Präriepost

December 11, 2022

Today from Bangkok

It is hot here, in this country of wellness, of tourism, and of retirement incentives. The sun is veiling behind an endless haze, and at night the temperatures don’t glide lower than 28 C. Summertime in December.

A few Japanese passengers had boarded the plane to visit relatives. They insist on speaking Japanese with their plane neighbor. When to arrive, is it 20:00? But no, no, this can’t be – think “juu roku,” 16 o’clock it is, much earlier, much sooner. The traveler gently strokes her stomach, “baby, baby,” she delights in sharing. Oh yes, “omedetou, omedetou,” something appropriate to respond to and easy to remember. “You speak Japanese?”  “Iee, iee, chotto, chotto…” The temperature climbs with the plane moving, the expecting mother constantly using her fan – “atsui desu, atsui desu” indeed.

They promised to be at the airport to shuttle arriving scholars to the hotel – “Whatsapp when you arrive!” “Whatsapp – we will pick you up.” But where are they, the terminal is large, and nobody to be seen with the expected sign. Meeting point, yes, off to the meeting point. An hour later, the driver arrives with a smile.

After checking in to the hotel and taking the elevator up, the music comes on, “When I was young, I’d listen to the radio….” Taking the elevator down, the radio comes on, “When I was young, I’d listen to the radio….” We never get to the sha-la-la-la.

A light meal, where to find a light meal? The first hotel restaurant, closed, the second hotel restaurant, closed, time to find something outside. Food stalls, food stalls, and more food stalls – Indian style, caution is warranted. Then this nice little coffee shop – a simple meal, an order, eat, then pay – in exactly this sequence. Don’t they take credit cards? Not a problem, they smile, over there, the money machine, outside, cash a few Bangkok Baht, and back to the restaurant. The meal comes to about $1.50, but there is no change for what is equivalent to a $20.00 bill. Communication gets more difficult, but there is always GOOGLE translate, “Come back tomorrow to pay,” she types with a smile, “I will have change then.” Such entrusting people here in this city. Back up to the elevator, the music comes on, “When I was young, I’d listen to the radio….” We never get to the sha-la-la-la.

The next day is once again payback time – but there is still no change. Only for small amounts. Not a problem; there are other places to eat, such as the delightful noodle place around the corner. Order, eat, pay – in exactly this sequence. Only the cook does not have enough change. He smiles and disappears for a while, then comes back with change. Off to the coffee corner with confidence. Finally, paying up what is owed.

Time to celebrate with coffee and cake. The cake looks delicious, but instead of coffee, they bring hot water. “Coffee… coffee, please?” Not a problem, she nods with a smile and brings coffee overlaid with ice, ice one should be cautious about in this country. Oh well, here is still the hot water, there is cake, and there is a smile. Back up the elevator, the music comes on, “When I was young, I’d listen to the radio….” We never get to the sha-la-la-la.

There is a beautiful swimming pool visible from the hotel window. The water shimmers and invites for a jump on this hot day – but there is never anybody at or in the pool. Could it be a trap? Would the water suck you up, swirl you around and push you to the floor? Who knows? Nobody dares to try. Better take the elevator, “When I was young, I’d listen to the radio…” we only get this far, Carpenters.

Time for the conference – by invitation only. It is the chairperson’s event, the former politician, representative, delegate from Thailand – his mission is nation building, nation building via wellness. It is not the blue zone; it’s the “golden zone” in Thailand. They discuss wellness, they discuss the microbiome, and they discuss centenarians. A young moderator sits patiently on the podium, her skirt barely covering her knees – oh no, she can’t show her knees, quickly comes a helper rushing a blanket that will cover her knees.

Then come the dignitaries: The current foreign secretary from South Korea, the Minister of Social Development and Human Security, an assistant director from the WHO, the former Minister of the Ministry of Public Health, the Deputy Director-General of the Department of Health, they soon join in to talk about wellness – after all, they all are the chairman’s personal friends. Scholars come from San Diego, Sweden, Italy, Singapore, India, and Iowa. They hear about the possible, the probable, and the preferable.

