#25 Tempura

Perhaps I could have set higher expectations for my year abroad than to eat a bowl of battered-fried vegetables but, as a woman, I am genetically predisposed to being attracted to anything laden with fat and/or sugar, so I happily added tempura to the list of conquests.

I’m the kind of person would basically eat her own foot if it was covered in batter anyway, so I knew all along that tempura couldn’t possibly fail me.

I was not disappointed. In ‘Green Eggs and Ham’ style I ate them in restaurants, karaoke joints, izakayas, in Osaka, Kobe, Kyoto, Shikoku, in tiny dishes, from large platters, piled on top of a steaming bowl of udon, with sushi… almost anywhere I could order them, I did.

Real Japanese Tempura (yes, with capital letters) is crispy, light and so subtly delicious that my mouth is watering right now thinking about the taste of dipping it whilst still warm into a dish of tentsuyu (tempura sauce), tilting my head back and dropping the entire thing into my mouth like those claw machines at fairgrounds. It’s an art that any true British person has mastered by the age of seven from practising since birth, The Art of Dipping the Rich Tea Biscuit – how to perfectly time the immersion so that you could pop the morsel in your mouth dripping with liquid on the outside and yet still remain crispy on the inside.

Good tempura batter tastes like buttery air and the vegetables still maintain their fresh sweet taste even after frying (deceitfully disguising the calories hidden inside).

Like the ‘scrambled egg test’ that a lot of trainee chefs have to pass in order to prove that they can cook well, (the premise is that if they can’t cook even a simple dish properly, then they have no hope), it’s hard to find Real Japanese Tempura anywhere else other than in the kitchen of a skilled chef. I remember once my host mother tried to make it but there wasn’t enough air in the batter so it was more like a piece of chopped vegetable was trapped inside dough mixture (which I had no problem with eating anyway), rather than wrapped in a delicate cocoon of translucent batter.

Speaking of transluscency, I can tell from my almost sexual way of describing Real Japanese Tempura that I enjoyed it a bit too much. Now I have become one of those people who have been to Nirvana and has come back to never be able to face a cod and chips again without comparing it to tempura and thinking, “Ew, this tastes like my foot in batter”.

ただいま Tadaima

It’s been over a year now since I’ve returned from Japan.

As I became so busy with my studies back in England, I had almost given up with writing for this blog. But, I realise now that I can’t keep away. Japan will always have a special place in my heart, like an old friend, who, no matter how bat-shit crazy they gets sometimes, I will always think of with affection.

I’ve been lucky enough to make a lot of new friends with Japanese language students in their fresher year, who are in exactly the same position I was when starting this blog. There’s something special about being able look back on my time in Japan and being able to see it from a more grown-up standpoint, rather than the magical land of rainbows that I had imagined it to be before I went.

As I saw my friends fervently preparing for their year abroad, I felt a strong urge to condescendingly pat them on the head and say, “You have no idea what you’re in for, young one”.

Pangs of nostalgia hit me at random moments – when I hear a song we used to sing at karaoke, a smell that reminds me of my host family’s home, when I look at old purikura or photos I took on my travels, I feel like I want to go home, back to Japan.

I wasn’t there for very long, but those hot summer and chilly winter days made up the time of my life, and each day stood out for me like a whole week or month back in England.

I had written a lot of draft posts that have sat forlornly on my dashboard, like dusty manuscripts wanting to see the light of day. Now as I flick through them I realise that even though they were modest goals, completing each one made me truly happy, and I should honour those feelings with my words.

So, due to popular demand, I have decided that I shall indulge myself in my memories once again and return to writing for 101 Things in Japan. Thank you to all those that have stuck with me and to new readers – please keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle, you’re in for a ride!

#44 Zen Garden

For some inexplicable reason, I have more than just a passing obsession with carefully laid out rocks.

Now, in case you’re thinking about what a strange and rather sad obsession this is, let me just say… you’re not wrong.

