Tales of the Strange and Unusual

This is a bit of an off topic.  It's not travel related, but I just received word (via a Facebook chat with Dave Patrone, oddly enough) that the trio I play in called 'Purity of Essence' somehow or other got nominated at the SDMAs this year.  Go figure on that.  We're a bit spread out at the moment.  Isaac Crow (the drummer) is still in San Diego, Mack Leighton (the bassist) is on a cruise ship somewhere around Alaska, and I'm in Japan, more specifically Okinawa.  I have no idea how this happened, and I know we're not going to win, but still, it's nice.  I am confused, but happy.

The only recordings I have are the ones on this crummy old Myspace.  There are some originals up there, plus one standard and a cover by 'The Flaming Lips.'  Sorry for the recording quality...
http://www.myspace.com/purityofessencepoe

Here's a link to the nominees:
http://www.sandiegomusicawards.com/#voting

... and another to the voting page, should the mood strike you:
http://www.surveymonkey.com/s/sdma2011

My rock band, 'Jesse LaMonaca and the Dime Novels,' also got nominated for 'Best Americana.'  It's the second year in a row we've been nominated.  Also, Chase Morrin (a REALLY good, young pianist whose trio also features the outstanding playing of two of my friends, Tyler Eaton and Fernando Gomez) got nominated for best jazz.  'In Motion Trio,' which my friend Dylan Casey plays guitar for, got nominated, too.

Anyhow, this kind of cool, right?

Soupy twist,
Edward

A missive from the East China Sea

Before I go back and recount the occurrences and happenings of the past week or so, allow me to briefly describe my current whereabouts.  At the moment, I’m sitting at a table in the café on the fourth deck of the Coral Queen Plus.  We’re currently en route from Kagoshima to Okinawa, sailing (I believe) through the East China Sea.  There’s some land to my left, or portside as it were.  I’m the sole Westerner aboard.  We left Kagoshima last night about 6PM, and it’s 11:47 the following morning right now.  We’re due to pull into Naha around 6:40 tonight.  I’m sleeping on a tatami mat (#136), which lies on the floor in the middle of about 75 other mats.  It’s not the greatest digs, but for one night, it’s alright.  There’s even wireless.  It’s been raining/storming quite badly in Kyushu, but luckily, it let up just before we cast off.  Supposedly, the weather in Okinawa is supposed to be quite nice.

Also, I’m terribly hungover at the moment, but more on that later…

Back to where I last left off, I was on a train bound for Kanazawa.  I reached the station, and after a little bit of orientation issues, I was able to find the guesthouse with ease (though it was a 10 minute haul).  Guesthouse Pongyi (‘pongyi’ means monk/priest in Burmese/Myanmarrese) sits directly beside a small canal.  You cross a short bridge over the canal to enter the front door.  The building was once a kimono shop, and was built a hundred years ago. 

The owner’s name is Masaki.  He was not just a gracious host.  He went out of his way to see to it that his guests had a good stay in Kanazawa.  I should also note that his life story thus far has been quite interesting.  Having studied business and Portuguese in college, he got a job and moved to (not surprisingly) Brazil.  There he acquired both a mastery of the language and love of Brazilian music (samba/bossa nova played almost constantly in the guesthouse).  After moving back to Japan, he gave up everything.  He quit his job, gave away his money, left his home, and devoted himself to spirituality and to charity work.  He was a monk for a short time as well in Burma/Myannmar (hence the name ‘Pongyi’).

I’ve never actually met anyone who’s renounced the material world.  It’s a daydream some of us have.  I know the thought’s occurred to me a few times.  Wouldn’t life be great without all these annoying, cumbersome objects and tasks cluttering it up?  Maybe so, but I doubt most people could actually do it.  I know I couldn’t.  I could see myself living a room with a piano and a bed, but not for long.  Eventually, I think I’d want a chair, and then the whole thing would snowball.  I’d start craving cheeseburgers and Ipad next.

Anyhow, he eventually reentered the material realm.  He left the charity organization (though he still has strong ties to them), and worked a series of menial jobs until he raised enough money to open Pongyi two years ago.  He’s always in a pretty good mood, and seems to delight in almost everything.  I’m not saying he’s grinning inanely while doing dishes and singing while writing emails, but he seems to living quite a happy life.

