Temples are a sort of neighborhood oasis — perfect for when you want to escape the stress, concrete and traffic of everyday life.

When I studied abroad in Japan, my two big goals were 1) to take advantage of my cultural and academic experience in Tokyo and all that great stuff, and 2) to find temples.

After my purposeful and accidental temple wanderings, I was not only able to see the various functions temples hold in everyday life, but also to catch the different faces these sites show at different times of day.

It doesn’t matter where you’re from or how you made your way to temples — they share a sense of calm and belonging that transcends pretty much everything. My fondest memories of Japan during my brief travels there as a kid were walking to the temples in my grandparents’ neighborhood and looking at the trees, listening to the crows, and watching people walk up to the temple to throw coins and ring the bell rope.

Temples have the silent ability of taking a location and making it yours.

The original function of many temples was a protective one. They were a place to protect your “village” or “town.” As a sort of communal center, they also served as the hubbub of annual festivals, such as ennichi or matsuri, most often held during the dog days of summer and beginnings of fall.

At New Years, many visit their local temples for the first shrine visit of the year (a hatsumoude). In the spring, the temple grounds burst into color during cherry blossom season.

When not in the center of action, temples receive daily meanderers. Some (like me) visit for a nice walk/detour from commute. Others wander through to offer a prayer of success, hope, or grief.

I would often stand off to the side, or sit on a bench, and watch the successive visitors as they walked up to the altar, and wonder what it was they were praying about.

Click here to see this in motion. (video taken by author)

During my walks, I also found the many different faces a temple will show throughout the day. The starkest difference, I think, was at night. Once in the summer, I came home later than I usually did, walking out of the train station right when it began to grow dark. It coincided with the onset of the intense heat that was to take over Japan in July and August—and so I was quite sweaty and tired.

After walking past the little restaurants and shops that had their warm, yellow neon lights lit, I glanced over at the temple to see it aglow as well. Little lantern posts lined up along the walkway, leading to two large lanterns on either side of the front of the temple, which I had never noticed before.

Instead of going straight to my grandparents’ house, I took a little detour to another temple close by, and saw a similar sight—several series of stairs lit by rather ghostly lanterns. Because the dark obstructed most of my sight, and the birds were asleep, I heard and felt things I could not during the day. You could almost feel the place breathe. It felt alive.

See night temple magic in motion. (video taken by author)

Whenever you find yourself in Japan, I recommend you search out these neighborhood delights, and see what surprises you will stumble upon in your adventures. Japan shows its beauty and life in unexpected places.

The post Matcha, Manga, and Mayonnaise: Temples appeared first on KRUI Radio.

As he began to settle down in Edo, Ieyasu decided that he needed a regular supply of fish (an understandable priority). He thus summoned a group of professional fishermen from Tsukudamura, Osaka, in 1590, as the official fish suppliers to Edo castle.

These fishermen made use of what was left over from their transaction with the royal castle and distributed them to more regular customers around the town, accelerating a very healthy business. The Nihonbashi fish market was established soon after, until it was destroyed in the great Kanto earthquake. The fish market then moved to its present-day location in Tsukiji in 1935. That is, until this year.

Saturday, October 6^th saw the last tuna auction at Tsukiji, before the big move to Toyosu (a location closer to Tokyo Bay). A sad day.

Why the big move? The main cited reason is that the Tsukiji market is showing signs of serious age and wear, heightened this summer when the air cooling units malfunctioned during the horrific heat wave.

So it’s about time the fish market got a fresh start. However, there remains an element that the property the market is currently sitting on could be utilized for the Tokyo Olympics of 2020. And so the market is in the way of possibly brilliant plans for the Big Event in 2020. But that is all just talk, of course.

Regardless, we are currently witnessing a change in eras, if you measure eras by fish markets. Tsukiji has long been the axle of the fishing and culinary scene in Tokyo. It vestiges the strong integration of fish and society, the professional and passionate relationship between fishermen, fish, and culinary artist, and the artful juxtaposition of the old and the new in Tokyo.

