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Prairie Post (Today from Osaka)

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Prairie Post

February 8, 2014

(Today from Osaka)

It is snowing here, flurries started coming down earlier in the day, and there is much exhilaration in the air.  It only snows once or twice a year, in this city at the Osaka bay. Some of the houses are covered with a very thin layer of snow that reluctantly melts when the temperature starts climbing about mid-morning. There are continuous weather reports on television, trains are not leaving, and people are meticulously cleaning the sidewalks with window squeegees on large extensions, and then they immediately use their trusted brooms to clear the remaining slush. The snow is short-lived here and does not belong to this part of the country where people are used to their comfortable, more predictable, and highly hygienic life.  The snow, though, is a welcome change from the otherwise cool and damp weather pattern of winter.

Students are finishing up their examinations, with much restlessness and anticipation before presenting their final bachelor’s and master’s projects.  They come in their black suits and show a level of nervousness that communicates a rare occasion that they prefer to be left alone, if only for a while. Then they emerge from the academic tribunal with exhaustive relief – the examination is over, although the results will not be known for another month.

But they celebrate already with a nabe feast to which everyone is invited. They pull out the stoves, flip on the gas, boil the water and mix the pork, the cabbage, the mushrooms, the carrots, and after half an hour, the meal is ready to serve. They treat themselves to their best sake, only the best, you should taste it, it is something special indeed.

Meanwhile, the search for longevity continues.  They start the day late but stay long hours into the night. You want to be seen in the office here, it adds more to your prestige than any publication or grant you may get.  There is time to study, to compare, to investigate.  And they find surprising results: Not so favorable is the level of functioning among the very old, here, in this country of extreme old age, not so favorable is their level of cognition. The gerontologist here explains, “old people in Japan are like fish in deep water – they don’t move much but get very old.”  In contrast, he jokes, “old people in the United States are more like sharks – moving all the time, not getting quite so old…”

Our two visitors listen and learn. And they relax at a local onsen, no tourists here, no plush area hidden in a first-class hotel. This is where Jedermann stops by, a crowded place on weekends, a place to contemplate, steam, think, steam, cold water and hot, sauna and bath, steaming, and relaxing, just thinkiiiiing  aboooouuut it ….. makes you ………..feel……………………kind of  …………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..relaxed, here……..in the city…..where your worth is measured by how much time you spend in the office, where there is occasional snow, and where people know how to take care of their body and mind.

Prairie Post (Today from Kyoto)

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Prairie Post

January 25, 2014

(Today from Kyoto)

A nice warm-up this morning, in this traditional city of Japan, the sun is hiding behind clouds, and the mountains are barely visible in the back. Spring has not cleared the air but has warmed the city from the bottom up. Wild dog roses are blooming already here and there, and older couples are tending small gardens in front of the monorail station. The days are getting longer and there is cautious, palpable motion in the city.

There are people around, many people who run their weekend errands or who are headed toward the temples. They climb steep hills in the hopes to jump off Kiyomizu’s stage or to find the waterfall that allegedly brings longevity. They meander through parks and visit the Buddha who commemorates those who lost their lives in previous wars. They stop here and there to rest and to eat their udon noodles or rice bowls, and they drink tea, always green tea. Around them are women in beautiful kimonos, and there are white-faced geishas in this colorful, dressed up city, not the jeans-and shirts fashion of neighboring towns.

And they emphasize hygiene. There is no trash; people wear mouth masks to avoid the PM2.5 particles that bind with the sand blown over from China. They diligently clean handrails and tables, they sweep streets and pathways, and they provide guests with towelettes so they can clean up before each meal.  They enjoy their onsen, they shower, they steam, then shower, and they steam again. This is a country of hygiene and cleanliness, body and mind.

The grocery stores are also spotless, they are well-stocked, and organized. But what are these items displayed on shelves and on counters? There is fish, fish, and more fish – only, they are difficult to identify. Where is the salt and what does bouillon look like in this strange assortment of goods? Why are the apples and pears so big, okii desu, okii desu, yes these are apples. Is there only blueberry marmalade here, not raspberry or orange? Why is the white bread as thick as Texas toast and where is the meat?  Is there meat?  No butter here or is it simply packaged differently? And the beer, yes there is beer, but why is it so expensive? A beer tax to curb the alcohol lust?  So they drink happoshu or beer-flavored beverages, the third beer, all with lower malt content that is the basis for beer taxes here. Or they drink green tea, of course, but not all green tea is the same here, is it? And do Japanese ever drink milk? Why is there no cheese in this country? Or cold-cut meat, no cold-cuts, oh yes, I forgot the meager cooked ham slices that did find their way onto the shelves. But radishes, large, white radishes, leeks over leeks, bean sprouts and then again fish, so much unidentifiable fish everywhere, their names seemingly written in miniature calligraphy, not readable to the Western eye.

There does not seem to be advertisement for food or for drinks, and nobody carries soda drinks – this is not the land of Coca Cola. There is no advertisement for the Big Mac, for the Burger King or for Kentucky Fried Chicken. This country is not food-obsessed, food indoctrinated, or food-plagued. Eating comes naturally here, in the Far East, where the weather is already mild, where temples dominate the city and where confusion still rules in the grocery store.