TOKYO NOSTALGIA

It has been too long.

I have been back from Tokyo this summer, and only now is the nostalgia kicking in. Looking through photos of Japan and hearing from friends left behind, it dawned on me that I truly missed the land of the rising sun. Along with a new year come new resolutions. Hopefully 2015 will bring more articles to this blog, despite the Parisian busy-ness that has swallowed me up since September. I will try to kick time in the butt by getting inspired by Tokyo from afar and attempt to find Japan in Paris.

Till then, Happy New Year, yoi otoshi wo omukae kudasai, よいお年をお迎えください

ALL THE PRETTY DONBURI

墨絵 SUMI E, THE ARTISTIC YOGA THAT SAVES MY WEEKENDS

Sunday morning, 10:45AM. Yoyogi-Uehara. The rain has stopped. The atmosphere is still humid, and the roads are two shades of grey. On the street, all know this is only the intermission to the tsuyu performance, and umbrellas hang from people's arms.

There are few things, in my mind, that make not sleeping-in on a Sunday morning acceptable. My sumi-e rendez-vous is one of them. From the post title to here, most of you must have wondered what sumi-e is. Sumi-e (墨絵) is the art of ink wash painting, a type of East Asian traditional brush painting. It was first developed in China, and later expanded to Korea and Japan. Using various size brushes, likely made from natural materials, we paint using sumi (ink) on washi paper. The ink is "made" at the beginning of every lesson, from a stick of sumi, using water and a suzuri (inkstone).

Yes, I said "made". In sumi-e, it is more complicated than just sticking your brush in a ink bottle or rubbing it on an ink palette. "Making" the sumi is in fact one of the most important steps of the 3-hour lesson. Here is how it is done.

We also do way more than just bamboo. While it takes years of practice to master bamboo leaves, and everything else about sumi-e (as the sensei cleverly put it this weekend when he asked us how long it took him to paint a tea cup during a demonstration, "it took me 30 years"). Every week we learn a new technique with a new type of subject. Usually it's flowers/nature subjects, but these past two lessons have been about tea cups. It's a whole new interpretation of the place of objects in space and composition, that I have yet to master. Although sometimes, you think you're doing it wrong, and it's actually the right kind of wrong. Which is right. Since we vary according to seasons, some of the things I have done so far are sakura (cherry blossoms), ran (orchids), tsubaki (camellias), kiku (chrysanthemum), and tea cups more recently. Among other things of course. We also vary colors a lot (colors are not from sumi ink, but from pigmented ink). Sometimes the whole point is to make interesting color palettes in a composition, or to play on water quantity to create unique "gradation" patterns.

My sumi master is actually an Israeli that has been living in Japan for 31 years. He is a soba-lover and speaks Japanese like a Japanese. Every Sunday lesson is unique, not only because sumi is a very interesting discipline, but also because we chat and learn about cultural subtleties. I go there every other week, for 3 hours, and it's truly like an "artistic yoga", clearing of the mind type of moment. Sometimes I arrive tired, wishing I could have slept in and thinking about the long nap I am going to take after class, but as soon as I arrive, the tatami and sumi draw me into a new mode, and I gradually feel better. The tea break, with every time a different tea and a plate of various sweets, is always very appreciated, and by the end, I am always a little sad to put my sumi stick away in its tiny wooden box. While sometimes sumi-e can be extremely frustrating, the sensei is always so encouraging about the fact that it is not about the shape, or that a work is not done until you have added many components that can complete a unsatisfactory first brush stroke. Every stroke counts, and one too many can break the balance of your composition. It is a truly fascinating universe that I will be incredibly sad to fly away from.

For your information, I paint at Ilan Yanizky's studio, here is his website http://ilanyanizky.com/ if you want to see more! You can check out his work, it's truly beautiful.