When I was abroad in Tokyo this spring/summer, I stumbled on Tsukiji during my rambles around Ginza. I remember walking from the high-end business district and suddenly noticing rusty buildings across a busy intersection. It was after crossing the intersection that I realized I had walked in on the Tsukiji turf itself.

It was one of the most exhilarating experiences I’ve ever had, and one of the few times I fell in love with a location in the first five minutes.

Small vendors yelling advertisements of their wares spread out on makeshift tables, melted ice thrown into street corners, buyers and wanderers from all over the world just being passionate about fish and fish culture.

All of this took place beneath rusted buildings and gutters filled with grass that silently told of years’ past. Here you could feel the collapsed distance between source and destination.

Tsukiji has an elemental nature to it, one of unadorned enthusiasm for contact with food, source, and people. It’s an atmosphere that no one takes for granted.

Though this transition between fish markets is a rather sad development, I believe this is one of the fundamental characteristics of Tokyo. It is a mobile, fluid city; change and transition is part of its stability and identity.

And now the market has begun a new life in Toyosu — which I cannot wait to check out for myself someday.

The post Matcha, Manga, and Mayonnaise: Ode to Tsukiji appeared first on KRUI Radio.

And so, considering just how awesome an experience it was for me, I thought I would devote a post to touch on how to get on the right track towards study abroad. Study abroad is like that iceberg meme—much focus is placed on when you get there; but this long-anticipated moment is the result of a LOT of hard work. So I thought I would bring up a few points to keep in mind, if you are thinking about starting or have already started the process to study abroad, first study your options of places and languages, for example studying in israel in english is a possibility and one of a great options.

1) Do a little ~Introspection~

A vital question to ask yourself is “why do I want to study abroad?” It’s one of those sentences that your mind automatically answers with “Uh, because I want to?” while glossing over study abroad pamphlets. But it is a serious and valid question that must be addressed before even choosing your program. It can validate, critique, or instigate your plans. Why are you studying abroad? And why this country or program? Is it just because your friends did and you want to follow suit? Do you want experience, or a chance to step out of your comfort zone? Do you see it as a challenge, or a way to discover yourself? As for me, I wanted to study and experience a culture and people that have been a large part of my life and my identity as a biracial person, and to pursue academic areas (such as linguistics and translation) that are part of my career goals, and to study abroad is the best decision you can make,  to study abroad, first study your options of places and languages, for example studying in israel in english is a possibility and one of a great options.. And believe me, this introspection is going to do wonders when you’re doing applications and statements of purpose (just saying).

2) Money Money Money

A more logistical concern surrounds finance. You really want to go abroad, but then you see a cost sheet for your program, or remember your tight financial situation. The thing to remember, however, is that there are always opportunities to help finance your experience, but this also requires the initiative to seek them out and pursue them. A lot of the scholarships and grants that you will find may give you the “There’s no way I’ll be able to get that” mental flinch. But go for them anyway. I applied for the Benjamin Gilman scholarship—applying to a big program like this was a first for me—because there was an opportunity staring at me in the face (and people had recommended it), that I had to take a shot at. And I got it. That, together with other scholarships from my university, made my experience possible.

3) Tick-Tock Goes the Clock

DON’T PROCRASTINATE. Says I, someone so articulate in procrastination that I should have a professional degree in it. But the fact remains that you’re dealing with deadlines that will usually be as hard as the sidewalks you walk on. You are working with (and hope to actually be with) institutions that are working with who-knows-how-many prospective applicants. You will also be working with two different governments (again, depending on your program) to get visas, passports, airplane tickets; and this is not including potential duties that may need to be done abroad (I had to deal with tonnnnns of paperwork in Japan too).

It may help to think of this article as a memoir of things I needed to remember when I was preparing to study abroad, during which I learned important lessons about time management, responsibility, and a bold use of opportunities.