They emphasize prevention here, not just curing a disease; they emphasize whole-person wellness, not just disorders. Walking barefoot outside in the morning to absorb the earth’s minerals, breathing the fresh morning air, maximum oxygen released from the trees. Moderation, so spoke Buddha, everything in moderation. The Mediterranean diet, metformin, and sleep, eight hours of sleep each night.

The conference ends, but the chairperson, representative, Harvard and Oxford graduate invites for a final luncheon. It’s down the elevator once more, and the music comes on, “When I was young, I’d listen to the radio….” Everybody is singing along by now. But they never make it to the sha-la-la-la.

The chairman is late because the former prime Minister had suddenly been hospitalized, an emergency, and the chairman had to pay a visit first. But now he wants to know more about his guests from far away. He complains that his phone only holds 30,000 addresses – he needed a second cell phone. Contact him via WhatsApp, his number written on the napkin,

This is a town of contrasts, where traffic jams are standard, where the people smile and talk about wellness, here, in this golden zone of self-prescribed healthiness and happiness.

Präriepost

Präriepost

Today from Osaka

July 29, 2018

The sun is out, a blue sky and occasional white clouds move slowly way up high. It is hot, very hot in this town known for its “large hills” and “large slopes.” “Do not forget your sweat-towel, you will need it today,” they advise – there is no relief in sight.

The heat follows a period of rain, rain, rain – cats and dogs, surely cats and dogs. A typhoon and a stationary low were fighting for attention, just overhead from here, and their battle resulted in pails and pails of water. ”It’s the rainy season,” they try to shrug it off, but so much rain was unexpected even for those who have been around for a while. Cars under water, mudslides at the foot of mountains, whole neighborhoods deluged. And with their calm nature, they have been cleaning for weeks now. “Everything will be back in order,” they say with a sigh, “everything will be just fine.”

This summer, people in the city have experienced a triple weather event. The heat, the flood, and before that, the earthquake. “I was really scared,” a student shared. “When my shelf fell down, I thought that I was going to die.” Fortunately, people escaped with a scare, but buildings have been damaged with a number of cracks – this orderly, cleaned up city all the sudden had water buckets under indoor ceilings because of cracks, because of invisible cracks. Nature clearly is the master in this part, in every part of the world.

The heat does not stop Ayami from tracking over to the garden, next to the train station. A student saw her bent over lying in the field, and he rushed to see what had happened, as it was too hot for anybody to spend much time outside. Nothing had happened. Ayami simply had bent over so she was closer to the weeds which she was taking out, one at a time. “It is my duty to take care of nature, beauty and order,” she said, with a coy smile. After she is done weeding, Ayami will walk over to the rice field to check the water level. If it is too high, she will have to drain the water.

Students keep playing tennis in the midday heat, with the heat index at 110 degrees. They run after soccer balls or go jogging across campus. In the evenings, older people leave their homes for a leisurely walk, while somebody plays the piano behind an open window, and young people come home on their bicycles. A boy greets strangers with “Ohayo.” ”Konbanwa,” his mother corrects with a smile, “konbanwa.” They all look forward to Monday, because it is Ocean Day; perhaps it will help with the heat.

They know how to celebrate major festivals here, in the city, and main celebrations justify a stop at the KFC. They order chicken, they sit down and they clean their hands with fresh towlets. They take a napkin, they open it up, they carefully place a piece of chicken in the napkin, they fold the napkin over the chicken, and they begin eating. It’s not “finger-licking” here, in the city of food and cleanliness. But Kuidaore Taro smiles on the other side of the street and plays his drums proclaiming to “eat until you drop, just keep your fingers clean.” This is the city for sanitary foodies.

The scholars have begun with their work, here at the university, they investigate subjective health, apo-ε4, education, and cognitive reserve, successful aging and telomeres and depression; an ambitious program. They ask questions and seek answers. They discuss, debate, and rethink. They called off a data collecting meeting with older people, the weather did not cooperate. How to reach nonagenarians on short notice? No e-mail, no cell phone, no internet. Why not the old-fashioned telegram, it is still alive and well here, in this town known for robotic research. The quick notice, however, does not stop some of the participants from showing up anyway, arriving on their bicycles or with their cars, ready to be tested. They had to go back home but devotedly came back the following weekend, in the heat of the day. Thirty nonagenarians on board – all but one in remarkable condition. They know how to take care of themselves, here, in the country of longevity.

