, well-rested from a sleep-filled night on the plane and ready for action.  We came back to my apartment, dropped off her things and headed by bike to Nakayamadera to meet Kaneko-San for Setsubun, the festival of devils and bean throwing, of maki sushi eating, of the changing of the season. Kaneko-San was excited to meet her and had copied a map of Germany, ready to exercise his German language skills.

Me and Kaneko-San!

Me and Jessica

Jessica and Kaneko-San

Keeping everyone in line

Devils dancing at Setsubun

no mischief here

see no evil

banishing the devils

away!

devils revealed 

preparing to throw the mame (beans) to the crowds

reaching for good luck

more bean throwing

After the festivities we joined a group from the Takarazuka International Friendship Association for a gathering at a nearby center where we ate maki sushi rolls.  Tradition has it that one must eat the entire roll while facing the lucky direction of the year (this year is north by northeast) without talking.  The whole room turned towards a corner with a man and his camera and indulged in the rolls as he took our picture.  All the while the hostess tempted us to say how delicious the roll was.   I think we all made it.

TIFA group walking towards sushi

maki rolls waiting to be eaten, green tea and snacks to fill the void

wearing devil mask to throw the beans

After eating, we had to introduce ourselves to the group and as my friend Jessica stood up to share in English her reason for being here, she mentioned that it was my birthday.  No one seemed to notice and we continued with the introductions, which led to devil mask wearing and more bean throwing.  We indulged in more Japanese snacks and met several new very friendly people.  When somebody pointed out that it was birthday, it wasn't long before the whole room was singing Happy Birthday to Andorea and clapping their hands.

Kaneko-San walked us to our bikes and presented me with a gift, a box of cookies from Hankyu department store.

We got on our bikes and rode to the Takarazuka onsen to enjoy a long relaxing soak in the baths.  As we were sitting there, two children walked by and stared at us, then kept staring at us in curiosity.  I finally said hello and made two new friends that followed us from pool to pool, asking me my favorite color, my favorite shape.

After onsen, we had green tea soft serve ice cream, then biked home, stopping at the Japanese grocery to pick up some sweet potato corn flakes.  I guess it's the seasonal replacement for the green tea ones that were there the last time I checked.  Tomorrow, the fun will continue.  We came home and I ate 31 beans, my age plus one, to ensure good luck in the coming year.  So far so good.

Prolonging the Comfort from Cold

What happened to the forecasted rain that I thought would keep me from biking this morning?  It turned a smile of spring and laughs at the stockpiled miso paste in my refrigerator.  Winter, you are always too long and never long enough.  One day these things will end.  Will I have found the perfect miso soup before then?

Beethoven

It started in C minor and persisted throughout the program.  Inside the change was possible from the beginning and by the end we were delivered to C major; in the encore, born again to E-flat.  Somedays a feeling is met with understanding from one who lived years ago.  And here we are, breathing and living in some common way.  Finding salvation in whatever humanly way possible.