Badaud Dispatch 6-- Old Gods

Today I got an assignment to write a sci-fi story about a technological solution to a human want. Aside from being stoked to write fiction or really anything (writing is one of my greatest pleasures, between cycling and sleeping) I think it's an interesting problem. I have always viewed technology with a certain unease, although I use it all the time. I'm very conscious of becoming too far from the physical world, and how easy it is to forget the feel of the sun and water and leaves and sand and real things. 

I went on a field trip to Sony, and it was really impressive. They had super high resolutions screens, full sensory music videos, all kinds of real time interactive stuff. It was glassy and shiny and sleek and cool. And I left feeling a little sad, because I so love the real world and actual, existing things, and it seems to be slipping away gadget by gadget.

They didn't allow photos. So here is a giant saw instead. 

Later, I went to a robot expo, which also didn't allow photos. There were big robots, little robots, service robots, rolling robots, and moonwalking robots. My terrible Japanese was not up to technical chat (or really much of any chat) but I was glad to see what should be out in a world in a year or two. There was one, much like the picture below, which is supposed to be comforting. I picked it up and it weighed and purred more or less like a big cat. It was comforting. I didn't even feel bad and it made me feel better. But also somewhat revolted, because, though it was warm and soft and cute, it was a machine. 

Chummy, chummy plush

There were also these little penguin-like things being tested by very serious men in suits. 

These people are having too much fun.

It felt weird to be one of a handful of women, and the only Western one. I'm becoming used to being stared at (politely, surreptitiously) but it was particularly marked there. 

On Saturday I watched the most slow paced, introspective fireworks display I have ever seen. There were acts. And intermissions. It was lovely. Thousands of people stood watching on the beach off Enoshima saying 'Sugoi!' [awesome]. It was so different from the ones at home, as unflashy as a fireworks display can be. Then I ran into the water and ran right out again because it was full of dead minnows. 

SUGOIIIII! (Video by Dayna)

And on Sunday I joined the Keio Birdwatching Club on an expedition to the 'Gyotoku Birdwatching Place', but we somehow wound up helping the nature center people harvest rice instead. I think, though I could be wrong, that we wandered into the wrong meeting and were too polite to leave and just went along with it. 

Some of my lovely fellow birdwatchers.

They gave us work clothes, which included hand towels and tiny boots. I managed to jam my feet in, but the pants were hopelessly short. I had to assure the impossibly sweet park lady that I really didn't mind getting my jeans dirty. Really! Truly! I think they may be used to somewhat more fastidious city people than myself. 

That fellow showing me how to bundle rice stalks used to design logos for Nikon. Who knew?

It was so lovely to spend a morning outside, doing simple manual labor with the crows wheeling by and the sweet smell of the cut stalks and the satisfying sense of accomplishing something tangible. It's hard to write about this without sounding terribly corny, but I was genuinely reminded that all the digital excitement and robots and screens are only a thin layer over what is real, which is the land.

Drying on a bamboo rack

Then I went to an autumn festival in Kawagoe, which is a district full of traditional buildings and shrines. There were floats and drummers and vast, happy, lantern-lit crowds. It reminded me a bit of the Philadelphia Mummers, except that there were no knee deep piles of trash, vomit and drunk guys. In fact, the few times I saw an empty patch of street there was not so much as a cigarette butt. 

Here comes a float!

There were stands with amazing street food, stationary stages with traditional performers, and a pervasive, though relatively quiet, sound of flutes and drums. It wasn't raucous in the American sense, because while the mood was bright and celebratory there was a solemnity about it too. Even the children, in their festival yukata had on serious smiles. 

I don't know who this dancer was representing, but he had moves. 

It was thrilling to run through the crowded streets, to watch the streams of brightly dressed people sweep back and forth. It was intensely dreamlike, and it seems appropriate that almost none of my photos came out. 

Drummers

Then my (heavily international) group read each other children's stories on the train (first traditional Japanese ones, then Struwwelpeter and Max and Moritz) and that only added to the sense of having come unstuck in time and place. Upon finally stumbling back into the dorm I fell asleep at once and had strange, colorful dreams. 

There were real candles in the lanterns.

It's a good thing for me that I thrive on strangeness and novelty. There is plenty of that here. 

-Isis

Badaud Dispatch 5-- Gakusei desu, too.

Housekeeping stuff first-- I started an Instagram because thats what the cool kids have, apparently. I'll try to put up pictures every day. And now I know why everyone's trip photos always look better than mine-- they've applied the insta flattering insta filters of instagram, which makes everything look wistful and Williamsburg, and now mine do too. I draw the line at Twitter, however. I'm way to much of a verbose bastard for that, and I love stretching and bending and hammering my own beloved language to within an inch of its life, despite the various wails of various professors.* 

Also, who are all my French readers? Do I know anyone in France? Bienvenue, in any case. 

It occurred to me that I haven't mentioned school at ALL-- which, as it is my stated purpose for being here, doesn't look too good. I have approximately one class per day, though sometimes two or three. My schedule is non-repetitve and vague. So are the professors. I think the approach to design here is pretty philosophical and open-ended, as opposed to the relentless hands-on regimen at home. We're encouraged to wander and explore and absorb (you couldn't pay me to NOT do that) and the assignments are, so far, exceptionally manageable. The professors are also really sociable-- they keep throwing us sake-soaked parties and are happy to chat with us about everything from drones to European metal clubs. I was expecting the sensei-student gulf to be insurmountable, but it's hard to be intimidated when the sensei is wearing a froofy cosplay suit that is somewhere between a maid, a cat and a penguin.