As I did for Kyoto, I’ll hit the highlights of my time in Kanazawa:

1)     Hiking around the city- Two days worth of non-stop walking really did a number on my feet, but the city is great.  It’s smaller than San Diego, both in size and feel.  It’s big enough so there’s stuff to do, but small enough so that it has real soul.  There are also some great temples (including the so called ‘Ninja Dera,’ which is laden with traps and secret passages), a really beautiful garden, several geisha districts (we heard a geisha girl practicing shamisen one night from the street), a samurai district, a phonograph museum, and a really nice jazz club (more on that later).

2)     Concert at Pongyi- After noodling around the on my melodica, Masaki asked if I would put on a concert at Pongyi.  He called up a friend who has a keyboard, and later than night I gave a concert to about 15 people (ranging in age from a baby to an old lady).  I played one song on the deck overlooking the canal with keyboard sitting on the deck without a stand, but it started to rain, and I used it as an excuse to move the show indoors.  It was a blast!

3)     Session at Mokkiriya- Kanazawa has a great jazz club called Mokkiriya.  It’s been owned by the same guy for 40 years.  I know this because a) I met him and b) the night I showed up was the 40^th anniversary.  There was a good band on stage, playing all hard bop charts (appropriately, they were called ‘The Hardboppers’).  After the show, there was a session where I got to play a bunch with the band and some others who had shown up.  I had so much fun.  David, an Australian friend of Masakis, showed up, along with Shunta (another friend of Masakis), the guy who had brought the keyboard the previous night, and Daiysho Tanaka (a piano tuner in town I’d met the previous day when I BS-ed my way unto the top story of the Kawaii shop in Kanazawa).  After the session, we all went to a nearby bar called ‘Paper Moon,’ including the band, some local music students, and the owner of Mokkirya.  I left at about 2am and walked back to Pongyi.  It’s not scary walking at night through almost anywhere in Japan.

4)     Ganmon and Togi- I wanted to travel up the coast of Noto-Honto (Noto Peninsula).  I hadn’t seen the Sea of Japan yet, and there were several places I wanted to visit, especially Ganmon (where there are some sea caves).  Masaki came to my aid.  He called up his friend Hitoshi, a civil servant for the city of Hakui, just south of Ganmon.  He was in Kanazawa on business, but agreed to drive me up to Ganmon to have a look around.  Part of journey took us to Chirihama, a beach where they you drive (the only one like it in Japan).  The drive wasn’t as short as I had thought, but about an hour later, we were there.  It’s beautiful, and very reminiscent of what the coastal regions of Central California look like (sans the crusty surfers).  We ate these shellfish heavily cooked in shoyu (soy sauce), which I thought were disgusting, but since Hitoshi treated, I put on a big smile (I was glad to try something new besides).  After Ganmon, we drove up to a place called Togi.  By the ocean, there are these two strangely shaped rocks just offshore, with a shrine on the leftmost rock and a rope running between them.  Sounds exciting, huh?  It wasn’t, but the view was beautiful, as was the drive back.  It’s mostly farms and forest on Noto-Hanto.  There’s green as far as the eye can see.

5)     Shirakawago (“White-river-village”)- Shirakawgo is small village in the mountains a few hours out of Kanazawa by bus.  The houses there are built in a style very distinct to the region, and unchanged for a millennia.  They all have slanted roofs made of thick, densely wrapped twigs, and some are three stories tall.  It’s a strange place, because it’s actually fake… well, sort of.  The village itself never existed until about 1960 (it was founded as a sort of museum, with no one actually living there), but all the homes and buildings there are genuine, relocated from other local villages as they were abandoned followed the mass postwar-migration into the cities.  Shirakawago sits at the bottom of a beautiful valley, surrounded by trees, meadows, and a great rushing river.  There are streams, a waterfall, a fishing hole, and even an old waterwheel.  It’s the most fantastically beautiful and boring place on the face of the Earth.  I had tea with a nice couple from Yokohama.  The guy spoke some English, and we talked about the differences between Japanese and English (a common subject of conversation for me), as well as the history of Yokohama, which I knew something about (well, the bit about Matthew Perry, anyway).  He was excited to hear I was from San Diego, because apparently Yokohama and San Diego are sister cities, and he knows a grip of friends who went there on exchange programs.  On our way out, he made sure I got on the right bus by inquiring with the driver.