The post Matcha, Manga, and Mayonnaise: Study Abroad appeared first on KRUI Radio.

Since that rather unfortunate question, I’ve held a decent amount of respect for sumo, though I did not actually start enjoying the sport until about one and a half years ago, while watching twenty-minute clips of sumo highlights on YouTube every tournament with my dad.

And now, being in Japan, I finally got the chance to go watch the sport in the flesh—let me take you through an average day of sumo for your average foreigner.

But first:

What is sumo? At first glance, wrestling. Upon further investigation, an ancient Shinto-based ritual sport drenched in history. In its youth (“youth” meaning before 1000 A.D.), sumo supposedly had a prophetic function for the year’s crops, until it gradually accrued popularity as a pure sport—famous warlord Oda Nobunaga called sumo wrestlers from around the country for tournaments. And then at last sumo became an established entertainment sport during the Edo period (1600-1867), molded into its modern form.

The basics of the game is for two rikishi (wrestlers) to wrestle until one either hits the ground with any body part other than their feet, or steps outside the rope ring. A rikishi can win by several means, or moves, including “force out,” “slap down,” “over-arm throw,” etc.

There are six tournaments, or Basho, per year—one for each season, and two at Nagoya and Kyushu, respectively. The seasonal basho take place at different locations around the country, including Osaka and Tokyo, starting and ending on a Sunday, lasting two weeks.

(for more detailed information, check this out)

The basho that I went to was the Summer Basho, held at the Kokugikan in Tokyo. I had originally wanted to order a good seat online, but Alas! I was too late. And so the only option left was to get “Day Tickets” (toujitsu-ken), about 23 bucks, which you can only acquire by lining up outside the Kokugikan, just a two minute walk from the Ryogoku train station. At dawn.

And so, after boarding a train at 5:40 in the morning and arriving an hour later, I ended up 93^rd in line.

Another hour’s wait later sitting on the sidewalk, it was finally time to purchase our tickets.

The thing about the cheapest tickets is that, though they require the most effort, they get you seats the farthest away from the main arena. It’s a flavorful mixture of extremes—but it also makes for a great experience.

You get in at about 8:00, the prominent rikishi don’t wrestle until 3:30, and so you have

about seven hours to kill by watching rookies, exploring the Kokugikan, eating, or sleeping (I did it all). I definitely recommend the eating. The food vendors boast a delectable box of yakitori (chicken kabobs), a variety of lunchboxes, ice cream, and other snacks/meals to keep you nourished and entertained throughout the day.

At about 2, you can get out of the building and line up around one of the gated entrances to watch the top rikishi come in with their attendants. After many long minutes of standing among other sweaty people, handkerchiefs on their heads, fans flapping, and camera at the ready, you finally get to see the sumo wrestlers begin to saunter in, clad in yukata and

sandals, stoically gazing ahead as fans shout their names (“Endo!” “Tochinoshin!”), and non-fans ignore them. Then it is time to return back to the arena.

When the arena is the fullest, and excitement is at its apex, and people are furiously munching at their French fries, the bouts between the top rikishi begin.

The neat thing about sitting all the way in the back, is that you can see the variety of people that come to watch. Foreigners, couples, families, old men, middle-aged women, and bands of middle-schoolers there for a school trip. Perhaps one

of the things I’ll probably remember the most is how the different middle schoolers had a competition trying to cheer for their rikishi the loudest.

Two hours later, you’ve finally seen the Yokozuna (the top of the top) finish their bouts, and then it is time to go home.

Perhaps the next best thing to watching sumo in person, was watching the people who came. I was surprised to see how popular sumo is still to people of all ages and countries, to form a rather cozy little community for the day within the Kokugikan.

All photos were taken by author

The post Matcha, Manga, and Mayonnaise: Sumo appeared first on KRUI Radio.

Yes, cherry blossoms. Or sakura in Japanese. The symbol of transient beauty. Ahh.

Neighborhoods turn pink, the air feels fluffy, and all seems right with the world.