So I have plenty of free time which I spend a-badaud-ing, which is far more interesting to write about than Innovations In Digital Media or Creative Conception for Transmedia (I might be designing a folding electric personal mobility whozzy though, so that's exciting).

I went to the Edo-Tokyo museum and was blown away at the detail of the exhibits. According to the seriously amazing English language guide, each figurine cost ¥20,00-50,000 (which is around $200-500).

The fishermen had tiny fish.

She said that after the financial collapse the dioramas have less people. Like everything here, the exhibits were beautifully, graciously, carefully laid out. I love museums anyway, and what was supposed to be a two hour excursion consumed an entire happy day. 

The first department store! They sent customers home with branded umbrellas for free advertising. 

There was an extensive section on the Tokyo air raids in WWII, and as the only American in the tour I wanted to crawl under a historical table. I've noticed that history is almost never mentioned here, and I wondered if perhaps no one wants to mention history to me. The guide did seem a lot more comfortable with Tokugawa. I suppose things move quickly and it's a new time and a new generation, but our mutually shameful past is still there and always will be. 

There was a truly righteous escalator:

That elegant Tokyo orange

And a new river to walk by and a boat parking area:

It's hard to see, but the little houses lining the artificial bank are ramen shops

Then there was a typhoon, so we stayed in and watched Rashomon. It was so loud I had to film it:

Whoosh!

There's another one coming this weekend, apparently (it's weird to hear how casually everyone talks about it- 'Oh yeah, there's another typhoon coming. Want to get sushi?') and I'm making a pilgrimage to Tokyo's only English language used bookstore tomorrow because there's only so long I can stare at a screen on a rained in day. 

This morning I went to Yokohama because why not, and there was something comfortingly familiar about the indolent waterfront. It wasn't just the grand Western architecture or British-y rose gardens, I think it was sense of openness and possibilities that I always feel in harbors. 

Plus, awesome pointy suspension bridges.

There were dragon boats! And few tourists. And all kinds of oddly placed parks on piers and elevations that I will revisit on a cooler day.

DRAGON BOAT!

There is a dreamlike sense I get when I walk out in sandals in October and the sun is hot but the light is autumnal and everything is very like New York, but not quite. Sometimes it's only the constant soft ache of missing people that reminds me how far I am from home, and sometimes it's everything. 

Strange deserted sculpture garden

And sometimes it's just beautiful:

Odaiba. Photo by Dayna (thanks Dayna!)

--Isis

*162 characters, point PROVEN. 

Badaud Dispatch 4---Fool's Luck

I just need to say that I rode from Shinjuku to Hiyoshi the other day on my wonderful new mamachari (tanker) bike with limited maps and exceptionally limited sense of direction AND MADE IT. On time for a meeting. And got sushi on the way. I don't often feel like a boss, but given Japan's lack of street names, my lack of Japanese, and clouds obscuring the sun's position, I FEEL LIKE A BOSS.

This is my mamachari. Isn't she perfect?

Indestructible, suckaaaaas

I bought it on Sunday and rode it to a music festival (more on that in a minute) and, not wanting to ride 20 km in the dark by myself with no maps, I left it behind to pick up when I had time. I was going to lock it to a pole in front of the police station, but was informed by helpful expatriates that it would get impounded at once. I considered leaving it in a (beautifully designed) designated bike trough, but apparently there is an army of semi retired men who lurk in the shrubbery and impound any bike left for over 24 hours. So, again following the Helpful Expatriates' advice, I took it to the closest approximation of a dark alley that Tokyo can produce and locked it to a downspout behind a vending machine (upon day lit inspection the downspout turned out to be a VINE). 

And no one stole it. 

And today I spent several happy hours putzing around the canals and narrow streets and talking to the crows and making friends with local cats. People gave me weird looks-- I think aimless roving is not really a thing here, and neither are dazed westerners on mamacharis. I somehow only got lost a couple of times. I may complain about Tokyo's lack of magic, but I've had really astonishing luck with directions. Maybe what magic there is only works for navigation. 

How I love the canals

So. Music festival. One of our professors puts on MoshiMoshi Nippon Festival with the stated purpose of introducing Japanese pop culture to the rest of the world. So it was music, fashion and food, although the latter was crepes and fried chicken so I guess that didn't quite work out. 

There were robots. Really wrecked robots.

Now, disclaimer, I neither seek out nor particularly like pop and techno, so take the following lightly. 

This guy did not take it lightly

They had girl bands alternating with fashion shows. Girl bands are extremely catchy, well choreographed, and, to my ears somewhat monotonous. Apparently they are all in their early teens and have well crafted public personas. 

The fashion show models were of varying body types and seemed to be having a great time.

Even the guys

The fashion itself was brightly colored and pleasantly goofy. 

Later, when the headliner finally made an appearance, I did find myself dancing (and thinking 'If you told me a year ago I'd be voluntarily dancing all kawaii-like at a J-pop show on a Sunday afternoon , I would have laughed in your face). Her name is Kyary Pamyu Pamyu and here is a video. 

Yeah.

Apparently she is Japan's Lady Gaga. She is extremely popular. 

I think if I'm gonna stay grounded in this utterly baffling country I need to spend as much time as I can outside, by the rivers and canals and mountains and trees and real things.  There are some things I really miss about my dear, chaotic, grubby, open-hearted city. 

I'll just keep trusting in my own good luck and keeping more or less parallel with the trains. Its been working well so far.

AND! The other day I met a lady on the train (she seemed concerned about a bunch of lost foreigners going to the beach on a fairly chilly day) and she managed to hook me up with a volunteer run language center that I signed up for this morning and it's amazing. Lovely retirees sit down with you and gently correct your grammar and teach you new words. So yes, good luck is definitely related to trains. 

-Isis