6)     The phonograph museum- They have many on display, from the original Edison wax tubes to the large cabinets from the 1940s and ‘50s.  At certain hours of the day they play some of them, in addition to demonstrating the player piano on the first floor.  Not much to say about it really.  I went twice for reasons I can’t properly explain.  I’m sort of a dreary sentimentalist, I think.  I like old, sad things.  A phonograph museum just seemed like my kind of place.

That about sums up my stay in Kanazawa.  I bid a fond farewell (God, who says THAT????) to Masaki and headed off down to the train station.  Resigning myself to a costly ticket, I splurged on the Skinkansen, otherwise known as the ‘bullet train.’  I had to take a ‘tokyu’ (rapid express) down to Shin-Osaka, then switch to the Shinkansen.  I made the switch easily, since I’d learned how to ask ‘Excuse me, where is this train?’ in Japanese: “Sumimasen, kono dencha wa doko des ka?”  I was amazed when we arrived in Hiroshima.  I think I actually asked two different people if we were actually there.  The ride was so short, I just couldn’t believe we’d made it so quickly (it’s damned quiet and smooth, too).  The only bummer about the ride is went through too many tunnels, so I only saw short, blurry images of the countryside, heavily punctuated by sudden plunges into blackness.

Needless to say, Hiroshima is entirely reconstructed.  It’s not bright and shiny like downtown Osaka (also flattened during the war), but it does have a surprisingly active nightlife district.  Most of that stuff isn’t my scene, but I was quite taken aback nonetheless while wandering the streets at night.  People were partying up a storm.  I guess I had in my head Hiroshima had this constant cloud of despair hanging over it.  I was ignorant.  It’s a very lively city, and I met some friendly people there.

Shortly after arriving at my hostel via streetcar, I met a Londoner named Darren.  He’d just arrived in Japan, and I found myself in the rare position of actually knowing more than someone else about this country.  We went out for food and drinks the first night, venturing into the aforementioned nightlife area (think Gaslamp, San Diego, but with J-pop blaring in your ears).  We wound up at an Irish pub, manned by a fellow from Cork.  The two of them got on about football.  I listened and smiled, but they might as well have been speaking Japanese.

The next day I had planned to visit the Peace Park and the A-Bomb Dome, but Chika at the front desk informed me that it was going to rain the next day.  I had planned to go to Miyajima, a nearby island with a beautiful shrine and torii, plus an allegedly climbable mountain, the next day, but if it was clear now it’d be better to go to the island that day and the park the next.  Darren, who was actually planning to do the same, agreed, and so we hopped a street car for Miyajima-guchi (a port where there’s a ferry out to Miyajima).  Darren, the smarter of the two of us for buying a JR pass, got his ferry ride for free, while I had to pay.  As such we took separate ferries, but met up shortly on the island.  Like in Nara, deer freely roam the streets.  We did the mandatory deer marveling, then found a place that sold Hiroshima Oknomyaki (the locals have slight twist on the dish, and it’s delicious!).

In olden days, the island itself was revered as a god.  As such, only the holiest of persons could actually set foot on it.  Because of this, the shrine was constructed on submerged (at high tide) pillars just offshore so worshippers could visit the shrine and not violate the island.  In congress with the shrine is the torii (gate), which too is set in the water.  It’s very large, and at high side boats carrying people or offerings (casks of sake, for example) can sail through on their way to the shrine.  It’s known as the ‘floating torii,’ and is famous for being one of the beautiful sights in all of Japan.