OF TSUYU AND MONSOONS

I had to learn it the hard way : if there is one thing it is okay to steal in Japan, it's an umbrella. The rainy season started today, and with it, pouring rain and umbrellas everywhere, growing out of subways and buildings like mushrooms out of humid moss. Commonly referred to as tsuyu, it soaks Tokyo twice a year, and drowns all chances of a dry day. Rain in Japan is nothing like rain in Europe or anywhere I have lived. Imagine buckets of water being thrown on you repeatedly, all day long. The drops can come at anytime, startled you when you thought you were done for the week, or announce themselves the night before, drumming on the rooftops. For those of you who have never experienced a rainy season, ever, anywhere, I strongly advise you spend the rest of your life avoiding it. Come June, Tokyo gets swallowed in a humid, humid, humid and hot bubble, to the point that the Japanese have come up with the clever  蒸し暑い, mushiatsui expression - humid and hot. While I have shivered under cold rain in Normandy, Japan offers a different precipitation experience, creating interesting umbrella jams on the streets, and a delicate perspiration scent on the subway. People become sweaty animals, sweat salary men with their hentai manga, sweaty teenagers fooling around, soaked and slippery floods. Home becomes a sweet haven for dryness and cool. As it does for extremely cold weather, the idea of going out raises numerous problems : what shoes am I willing to ruin, bike, foot or subway, should I wear a poncho that will cover my whole body, what umbrella am I willing to part with in the event that someone-with-no-soul steals it.

As the rain falls and cover all with a glossy layer, as streams form in the most shapely sidewalk crack, I try to convince myself I will be able to find some poetry in this rainy season. I remember staring at the white-grey sky, counting the drops falling to my face as I wondered if all this could become wonderful, if caught in a photograph or if approached with an open-mind. Then I looked at the weather for the next days, and realized the sound of rain drumming against my window and roof, surrounding us all, would not stop tomorrow, nor the day after. We are, for a yet unknown period of time, bound to the falling rain.

On that note, I am highly considering buying sun jellies. I would have to get them imported, which begs the question of whether this tsuyu is worth it.

OF SHAMISEN, KIMONOS, AND ONE STEP FORWARD JAPANESE CULTURE ENLIGHTENMENT

The Tokyo skytree from afar

Konbanwa!
It is about time for some bunka talk. Bunka meaning culture, of course. It is beautifully written 文化 in that amazing language I would like to call my own one day (yes I mean Japanese).

Anyhow.

A few weeks ago, Waseda let us breathe for a week, during the oh-so-blessed Golden Week. It's technically more like almost-juxtaposed national holidays, but my oh-so-liberal (not sure one has to do with the other) host university, 早稲田大学 (Wasedadaigaku), treated us with an entire week of freedom. It was time to rest, and catch up on my cultural outings, which have become increasingly rare, in correlation of course with weekly workload, bad weather (rain in Spring, really?) and upcoming deadlines I could not escape. For my own good, I planned ahead: my friend Mika - an amazing girl may I add - told me about an organization through which she had already done one cultural event, specifically the visit of Ueno Park. She had loved it (and wrote a sweet article about it on her own blog) and wanted to attend the shamisen and kimono workshop. We signed up, and there we were, adding the event to our calendar.

D-day arrived and my friend Mika and I attended the small cultural event organized by PEACE, an association mainly ran by retired Japanese people eager to speak English and share their knowledge about Japan. On a very very sunny day, we met a middle-aged woman - Mrs Abe if I recall correctly - at Inaricho station, in Tokyo. She led us to a private house, where a line of old Japanese women were waiting for us in a small tatami room. They were adorable, curious eyed and smiles upon their faces.

One of the women stood in the corner, looking regal in her green kimono, introduced herself as the shamisen professor. She had a wise smile, welcoming us in her home, but you could tell she ran the place. Folded kimonos were set up on the floor. "They're for us", we thought, as we started to spot the one we'd rush to when the time came. I'm a sucker for blue fabrics, so I picked out a blue yukata, with red and yellow flowers. We also had to choose a opi (帯), more specifically tsuke obi with a separate bow, worn with an obijime. The obijime is a thin decorated sash, used to tighten the obi.