While scientists brood over difficult questions, a young couple gets married at Shimogamo Jinja. This World Heritage site is old, very old as it dates back to the 6th century. The Kamo-jinja protects from malign influences.  A good place to marry at this shrine, as you first walk through an old, a very old forest, the Tadasu no Mori. They call it the “forest that will reveal all lies.” After this walk, the couple will be ready for their future. They drink “karin” mixed with honey and fresh mountain water – a drink of health to last throughout their entire marriage.

All around town hats are in fashion. Young people wear hats, old people wear hats, women and men, everybody is wearing hats. Berets are in for young women, they can showcase themselves, boys prefer sports-themed caps. Go and buy a new hat at Umeda or some other hat shop that has emerged here and elsewhere. None of them, though, say “Make Japan Great Again.” They don’t have to.

Children prefer to play with Anpanman, the bread boy made by Uncle Jam. His head is made of bread and his body is filled with, well… anko, red bean paste, of course. A lucky guy he is, as he does not need to eat or drink to keep alive, because the bean paste allows him to sustain himself. But don’t put him in water and don’t get him dirty, because he does not like that. When he gets weak or shares a part of his head with hungry children, Uncle Jam can always bake him a new head to replace the old one. He is cool, Anpanman, just cool.

In Nagayo, the sumo wrestlers have gathered to push each other around. Tochinoshin appears to be the one to beat. He looks determined, prepared, ambitious, and he remains unbeaten during the first several days. His looks are not fear-invoking, more calculating with a touch of bewilderment. Yes, Tochinoshin is the one to beat. Recently, the competition has not been without controversy. Was it proper for a sumo wrestler to hit his foe with a bottle of whiskey over the head? Were there manipulations for top wrestlers to “win” their competition so they can stay in the top league? Is this the spirit of the original gendai budō? Sumo wrestlers were supposed to celebrate the harvest, not the money.

Another tradition takes a much slower pace. Noh theater is expressive, dramatic and animated. Gondo-san has carved Noh masks ever since he decided to retire. “I learned from the best” he says and takes out his carving knife and his chisel and begins working on the next mask with pride. There is Ko-omoto and Waka-onna, the two young women who display their guarded smiles. There is Fukei, the aging woman with a touch of remaining youth. The masks contain their own secret powers, dating back to the Muromachi period. Some are demons, ghosts, and spirits. “I decided to bring these spirits to life,” Gondo-san says with a chuckle, “it gives me pleasure to work on these projects.”

Perhaps these spirits can help with the heat, with the flood, and with the earthquake, here in the city, where everybody knows it is constantly time to wipe off a few pearls of sweat, where people wear hats again, and where children joyfully play with Anpanman.

Prairie Post (Today from Tokyo)

Prairie Post

June 30, 2014

(Today from Tokyo)

It’s been warm, this last week; the temperature has climbed steadily over the last couple of weeks. People lose a little bit of their patience, they complain in their quiet, unassuming ways, and they shelter themselves in air-conditioned rooms or hide underground. Or they listen to some of their favorite stories.

The Pillow of Kantan is one of their much-loved Noh tales. Rosei, a young man seeking enlightenment, wonders about how he should live, and he makes his way to Mount Yōhi in the land of Chu, where he expects to find a wise monk who perhaps knows the answer. He gets himself ready for a long trip. “I need to find out, I simply need to find out,” he exclaims.

Not unlike him, many wonder about the essence of life, the path to longevity, and where, where would we find it. Perhaps we should make our way to distant destinations, places where people are known to live a long life. The fountain of youth somewhere on these islands? Compression of morbidity, here in some corner of this land? “I need to explore, simply explore,” he tells all those who would like to hear.

The path is long and arduous, the walk fatigues and slows down, here, in the mountains of the beautiful countryside, and it is time for a rest. Rosei stops at a guesthouse, hunger plagues him, and he needs more energy. The innkeeper welcomes this unexpected visitor from far away, and suggests that he rests, lay down and put his head on this special pillow. “I will wake you when the millet meal is ready,” she exclaims.

The trip is definitely long, and every day in this country takes up new energy. It is time to rest and to trust the host to provide a good meal, to slow down and contemplate long life, healthy long life, and perhaps respite will provide new insights and discoveries of unchartered places.