Darren and I made our way through the streets and temples (notably Daisho-in Tera), before eventually reaching the start of the trail up Mt. Misen.  I was under the impression the hike was going to be a cakewalk, though Darren seemed slightly reluctant at first to go.  I told him a) it was going to be a breeze because the mountain was not that high, and b) the view from the summit was supposed to terrific.  I was half right.  The view was great, and the mountain truly isn’t that tall, but the hike was a long, grueling, hard slog up some steep terrain made worse by sets of stone steps and some god awful humidity.  There were some US Marines also hiking to the summit.  I’m proud to say that, though they definitely were making better time than us, they weren’t doing so by THAT much.  It was still hard, even for them.

It took us about two hours to reach the top.  The farther we went, though, the more excited we got.  The view, both of the coast of the island and the various valleys on the island were breathtaking.  We stopped at one point to fill our bottles from a small spring (so tasty!) before finally pushing our way to the temple near the summit.  The marines were waiting there, having arrived shortly before us.  Besides the temple, there is also a small hall housing a flame which has supposedly been burning continuously since around 800 AD (it was used to light the eternal fire in the Peace Park in Hiroshima).  Shortly after we got to the top, a man came up from another path, dripping sweat and panting like a wild animal.  Strapped to his back was freshly chopped wood for the fire which he had just carried up the mountain.  I gave him a strong round of applause.  If he didn’t look like monk and we weren’t at the top of a mountain, I’d have bought him a beer.

We left the temple and walked the last bit up to the actual summit.  Sitting there is small three story observatory that looked like it was from the ‘60s.  Darren and I bought a couple of cups of sake and headed to the top deck for our reward: a fantastic, 360 degree view of the island and the surrounding landscape.  It was cloudy, unfortunately, so our view was somewhat cheapened (on a clear day you can supposedly see all the way to Shikoku).  As things were, we could just make out Hiroshima out 30 km away, and what I thought was a US Navy warship just offshore.  Still, It was a great sight.  The sake was shit, but who cared?  We were on top of a mountain in Japan.  It was a good moment.

We made haste down the mountain (now that WAS a cakewalk), took a leisurely stroll through the town once more.  It wasn’t high tide yet, but the water level was higher than before.  Once again, we caught separate ferries back to the mainland and took the trolley back to the city.  Darren got off to get dinner, and I road it further into down to hit up session at a place called ‘Jazz Club Bird.’  It’s a tiny underground club, and after inquiring, “Kore wa session des ka?” and saying, “Piano o hikimas,” I found myself on stage for the entirety of the session. 

The players were pretty good, though not the absolute best.  An American bassist named Alan Gleason (who lives and works in Tokyo as a translator) showed up.  He throws down, too.  We got to play a bit and talk.  As it happens, he knows and has done some gigs with Simon, the British pianist/saxophonist I met in Osaka.  Before leaving, the owner (a drummer) asked me to come back the next night and play with the band.  I finally had a sort-of gig.  I walked back through the rain to my hostel, annoyed because I realized my clothes, which had been drying on the roof all day were now being soaked.

The next day Darren and I visited the Peace Park and the museum.  I’m at a loss to describe it, save to say that it’s a very tasteful, humbling, and inspiring place.  It’s so easy to feel miserable being there, and I certainly did feel quite ashamed, both as an American and as a human being.  I walked around in a daze most of the time, taking in information, facts, numbers, and histories.  With every breath I fought off the urge to weep openly, though I wasn’t always successful.  They’re very detailed and thorough in their account of the bombing, as well as the events leading up to and following it.

Darren pointed out something: everything is rebuilt, and with the exception of the A-Bomb Domb (left as it was, skeletal and semi-standing) there is nothing as it was then.  You have to remember that a very different looking city once stood here, and that instantly all of it was reduced to death and rubble.  The dead and dying would have laid scattered all around, the latter crying out in agony.  I was so in a daze that I lost Darren.  He had gotten ahead of me I was unable to find him after leaving the museum.  I staggered around the park, stopping at the various memorials.  There was a monument to the Korean victims, who had been brought over during the war as forced labor who also perished In the bombing (1/10 victims were Koreans), another for the mobilized students who had been recruited to prepare the city in the event of a firebombing (they were outside at work the day of the bombing, and were almost all slaughtered), and a particularly hard one to see for the children victims.  It commemorates Sadako Sasaki, a story I had heard before arriving at Hiroshima, but that didn’t cushion the shock.