After first introductions, we picked a yukata or kimono, and suddenly felt like Disney princesses, being dressed by adorable women. Their gestures were quick and precise, tucking in any misplaced fabric. They laughed among themselves, especially since they were not all use to dressing someone in kimono, or had forgotten the right folds and knots. The fabric battle over, a bow was placed on our obi, straightening our backs. I must admit it felt very unnatural to have such a big bow on your back. Curling our back was not an option, and our new attire made us feel as though every move was to be delicate, every step light. It's harder to wear than a pair of jeans, and we wanted to appear as graceful as possible, to honor the women's kindness. So we took small steps on the tatami, and refrained from big gestures. We also snapped a few pictures, but Mrs. Abe (mother, not grandmother) insisted on taking photos of us

Mrs. Abe's host daughter, from Taiwan. Jealous of her kimono

My beautiful friend, Mika

The most important part of the morning came after. The shamisen professor (Mrs Abe) asked Mrs. Abe (her daughter, so the mother, so the woman who picked us up - are you still following this?) to gather us, and so we did. We were asked to sit on benches, behind music stands. Before the lesson started, the 3 Abe women (grandmother, mother - the lady who picked us up from the station - daughter). The daughter was the least eager person in the room, but played beautifully with her obaasan (grandma) and okaasan. They interpreted Japanese folk songs, such as "Sakura". The sensei (professor, a term widely used in Japan. Seriously, it's a must know) made us sing along:

sakura sakura

yayoi no sora wa

mi-watasu kagiri

kasumi ka kumo ka

nioi zo izuru

izaya izaya

mini yukan

Trust me if you sing this song anywhere on the street, someone will know what you are singing. It's quite pretty, see for yourself:

The score of sakura folk song

Cherry blossoms, cherry blossoms,

Across the spring sky,

As far as you can see.

Is it a mist, or clouds?

Fragrant in the air.

Come now, come now,

Let's look, at last!

If you find anything better than watching sakura (桜) bloom, do let me know.

 The sound of the shamisen is very unique and the first notes transport you directly to the country of the Rising Sun. It can be incredibly soothing, but the trio also interpreted a mambo rhythm in shamisen, which was a bit catchier. The instrument itself sort of looks like a 3-stringed banjo, but it is played with a big plectrum, called a bachi. I am not very musical of a person, but some people picked it up quickly. We had to play and sing along the shamisen professor instructions, which turned out surprisingly okay. But I'm sure it would take years of practice to master the musical subtlety of the shamisen.

Overall, the shamisen lesson was over too soon, but Mika, Helen (a friend who was coincidentally attending as well!) and I had a lot of fun playing kimono ladies and posing with our intriguing instruments. It was also great to interact with old people eager to give their time and share their knowledge about Japan. I'm always a fan of learning new things about mysterious Japan and falling a little more in love.

Oh and after this entertaining morning, we found unwanted thrown away flowers and brought them home. The last one died today, about 3 weeks later. This city is full of surprises (including the Tokyo skytree sight, see above)

TOKYO CHRONICLES / A PLACE FOR ART IN ROPPONGI

THE FUJI EXPEDITION

I realized I had never talked about our climb of Mount Fuji. In September, Mathilde, Victor, Ambroise, my father and I packed our backpacks and left for Mount Fuji at around 21PM, in order to arrive around midnight at the start of the Mt. Fuji climb. We pilled layers of clothes, and put some extra socks and extra warm layers in our backpacks, added some cereal calorie bars, mini oxygen bottles, headband lamps, gloves, water, and took the road. At the site, one bathroom break, a warm coffee from a vending machine, and off we went in the night. There are two ways to climb Mt. Fuji, and we chose the night climb, so as to admire the sunrise from the top. This meant we had to get to the summit before 5ish. As 5 light spots in the night, we walked, and walked, and climbed. At some point your legs do not want to carry you anymore, your lungs are tired from the lack of oxygen, you're thirsty, you're hungry, you need a break. We had energy bars and energy jelly (all Japanese outdoors stores sell them, and they have very interesting flavors, although new culinary experiences are the last thing you want to do while climbing Mount Fuji), and, while most rest stations were closed (because of the season), we took several breaks. It wasn't all stairs and fun, sometimes we had to have to use our hands to climb rocks. After about 5 hours of tremendous effort, our legs carried us to the summit. That moment when you realize you have reached the top is golden. We had just enough energy to take some photos, and congratulate ourselves for making it to the summit ... until we realized we had to hike down the mountain. All we wanted to do is roll down, but somehow we carried ourselves back to our car, and looked for an onsen that would rinse off that tiring night and soothe our exhausted muscles.

The tired bunch, 3250m

Go team LH