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
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