After wandering in circles nn the rain for about an hour, I met Tomo.  He approached me from across the street.  I saw him coming because he was, frankly, hard to miss.  I’d say he’s in his 30s.  He was clad head to toe in purple, including purple bellbottoms, a purple t-shirt, a purple Yankees cap, and he was wielding a purple umbrella.  Speaking decent English, we conversed casually about sports, both American and Japanese, a subject which I know nearly nothing about.  Tomo knew almost everything, including details about the Chargers and the Padres I never knew.  He was a bright and cheerful man, and he snapped me out of my funk.  I don’t believe in angels (really, I don’t), but if I did, I’d say Tomo… no, I’m not saying that.  He was just an odd and endearing stranger, appearing seemingly out of nowhere to restore a piece of my faith in humanity.

I headed back to my hostel for a brief respite before going to the jazz club again.  I hung out with a couple of sisters from Glasgow, another English guy named Luke, a Belgian girl, and Darren, whom I apologized to for our getting separated earlier.  I left the hostel after an hour or so and headed to the gig, arriving moments before downbeat.  There were only four or five people there, and it stayed that way all night.  As people left and arrived, there were never less than four or more than five people in the crowd.  The band was alight.  The leader was a guitarist who was deep into Wes.  The bassist was decent (his solos were interesting, but he sometimes dragged), and the drummer was… not subtle, but swinging (he avoided brushes like the plague).  Still, it was a lot of fun.  I didn’t get paid, but I got free drinks and didn’t have to pay a cover.  I had fun, and we grooved well.  That’s the important thing.

The next day I agonized over where to go and what to do.  I had no plans, no room booked, and no transportation procured.  After some mulling over, I eventually settled on Fukuoka.  Why?  Well, I wasn’t so sure, but I had it in my head I’d stay there for a bit before going to Kagoshima to catch the ferry to Okinawa.  I took a highway bus which took me about 4 ¼ hours.  It was a pretty decent way to travel, comparatively cheap and it’s easy to sleep.  I used my rudimentary map to guide me to the hostel, where I met Fabio from Switzerland.  We headed out to grab dinner and a few beers.  There was some confusion over ordering (my language skills, though improving, are still grossly inadequate for almost any task).  We ended up getting plenty of delicious food, and in a way, it was nice being the dark.  They brought the food in courses (French style), and we had no idea what was coming.

The next morning Fabio left for Hiroshima, and I set out to explore Fukuoka.  I wandered around all day, and started questioned my rationale for coming here.  The city is a nice place (very livable), but it’s not necessarily very exciting.  I had some Hakata Ramen for lunch (a local fav), and stumbled around the ruins of a castle and a park in the rain for hours before eventually making my way to BACKSTAGE, a jazz club I’d found online.  The charge was steeper than I thought, and I almost didn’t go in.  I’m very glad I did, though.

The band was called ‘Fukuoka Joe,’ and they’re a bunch of guys (and a girl) who have day jobs and play jazz on the side.  It’s a sextet, with trumpet, sax, bone, and rhythm.  They opened with ‘Lotus Blossom,’ and they hit pretty hard.  There were some guest drummers, including Tomo, who’s shipping off to Boston to go to Berkley in the Fall (his friends and family where in the room, giving him a good and proper sendoff).  The bassist, Saku, who spoke perfect English (he actually works as an English teacher), talked to me during the breaks and asked if I’d stay for a session afterward.  I obviously accepted.

Incidentally, Saku’s a helluva bassist.  He keeps great time, locks in well with the drummer, can follow the pianist on chord colors, and takes some mean arco solos ala Paul Chambers.

The session was a blast.  I played the entire time.  Two of the bartenders play, too, and one of them had her trumpet.  She hit like Clifford Brown!  I was amazed.  Another notable attendee was Ken from Kansai, a tall guy with crazy hair (a cross between a flat top and a crew cut, but kind of curly), a suit that’d make Dave Patrone envious, and a voice like Mel Torme… that is, if Mel Torme had a thick Japanese accent and spoke in Kansai-ben.  I got to play with all the members of Fukuoka Joe, and even do a reprise of ‘Lotus Blossum.’  Not to sound like an ass, but I was a bit of a hit.  This was maybe the first session I’ve played in Japan where I’ve actually kind of played at a level I was sort of pleased with, instead of just hanging.  I’ve missed connecting with musicians like that.