Time stops, but only to remind you of its presence as you watch the pink petals fall.

Sakura season is the ultimate experience, from the time the buds form until the trees shed their blossoms. And after finally experiencing sakura season for myself, I thought I would share with you the three main stages of this wonderful season.

The first stage is mostly one of anticipation—seeing the buds form. After weeks of damp cold and wind and wet snow, the appearance of the buds is that wonderful, warm sign of the coming of spring. These are by no means the first buds you’ve seen—the hardier plum trees have already bloomed at this point, as a sort of preview of what is to come. People are still wearing their scarves and heavy coats, waiting for that one warm day in which the buds will burst and signal winter to finally take its vacation.

Then the cherry blossoms bloom. There being multiple varieties, they don’t bloom at once but pop up in various shades of pink, salmon, and white. And it is so sudden that one morning on your usual walk to the local train station, you will suddenly notice monstrous pink clouds hovering over the street and people stopping for two minutes to take pictures before hurrying to the morning train.

Despite these pretty sights in the neighborhoods and little parks, many “go” to see the cherry blossoms in sakura hot-spots like Inogashira park, Ueno Park, the Sumida River, etc. Some just trek it, others go early in the morning to reserve spots for hanami, basically sakura-viewing parties. I went to Yasukuni Shrine and the neighboring Kitano Maru Park, that flanks the imperial palace.

The cherry blossoms were beautiful, of course. But I also enjoyed watching the people. People on lunch break, couples young and old, families, and friends, all took a break from their daily lives to look at the flowers and maybe sit for half an hour to eat lunch under the canopy of pink.

There is a word in Japanese (hitoiki) that roughly translates to “a breath”—and as you would expect, it means to stop and take a moment, often associated with a cup of tea. And I felt like sakura season is a particularly opportune time to take the moment to watch others take a moment. Everyone is united by one objective–to take a detour from life and enjoy the flowers.

The last stage, which rivals the second stage in beauty, is when the petals fall. Back home I never really appreciated flowers after they fell. Perhaps it’s common for us to associate the fall of the flowers as signal of the end. A bit like taking off Christmas decorations.

But here I noticed how much magic remains during and even after all the petals have fallen. Streams of pink run down the street. Blankets of petals flow down the rivers and pool up in eddies. Big trucks and bicycles pick up clouds of petals and send them swirling for a time in the air. Young couples and children try to catch the falling petals.

One morning, I happened to wander to a neighboring park and saw a bunch of kindergartners on recess, who were picking up big handfuls of petals, throwing them in the air, and stuffing them into little Ziploc bags provided by their teachers. It may just be my favorite sakura season memory.

Sakura season almost felt a bit like our Christmas—sublime, surreal, and short, ending before you’ve actually soaked everything in.

All photos taken by author

The post Matcha, Manga, and Mayonnaise: Sakura appeared first on KRUI Radio.

Gegege no Kitaro (ゲゲゲの鬼太郎) is one of those anime/manga that struts away from convention.

First written by Mizuki Shigeru (quite the character himself) in the 1960s and continuing to this day, with the first anime series coming out within the same decade, it depicts the wonderful world of yokai, told through the eye (he only has one) of Kitaro.

First, what are yokai? The term is hard to translate, but if you think of monsters, goblins, ghosts, and the boogie man, you would come quite close. They are legendary ghost things that have thrived in the popular imagination for centuries, appearing most colorfully in Edo-period woodblock prints.

In the world of Kitaro, these yokai come in all shapes, sizes, and colors. For instance, rokurokubi (named after the

potter’s wheel) is typically a maiden-like monster, whose head and neck coils out from the rest of her body and licks lantern oil at night. Another monster is betobeto-san (quite literally, “sticky man”)—an invisible little guy that you might hear following you in the forest at night, mimicking your steps; but if you say “Go ahead of me, Betobeto-san,” he will disappear and leave you alone. There are also giant skeletons, ocean blobs with googly eyes, and an old man that washes dried beans underneath bridges. If you want to learn more about these and other yokai, check this out.