Rosei is approached by a messenger who tells him that he will now be the king of this territory; he will rule the land with all splendor and glory. And for fifty years he rules this country, fifty years of recognition, of decisions affecting the lives of many people. How good it must feel to lead the citizens of this country.

And so he dreams of new findings, of new insights into life, long life, and discoveries now come so easy: Exercise, of course, specifically stairs, and stairs, and stairs. Gardening and activity, of course. Nutrition, of course, but not so much what you eat but how you eat, small portions of many dishes, and one of the wisest ones exclaims, “eat everything!” And then, other components: of course, personality, self-discipline, agreeableness, and certainly no anxiousness. “Fear not, do not worry.”  Low stress, adaptability, harmony, kindness, and aesthetics. Support, family and community support, omiyage. Health care, universal health care relating to the long-lived in this country. Cleanliness or purification, onsen for every age. Happiness, physical health, less functional health. The symbolism and culture of longevity makes this perhaps a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Rosei is woken from his dream, the meal is prepared. And he realizes that, just like the kingdom he dreamt of, life itself is but a dream. There is no need to search further, he can go home now.

And so the dream brings this journey to a close. It is time to be pinched, perhaps the secret of longevity, like life itself, is but a dream, here in this beautiful country where people like to go on long hikes carrying parasols, where people like to contemplate and appreciate life for what it is.

Prairie Post (Today from Hokkaido)

Prairie Post

June 17, 2014

(Today from Hokkaido)

It’s been raining, raining just about every day of the week, here, in this rare place that is part of Japan but in so many ways is not. Heavy showers start during the late morning and will not let up until sometime in the afternoon when short dry spells trade places with more heavy rain. All the precipitation has made for a very lush, fresh, green flora; the white birch trees and poplars of Hokkaido proudly show their spring splendor in Daisetsuzan Sounkyo. And it is raining, and raining, and raining.

Higher up on Kurodake the snow is still piled up, dirty remnants of the long winter season that has just passed. The snow covers hiking paths in too many places making it next to impossible to continue a safe hike up the mountain. Some innocent trekkers attempt to master the path through deeper and deeper snow only to find out that the scenery at upper levels reveals the same foggy clouds all around. Perhaps it is the challenge of nature itself that propels them to continue to the next snowy hill. “Why not?”  they ask and continue onward. Others follow the path to yet another glorious waterfall, one step at a time, up and up, with raingear in hand. At each corner they warn unsuspecting brown bears that they are coming. Without the famous bells, a human chirping will do. After a long roundtrip, they return to the small village for the reward: a warm ramen noodle soup with plenty of mushrooms or a local donbori dish with delightful chicken pieces. Outside it is still raining, and raining, and raining.

A little more toward the canyon the colorful flowers have started blooming: Japanese alpine cherry, skunk cabbage, lilacs, azalea, moss phlox, lily of the valley. Their yellow, red, pink, purple and white display of colors challenge the gray sky above and brown soil all around. They lead the way to spectacular waterfalls gushing over the top of the summit, water pulled by unimaginable force to the base. And it is raining, and raining, and raining.

Away from this special park, there are other national treasures worth logging. The lakes of Akan and the geysers and mud pods of Noboribetsu in Shikotsu-Toya. A bath in the local onsen immerses visitors completely in sulfuric waters, a milky bath promising to heal all ailments humans might encounter. Meanwhile, it is raining, and raining, and raining.

The coast of this island invites with roaring waves that seemingly want to push the clouds further away, the surfs come in big waves and retreat just as soon as they reach their destiny. The Pacific is close to marshland here, home of the red-crested crane that has made a remarkable come-back in recent years. Only ten or twenty were left just a few decades ago, now they have made the shallow water their trusted territory again. So they pull up their head and trumpet their primitive territorial songs for everybody to hear. “This is my land,” “This is where my hatchlings will grow up” – “Leave us alone.” Only the Japanese cuckoo responds from the distance. And it continues to rain, rain, and rain.