After the session, a bunch of us went out for food and drinks, minus Saku, who was due to be picked up by “his scary wife,” whatever that meant.  I only had about 900 yen on me, but they assured me everything was going to be fine.  In actuality, they treated me to everything: beers, food, taxis, more beer, more food, more taxis, and most importantly, a truly great evening.  They all spoke enough English to talk with, and I used my Japanese effectively to great delight.  Non-touristy or not, I’m very glad I came to Fukuoka.

I spent one more night there, but it’s not worth mentioning.  I walked around the port some, and went to top of this observation tower to see the city.  It was a pretty boring day, but pleasant enough.  I bought my bus ticket to Kagoshima and booked myself a room for the following night.  The next day I (just barely) jumped the bus for Kagoshima.  The trip was a rainy, four-hour bore, during which they played the lamest movie.  It was so lame, I could tell it was lame without it being in English

Upon reaching Kagoshima, I was deposited alone at a tiny bus stop near the train station in the pouring rain.  It took me a while to get orientated, but I eventually found the cable car I was supposed to take to my hostel.  However, there was nothing there in Romanized alphabet, so I was clueless as to which tram I was to board.  Luckily, I spotted a guy with a flyer for my hostel.  He, too, was lost.  Being from Christchurch, his English was decent, but he was actually Chinese by birth.  As such, he could read Kanji, and was able (upon me telling him the name) to spot the tram instantly.

He didn’t speak word one of Japanese.  He only knew ‘arigato,’ although he pronounced it ‘obrigado,’ which I found secretly hilarious because that actually DOES mean ‘thank you’ in Portuguese.  What’s more, he was somewhat abrasive approaching people, assaulting them with his English and expecting a response.  Whatever the case, we made it to our stop and found our way through the rain to our place, thanks to my map/instructions.  I found him a bit of a pill, but I’d have been stuck at the tram station all night without him, and he’d never have found the hostel without my help.  We needed each other.

The next day I explored downtown Kagoshima for a bit (there’s a strange, European like thoroughfare in the middle of the city) before catching the ferry for Sakurajima (‘Cherry-blossom-island’).  That’s a terrible name for the place because a) there aren’t cherry trees on the island, and b) it isn’t an island.  It was, but when the still-active volcano erupted last in 1914, it connected the island to the mainland.  Still, it’s a beautiful place, even shrouded in clouds (I never did see the top very clearly).  I took a sightseeing bus around the perimeter of the island.  The woman who guided the tour spoke only Japanese, but would occasionally turn to me and either direct me to the paragraph in the English-language pamphlet or use a single English language verb or noun (of which she possessed a surprising number) combined with some sort of gesture.  It was very nice of her, though I felt embarrassed, singled out like that.

Stops included an observatory halfway up the mountain, a brief pause by the ocean to look a school of dolphins just offshore, a small shop were we samples some pickled daikon (a giant radish grown on the island) and some sake made from kamikan (a tiny mandarin, also grown on the island), and a stop near some strange rocks formed by the 1914 lava flows.  After the tour finished, I walked over the public footbath then to get some kamikan ice cream (oishi!) before getting on the ferry back to Kagoshima.

Even though it was raining like a B, I decided to do a little more sightseeing.  I walked through the city, past old stone walls ridden with still-visible bullet holes from the Satsuma Rebellion of 1877.  From there, I headed up the backside of Shiroyama, the site of the final battle of that failed rebellion, and also the site of where it’s leader, Saigo Takamori (sometimes referred to as the last of the samurai), made his final stand with 400 loyal rebels against about 40,000 Imperial soldiers with howitzers.  He eventually committed seppuku after about 5 days of constant bombardment.

I was only one on the mountain by the time I reached the observatory.  From there I got great view of the city and Sakurajima at twilight, albeit through a haze of rain and fog.  I lingered there for a while, then took a small nature trail down the mountain.  I then regretted going up the mountain at that hour.  The trail was completely covered by foliage, and what little light was left could not penetrate.  I found myself actually a bit scared as I made my way along the road, which looked like it could have come straight out of Sleepy Hollow (the fact that a black cat crossed my path shortly before I started walking down the road didn’t help things). 

