Long lack of entries! I swore I wouldn't fall into this pitfall of the blogger, but alas. I have. Not that anyone is actually reading this except maybe my older sister... anyway... today's lesson is food culture.
In Japan, the phrase "PB & J" does not exist, except when rolling off the tongue of an American. Call me stupid but this is not something I ever believed possible. This simple meal has been part of my repertoire since before I even knew how to ride a bike and has walked hand-in-hand with my life ever since I ate my first. So, given that, I think my surprise entirely justified when I discovered no one but Americans in this country has ever heard of combining peanut butter and jelly on a sandwich, not even the other international students. In fact, the idea gets the typical Japanese "EEEEH?!"
American culture is one made up almost entirely from other cultures. When you get down to the bare bones, westerns and the bastardization of other cultural foods (which can be a good thing, don't get me wrong) are about the only things truly American. Or at least that's what I thought.
When you think of "cultural dishes," what comes to mind? Blood pudding? Pasta? Sushi? Certainly not PB & J that's for sure, but ironically enough, for American cuisine, it occupies a place on the cultural shelf, along with macaroni and cheese apparently. Fascinating what you can learn about food...
Also, another American and I have come up with a defining trait to any American food: add cheese. Hamburger? Better with cheese. Hispanic food? Add cheese and make it Tex-mex! Eggs? Cheese. Pasta? Parmesan! Ice cream? Can I add cheese to that?
It's true. Think about it.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Monday, October 17, 2011
Message in a Bottle
The Hiroshima Peace Museum is an experience everyone should have.
America is the hero. This is the perception of our country that children receive in their dealings with American History. We have never lost a declared war, we believe in freedom and democracy and everyone can hold their chin up high seeing our Red, White and Blue. I grew up with this feeling and still love my country with all my heart today, so it was a hard pill to swallow when you realize that just like the comic book heroes, America is capable of horrible faults.
Many Americans still share a sense of blame for the 1945 atomic bombing of Hiroshima, and I'm no different. Inwardly, I took the deep breath before the plunge when I set foot on the Shinkansen toward Hiroshima, knowing that it was going to be a difficult day, but nothing could honestly prepare me for what I would see and hear in the next 24 hours.
The A-bomb dome was a sobering sight in and of itself. The skeletal building, held up from beneath and within by modern scaffolding, was the first relic this modern city had to offer. Chills ran down my spine later when it occurred to me that this was so because the rest of the city around it was leveled. A group of Japanese girls approached us and I couldn't help but smile as they asked us to listen to their short talk about the dome itself. The ease they displayed on the subject was comforting, and it provided a perfect set-up to the museum itself.
Peace. Walking through a museum that presents horrific sights to leave you in tears, peace doesn't necessarily come to mind. When one can stop staring at the life-sized wax figurines of the burned, zombie-like victims and the various artifacts scattered about (most belonging to middle school and high school children), words disappear altogether. All one can do is try to swallow that lump that threatens to choke you as you walk. But peace is actually the most important thing to remember, and it's something that didn't sink in until I sat listening to the words of a Japanese survivor being translated back to me.
In short, everything I had seen in the museum was relayed back to be in a personal account. If the artifacts themselves didn't make you bleed to begin with, hearing her describe her friends' cries for their parents among the collapsed factory wreckage did. I came very close to outward sobbing when someone dared to ask the question "Who do you blame for what happened?" and she began to describe her hatred for the Americans that she harbored as a fourteen year old. "But, now, I don't hate anyone. In fact, I love America. I just hope no one ever has to see what I saw ever again." from the woman who paid witness to unimaginable tragedy. It is the more sincere wish for peace I have ever known, and it is this that still touches me to this very moment.
I do believe, as I read in the museum, that the key to peace lies in Hiroshima, the living monument to the furthest extent our capacity to hurt one another has manifested. There may still be "heroes" and "villains" in war, but everyone is clearly capable of great evil, and until war ceases, this will continue to be true.
To cap off the day, I spent a relaxing evening on Miyajima Island, to remind myself those things we wish to save through pleas for peace, and those things everyone can enjoy when there is peace.
Like deer eating a keitai:
America is the hero. This is the perception of our country that children receive in their dealings with American History. We have never lost a declared war, we believe in freedom and democracy and everyone can hold their chin up high seeing our Red, White and Blue. I grew up with this feeling and still love my country with all my heart today, so it was a hard pill to swallow when you realize that just like the comic book heroes, America is capable of horrible faults.
Many Americans still share a sense of blame for the 1945 atomic bombing of Hiroshima, and I'm no different. Inwardly, I took the deep breath before the plunge when I set foot on the Shinkansen toward Hiroshima, knowing that it was going to be a difficult day, but nothing could honestly prepare me for what I would see and hear in the next 24 hours.
The A-bomb dome was a sobering sight in and of itself. The skeletal building, held up from beneath and within by modern scaffolding, was the first relic this modern city had to offer. Chills ran down my spine later when it occurred to me that this was so because the rest of the city around it was leveled. A group of Japanese girls approached us and I couldn't help but smile as they asked us to listen to their short talk about the dome itself. The ease they displayed on the subject was comforting, and it provided a perfect set-up to the museum itself.