The showers do not bother the Ainu here, indigenous people who have lived with harsh weather conditions for centuries. They imitate the cranes’ dances and their honk, they weave and they carve, and they keep warm around the fire built in the middle of their huts. They pull out their mukkuri, a distinct wooden hand harp, and play strangely vibrating sounds that surely tell a tale of bygone times when the God of Fire ruled here, in this peaceful land, where nature governs, where the cranes defend their territory, and where it rains, all days of the week.

Prairie Post (Today from Kyoto)

Prairie Post

May 25, 2014

(Today from Kyoto)

It has warmed up a bit this last week, here in this city of tradition and splendor. The sun is beginning to dominate during the day, and everybody is aware that the rainy season is expected to take over soon. Humidity has set in, and all signs suggest that there will be an important shift in the weather pattern.

The older generation knows that it is time to work in their fields and gardens. Rice shoots are showing their green leaves and are flooded by artificial lakes of water. Tractors are driving through the muddy, water-covered fields to bring some order to the fields. Men and women wearing their conical rice hats tend the grounds to inspect the season’s crop and thin out the plants. Rice means life and livelihood in Japan.

Women in the city carry their summer parasols as shields from the sun’s damaging rays. Kimono wearers are choosing light fabric with beautiful summer flower designs. And the more modern inclined generation chooses high heels over comfortable sandals. They wobble one step at a time, they hold on to railings when walking up stairs, but they feel proud to master the art of high-heel quavering. This city is full of contrasts: Business people in their dark suits sit next to students in jeans and t-shirts. Women in kimonos walk next to tourists in shorts and sleeveless tops.  Every fashion is spotted here in the city.

The younger generation does not mind breaking some of the conventional rules. Oh no, there is a young man eating a sandwich in the subway. He sheepishly tries to hide the food in his bag, but we all saw this! Oh no, there is a young women who did not cover her shoulders. Perhaps she is just returning from the Western world. Did she think we would not notice? Oh no, there is a young man who receives a phone call in the subway. He jumps up from his seat and runs toward the corner. Too late, young man!  We heard the ring loud and clear.

Kyoto – the city of temples and castles, and shrines, and gates – Nijo castle shows all its splendor on this late spring afternoon. The gold-platen gate promises a grand place inside. The Togugawa Shoguns built this wonderful palace containing paintings of tigers and leopards crouching under protective pine trees, of hawks and egrets, searching their next meal. The tatami rooms open to the most beautiful garden of trees, lakes, and magnificent boulders.  How generous the space, covering more than 275,000 square meters.

And then we find the path leading to the Fushimi Inari gates; more than 30,000 torii gates, they say, lead to the top of the mountain, stairs up, stairs up, and more stairs up. We can only image what the guardian foxes would say. Inari is the God of Rice, so they plant a holy rice field here to honor the higher being. And then there are stairs, stairs up, up, and more stairs up. They walk through red-orange painted gates. It’s been said that the bright color scares evil away. As the path leads to the top of the mountain – oh, did we mention, stairs up, up, and more stairs up – hikers seem to become younger and younger the farther one follows the path – perhaps these steps lead to the path of youth? People at any age would be easily convinced to turn around after having passed through perhaps the first 18,000 gates. But they keep walking, and walking, and walking, stairs up, stairs up, and more stairs up, until they reach the shrine on top of the mountain. People come to pray, press their palms, clap twice, bow, and pray. People come to face the city and play the recorder, a contemplative melody that transcends through the woods. People come here to pronounce a life that is well lived, they blow a conch-shell horn as if they had an important announcement for the rest of the world. This is a special place, a path up a challenging mountain. After a brief rest, visitors slowly descent to the base, down the stairs, and more stairs, and more stairs down.

The longevity researchers who had come from all over the world have now left town after discussing their secrets. There was much debate about FOXO-3, about the importance of social support, about life satisfaction, and gender differences; there was discussion about frailty, the importance of leisure activity, and loneliness, the importance of dental care, quality of life and personality, and debate about culture, about eating regular full meals, particularly those containing leucine. A historian shared his unique finding: a proclamation of how the people of Nara were to treat centenarians around 900 anno domini.  At that time, centenarians were entitled to receive a whole year’s worth of rice on their birthday and they were authorized to be cared for by four caregivers (three if you were an octogenarian). What an incentive for long life, here, in this classic city where people still like to wear kimonos, where there are torii gates everywhere, and where young people like to bend the rules, if only from time to time.