I’m a little embarrassed to say that I let my fear get the better of me, and I actually ran part of the way down the mountain.  I wasn’t afraid of the Headless Horseman, or anything.  Just your garden variety mugger or axe-wielding psychopath (does Japan even have those?).  I slowed down towards the end of the trail, nearly squashing a number of toads who had appeared on the road.  Alive and well at the bottom of the mountain, I limped back to the hostel and collapsed into a couch.  I spent the night in, too tired to look for any fun out on the town.

The next day (yesterday) I packed early, checked out, put my bags in storage and went to the local aquarium.  It paled in comparison to Kaiyukan in Osaka, even though it too featured a Whale Shark.  I hung out by that tank for at least 45 minutes, then spent a few hours wandering through the rest of the aquarium, relishing the air conditioning as much as I was the other fish.  After hanging out for dolphin tricks and some sea otter feeding, I went back to the hostel under the constant barrage of the sun.  Once there, I made some hasty reservations for Okinawa, downed a cup of coffee, and made for the ferry port.  My pack never felt heavier as it did walking to the boat.

The guy who told me the ferry port was 10 minutes away must have been high.  It was a lot longer than that, but I made it.  Drenched in sweat and stinking to the heavens, I found the terminal, paid for ticket, and after a brief sit I boarded the Queen Coral Plus.  I got settled in and discovered (to my surprise) the ship had WIFI, then went up to the top deck to watch as we cast off.  There I befriended a 65-year-old karate instructor from Shikoku.  For the next five hours we did nothing but talk and drink sake and beer as the boat rolled on through the night.  He spoke decent English at the beginning of the evening, but it quickly dissolved the more we drank.  It was fun, though I blacked out at some point.  I made it to my mat in one piece, apparently, since that’s where I woke up this morning with one screamer of a hangover.  I didn’t black too early, but I don’t remember going to bed, or saying goodnight to my drinking buddy.  I do hope I wasn’t rude.

That brings me up to date.  We’re due to be pulling into Naha in a few hours.  The sea is still relatively calm, the water and sky are blue.  It’s a good day to go to the islands.

Soupy twist,

Edward

PS~ Incidentally, blacking out at 1am on a boat in middle of the East China Sea is not an activity I’d highly endorse.

AV Supplemental

Arrived in Kanazawa a few days ago, and I love this city.  More details later, but here's some vids from the guest house I'm staying in, called Pongyi  The first is my morning coffee and the second is a mix a of clips from a concert the owner had me give (!!!).

Good Morning, Pongyi

Good Night, Pongyi

The owner is very, very nice guy.  He's linked both videos to the official guesthouse website.

Moving up and on

A lot’s happened.  This time I truly shall be brief.

When I last left off, I was heading to a jam in Fuse, a ward of Osaka to the East of the city center.  I had only a set of subway directions and a poorly drawn map to guild me (I should note that I was the one who poorly drew it).  Fortunately, I saw a guy (his name turned out to be Ko) walking down the street with a sax strapped to his back.  I asked him in a mix of English and Japanese if he was going to ‘Cross Road.’  He said yes, and I followed him to the club. 

It’s a small place, but since there weren’t many people there, there was some wiggle room.  The place is owned a run by an older cat who’s a damn decent drummer.  There was also a house bassist, a couple of horn players, one other drummer, and a piano player named Umiharu.  I got to play about six tunes or so.  The owner is very strict about the time, both on the drums and off.  The jam goes from 8-10 and no later.  I figure it’s something to do with the neighbors.  Either way, they were really nice to me, and did their best to communicate with me, even though none of them could speak English very well.  Umiharu and I screwed around on the piano after the jam, and showed each other some stuff.  He bought me a beer, too, and all of us stood around the bar and talked (as best we could manage with my guijin language skills).  They were all very amused about my cheap digs down in Nishinari-ku, and kept on me about going to Tobita Shinchi.