It takes a special kind of person to have the ability to derive so much pleasure from pieces of nature that can’t be smoked. Yes, that kind person is me, but you’d be surprised at how many other normal-looking people also flock to famous places to silently ogle for an hour at raked sand.

Zen gardens are definitely very high up there in my favourite kinds of Japanese landscape (yes I have mental list of such things), which is quite impressive if you think about the kind of things Japan offers – glorious snow-capped mountains, miles of cherry blossoms along riverbanks and huge cities glowing with the neon lights of urban life.

Zen garden near Koya-san, Wakayama prefecture

I can’t say exactly what it is about these gardens that get me going except that there’s something about the fact that even though they are man-maintained, they still have a strong sense of natural beauty and an air of tranquillity about them.

Unlike gardens one might find in Britain (the kind I’m more used to seeing) Japanese gardens don’t try so hard to aim for perfection outside of nature’s ability to create it. This is a generalization of course, but it’s not uncommon in England to find hedges that are trimmed to at perfect right angles (and/or any ridiculous bear/snowman/phallis shape), red roses cross-bred for generations and lawns trimmed more carefully than one would their fingernails.

The Zen garden of Ryōan-ji, Kyoto

Whatever the reason, I for one really appreciate the thought that must have gone into arranging the gardens, even though to the untrained eye they may look as random as having been offloaded from the back of a truck. For example, in Ryōan-ji (pictured above) there are fifteen stones carefully placed so that no matter from which angle you can look upon the garden, you will never be able to see all of the rocks at the same time.

There are many interpretations but to me it simply means “that’s life”.

And if that wasn’t enough to blow your mind, I checked out Wikipedia (my reliable source for everything I know) and found this utterly fascinating piece of knowledge:

According to the researchers, one critical axis of symmetry passes close to the centre of the main hall, which is the traditionally preferred viewing point. In essence, viewing the placement of the stones from a sightline along this point brings a shape from nature (a dichotomously branched tree with a mean branch length decreasing monotonically from the trunk to the tertiary level) in relief.

The researchers propose that the implicit structure of the garden is designed to appeal to the viewers unconscious visual sensitivity to axial-symmetry skeletons of stimulus shapes. In support of their findings, they found that imposing a random perturbation of the locations of individual rock features destroyed the special characteristics.

For that kind of genius the I give the Anonymous who designed Ryōan-ji a non-patronising slow clap of respect.

#66 Nara

Nara was the capital of Japan from 710 when it used to be the center of Japanese religion and politics until the Emperor Kammu moved to Kyoto, ending the Nara period in 784.

Since then, although it’s lost some of it’s former glory, it still remains as one of the finest cities in Japan, deeply steeped in history and beauty. People from all over the country and the rest of the world still flock to Nara to appreciate its World Heritage site – Todaiji amongst it’s other world famous pagodas, gardens, towns and other temples.

Nara, like most other cities in Japan, relies heavily on tourism and should you happen to go during some of it’s busiest months (ie. cherry blossom season) you won’t find it hard to bump into more gaijin than Japanese people as you jostle your way towards the main attractions. I really recommend getting a guide or someone who knows what they’re talking about to really get the best out of this wonderful city.

Being the otaku Japanologist that I am, I arrived early one day to grab front row seats to Nara’s most spectacular show – the sacred Omizu-dori matsuri, also known as the ‘Fire Festival’ that happens just once a year. It happens in March and is really a must see if you’re in the Kansai area during this time.

On the way, you may see street vendors selling freshly baked sweet potato. There probably aren’t that many requirements that are compulsory to be a successful street vendor – except to be very old, because it’s those sad wrinkled faces that stir up the kind of guilt that make you want to buy such overpriced food – but at least it’s delicious and you could use the skin scraps to feed the deer…

Don't underestimate these beasts

Deer are believed to be sacred creatures, and have been protected for hundreds of years in Nara. It is illegal to harm or kill them, so it’s a good thing they’re all tame. They roam freely all over the city (and sometimes cross roads as cars wait patiently for them to make it to the other side) occasionally nudging tourists’ elbows for shika senbei (deer biscuits).