Peace. Walking through a museum that presents horrific sights to leave you in tears, peace doesn't necessarily come to mind. When one can stop staring at the life-sized wax figurines of the burned, zombie-like victims and the various artifacts scattered about (most belonging to middle school and high school children), words disappear altogether. All one can do is try to swallow that lump that threatens to choke you as you walk. But peace is actually the most important thing to remember, and it's something that didn't sink in until I sat listening to the words of a Japanese survivor being translated back to me.
In short, everything I had seen in the museum was relayed back to be in a personal account. If the artifacts themselves didn't make you bleed to begin with, hearing her describe her friends' cries for their parents among the collapsed factory wreckage did. I came very close to outward sobbing when someone dared to ask the question "Who do you blame for what happened?" and she began to describe her hatred for the Americans that she harbored as a fourteen year old. "But, now, I don't hate anyone. In fact, I love America. I just hope no one ever has to see what I saw ever again." from the woman who paid witness to unimaginable tragedy. It is the more sincere wish for peace I have ever known, and it is this that still touches me to this very moment.
I do believe, as I read in the museum, that the key to peace lies in Hiroshima, the living monument to the furthest extent our capacity to hurt one another has manifested. There may still be "heroes" and "villains" in war, but everyone is clearly capable of great evil, and until war ceases, this will continue to be true.
To cap off the day, I spent a relaxing evening on Miyajima Island, to remind myself those things we wish to save through pleas for peace, and those things everyone can enjoy when there is peace.
Like deer eating a keitai:
Friday, October 7, 2011
The Ancient Capital
Last weekend was the history classes' field trip to Asuka. For starters, biking around a beautifully rural little town on a perfect seventy degree day? Amazing.
I could have done without the 7 am wake up call required to get to the meeting place on time, but the delightful little bakery at Tambabashi station was enough to make up for that. I bought lunch, melon bread and a croissant there and went with the rest of my class down to the platform to take the long train ride to Asuka. When we got there, we were greeted by the waves and smiles from a group of Japanese college students doing a similar trip: biking to the historical sites. Hearing people yell "Hello" at you never gets old.
With a quick test drive of our bikes around the parking lot, as some people here are like me and haven't ridden a bike in years, we headed down the street to the first site.
The spread of sites we went to see were excellent, and I don't think the history teacher could have planned a better trip. Everything worked so well, despite a few minor bike accidents, and the scenery was absolutely worth the trip on it's own. For those of you planning to study in Japan, Asuka is a must-see, especially by bike.
As if seeing the oldest Buddha in Japan and joining in prayer with a Buddhist priest weren't enough, the drunken Japanese man just put a metaphorical cherry on top of this most fascinating day.
After being lectured time after time by the CIE staff and our concern professors at Kansai Gaidai that drinking in public is seriously frowned upon, I was a little surprised to smell beer when I got on the train with my class back to Tambabashi. It turned out that a middle-aged Japanese man had spilled his beer all over the seat next to him and the floor and the train attendants were in the middle of cleaning it up. I figured it was no big deal, so I had no problem sitting next to the man with my friends Julius and Cynthia sitting on either side of me. Well, I don't think any of us anticipated just how many beers this man might have had BEFORE the train.
He was drunk and wanted to talk to the fascinating foreigners, so he did. Probably an hour later, after we were given his phone number and an invitation to go to Tokyo together, he finally left the train, smiling, waving and swaying the whole way.
The Japanese lose all inhibitions when they're drunk...
I could have done without the 7 am wake up call required to get to the meeting place on time, but the delightful little bakery at Tambabashi station was enough to make up for that. I bought lunch, melon bread and a croissant there and went with the rest of my class down to the platform to take the long train ride to Asuka. When we got there, we were greeted by the waves and smiles from a group of Japanese college students doing a similar trip: biking to the historical sites. Hearing people yell "Hello" at you never gets old.
With a quick test drive of our bikes around the parking lot, as some people here are like me and haven't ridden a bike in years, we headed down the street to the first site.
The spread of sites we went to see were excellent, and I don't think the history teacher could have planned a better trip. Everything worked so well, despite a few minor bike accidents, and the scenery was absolutely worth the trip on it's own. For those of you planning to study in Japan, Asuka is a must-see, especially by bike.
As if seeing the oldest Buddha in Japan and joining in prayer with a Buddhist priest weren't enough, the drunken Japanese man just put a metaphorical cherry on top of this most fascinating day.
After being lectured time after time by the CIE staff and our concern professors at Kansai Gaidai that drinking in public is seriously frowned upon, I was a little surprised to smell beer when I got on the train with my class back to Tambabashi. It turned out that a middle-aged Japanese man had spilled his beer all over the seat next to him and the floor and the train attendants were in the middle of cleaning it up. I figured it was no big deal, so I had no problem sitting next to the man with my friends Julius and Cynthia sitting on either side of me. Well, I don't think any of us anticipated just how many beers this man might have had BEFORE the train.
He was drunk and wanted to talk to the fascinating foreigners, so he did. Probably an hour later, after we were given his phone number and an invitation to go to Tokyo together, he finally left the train, smiling, waving and swaying the whole way.
The Japanese lose all inhibitions when they're drunk...
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