In this yokai world, the story revolves around Kitaro, a short boy with a yellow and black vest, sporting rad grey hair and clogs. He was born after his parents’ death and burial, somehow making his way out of the grave as a baby. With many strange powers, including the ability to shoot his hairs out like needles, supernaturally detect the presence of other yokai, and go in and out of hell at will, Kitaro is considered one of the most powerful yokai walking the earth.

His father somehow comes back to life in the form of one of his eyeballs, and accompanies Kitaro on a wandering journey until they reach the yokai forest (Gegege no mori), where they spend their easy-going lives.

What do yokai do in this world? Chill. And stop other rogue yokai that try to harm the human world. The plots are simple, and the fun sources from seeing the hundreds of different yokai that make their entrances.

I recently made a visit to the “Kitaro Teashop” (a.k.a. Kitaro-jaya), which is a cafe and souvenir shop themed around the ghost-y manga, nestled within a temple-village called Jindaiji in Southwest Tokyo. If you knew that Mizuki was born in a different prefecture in Japan, you may be wondering, “Why did someone randomly put a Kitaro cafe in Tokyo?”

It turns out that Mizuki lived in the Jindaiji area, hence the almost memorial function of the teashop. And upon my visit, I could see why Mizuki would live there–Jindaiji is a lush, quiet, foresty, and rather mysterious area. And after wandering around the Edo-esque

streets, creeks, and aged shops, you begin to wonder if you’ve entered another dimension–perhaps even a yokai world. And I felt like I became a bit more acquainted with the world of Mizuki Shigeru and his quirky monsters.

The post Matcha, MANGA, and Mayonnaise appeared first on KRUI Radio.

To give you an unconventional taste of daily life in Japan, I thought I would put together a list of things I have noticed during my three weeks here so far. After all, the little things can often make the biggest difference.

• Weak coffee is called American Coffee

Coffee is generally served strong here–but if you want a weaker cup, order it “American Style.” Though coffee has more kick, cafes always supply you with plenty of cream and syrup. Yes, liquid sugar, which mixes much better in beverages than the granulated sugar we have to deal with in the states.

• Changing rooms:

After waiting about ten minutes in line to get into a changing room at a GU clothing store, I had the most incredible changing room experience, which I will describe in chronological succession.

They offer face masks (which look like nets) that you can put over your face to protect your skin when trying on sweaters.

 You are supposed to take off your shoes outside the room, in concern for the hygiene of your socks. And if that weren’t enough, the attendant, stopping me before I could hop in, quickly mopped the room floor with a Swiffer.

Because you have to take off your shoes, a shoe horn hangs outside your stall to help you put them back on.

If you kicked off your footwear in a disorderly fashion, the attendants may rearrange your shoes so that they are ready for you to quickly slip back on. I’ve never felt so taken care of???

• Bathrooms (thought you would never have a pleasant experience in the washroom? Think again.)

Japanese toilets are a masterpiece. Advanced ones (which you’ll encounter in many places in Tokyo) offer at least the following amenities:

Warmed seats

An odor suction button

A button that plays music for when you need white noise

A bidet button (bidets apparently are a thing in many countries)

And at least two different flushing options. It kind of feels like sitting on a captain’s chair in a spaceship.

• You will never not have a place to put your umbrella

Almost all stores have an umbrella stand, or tall plastic bags so you can carry your umbrella around drip-free. Banks even have a small, yellow notch for you to rid of umbrella-related stress while making your transactions.

• Gas Stations

If you have an attendant fill your gas for you, they not only fill your tank and wipe your windows, but they also hand you a cloth to wipe the inside of your car and ask if you have any trash, so they can dump it for you.

It’s only been three weeks and I already feel spoiled.

On a different note: the featured image of this post is from a very cool photo series called “Takashi Kitajima’s view of Tokyo Through a Magnifying Glass“–check it out!

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