Be warned however, if a deer manages to sniff you up and discover that you’re hiding a delicious piece of recycled paper (or whatever it is the biscuits are made from), they’ll be after you like a herd of bees. You can tell who are the more seasoned travellers and who are the tourist newbies about to be terrorized because something like this always happens:

1. Person sees Deer and exclaims “aww, how cute!” (or sometimes, just “kawaiiiii!“).
2. Deer approaches timidly, and makes cute eyes.
3. Person feels sorry for the Deer and buys a small pack of biscuits for them.
4. Deer nibbles politely… but just as Person starts to smile or pose for a picture…
5. Deer opens it’s jaws and snatches pile of biscuits straight out of the person’s hands quicker than you can say “Holy *%$& Bambi!”.

I’ve seen deer grab entire stacks of biscuits straight out of toddler hands and run away, leaving kids who were giggling just a second before wide-eyed with shock and now empty handed. It’s a cruel world.

If you find yourself being pursued by insistent deer, there are several ways I have learned (from experience of being chased by a half a dozen deer) that can get them off your back:

1. Drop everything. Scatter any/all of the biscuits you are holding onto the floor and walk away quickly. Try not to throw them at the deer, this may not be received well if there are Japanese people nearby.

2. Put your hands up in the air like you just don’t care! No, actually do it exactly as you would if a cop told you to “FREEZE!”. If you can speak Japanese, grovel profusely that you don’t have any food or else repeatedly apologizing often works. There are some deer that will grant your mercy.

3. Take cover. Dash into the nearest shop and hide behind some shelves… the old shop ladies know how to deal with stalker deer. In fact, old ladies in Japan (the elite obaachan) run the entire country. I wouldn’t be surprised if they control politicians and yakuza alike, so they can probably handle wild animals just fine.

Follow these tips and you should be able to get away from even the most desperate deer. If all else fails, deer also like to eat coats (see the deer teeth marks on my trench coat) and maps (since these seem to be plentiful in Nara) – you can drop these behind you and hope your enemies will be stalled long enough for you to get away…

… not unlike Mario Kart really.

#65 Miyajima

Miyajima is a small island off the coast off Hiroshima and is most famous for it’s ‘floating’ torii gate and shrine. The shrine is built on wooden foundations in the water, so when the tide is up, it literally appears as if it is drifting on the sea.

It was softly raining on the day we went, creating a beautiful misty mountain backdrop to the busy town. We walked along the shrine’s open platforms, taking in the view of the sea. We stopped every now and again to take photos and to read the wishes people had written and hung up in hope that they would come true.

A wish for world peace

We then took a walk up the mountain path, eventually being invited for tea outside a small shop. The view from above was even more beautiful, and we sat for a while taking in the sea air with the warm tea bowl in between our hands.

Sipping matcha from a tea house on the mountainside

The smell of freshly baked momiji manjuu (a leaf-shaped confection) lead us on as we descended back down again and explored what the town had to offer. We walked through the busy streets, stopping to admire the local wares. I don’t usually buy souvenirs, but a beautiful little Japanese style tea-cup imprinted with autumn leaves caught my eye and I couldn’t help myself.

The feel of the town was lively and the shopkeepers chatted with kind voices and forgave our gaijin ways with a smile on their faces.

An old lady preparing the region's speicality - grilled oysters

Miyajima is a charming little town, which is easy to reach by ferry boat. There’s lot’s to do and see, from stroking wild deer to riding a cable car between the mountains. For a tourist spot, prices are sort of reasonable, which is always a plus. The torii gate is an iconic image of the beauty of Japan, making it a must-see for ‘quintessentially-Japanese’ photo addicts like me.