After staying too long, I left the club and literally ran the ½ mile or so back to Fuse Station and caught the LAST train back to Nipponbashi (catching the final train seems to be a theme for me here Japan).  I returned the following night to the same club to hear an American pianist from Miami, Phillip Strange, play with a vocalist.  They were both very good, him especially.  He’s quite into superimposing rhythms, and on the whole, is a very percussive pianist (though his harmonic sense is nice as well).  Swell guy, too.  He’s recorded with Bob Magnusson.  We talked a lot about jazz and the like.  The club, however, was basically dead.  The only people there besides the band were myself, Umiharu, a drunk, and the bartender.  Because of this, Strange let myself and Umiharu (who studies with him) play a song each.  He played ‘Con Alma’ in 7 (well, he kind of flip-flopped between 7 and 4).  I played (badly) ‘So in Love’ in 3, a personal favorite of mine.  After the show, we all headed back to Fuse and I caught the train back to my retched hive of scum and villainy (I’ve been being quite cautious).

Friday it rained.  The rainy season was getting underway, and a typhoon was coming in.  I spent the day at the hostel then headed back up to Rug Time for the jam.  The host band was a organ trio.  The organist wasn’t the best swinger, but she has her organ idioms/language down (nice use of stops, volume, and leslie).  She also had a nice a rig: a Nord C2 Combo Organ (with double manuals!).  I played piano all night, but at the end of the night I screwed around on it.  She, and everyone else, was kind of impressed I could walk left hand bass.  I’m okay at it, but I’m not the man or anything.  Maybe that’s rare in Japan?

There were some good drummers and guitarists there, as well as a bassist and another organist/pianist.  We played for a few hours, and as it came time to go, one of the drummers (a guy named Yu wearing a Keith Jarrett standards trio T-shirt) offered to give me and the other keyboardist a lift.  I was very relieved, for I was not looking forward to trudging all the way from Namba to Nishinariu-ku, a distance of maybe 3 miles, in the now pouring rain.  We headed out, walked North through Shinsaibashi to an underground parking garage.  Soon after, we were tearing through the streets of downtown Osaka blasting Yaya3 as we went.

The next morning found me waking up later than I intended.  I had meant to rise at about 8 and head up to Minoh early and do some hiking before meeting up with Alphie and the family.  I got up a bit too late, and by the time I got to Minoh it was a little past noon.  I decided to head up the trail anyway, make it as far as I could.  I didn’t make it far, but I found a nice spot on a hill surrounded on three sides by a river.  I sat there in the cover of some trees (and my umbrella, for it was raining) for a while before heading back down the trail and meeting Alphie, Henry, and Clara at the station.

Earlier in the week I had bought a couple of cheap little gifts for them.  Knowing Clara’s infatuation with aliens, I got a little keychain for her featuring the alien from Toy Story.  As for Henry, I had a much harder time finding something.  I knew he liked dinosaurs, but I couldn’t find something good.  I had given up for the day where I found a small gift/book shop.  I was drawn to the place by the name: Village Vanguard.  Not only was this a blatant rip off of the club name, the title was even written in the same font.  The store had almost nothing to do with jazz.  It was sort of combination book/joke/junk shop, but all with a very American counter-culture vibe. 

I actually liked the place, though.  Some of the items were a bit strange: backpacks that resemble Koopa shells, costume wigs from anime, and (my favorite) a pop-up book version of ‘The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon’ by Steven King.  I got Henry a pair of glasses complete with the traditional Groucho nose, and moustache.  These also had eyebrows, though, and with the twist of a small knob on the tip of the nose, the eyebrows and moustache would articulate.  I had hoped a 10 year old might find it funny, so I went with that.

We ran a number of errands before spending some time at the new Minoh foot bath they built near the train station.  After that, we visited the local cultural/art museum.  I learned some of the local history, which helped explain why the town is such a tourist spot.  It’s been that way since the 20s, though they’ve had different attractions over the years, including a now-defunct zoo.  Clara was also filling me in on the some of feudal era dramas and practices, including seppuku (about which she was surprisingly knowledgeable).

Dinner was a feast, to put it mildly.  I gorged myself on a number of things, things too numerous to list.  I also played a lot of piano and with the kids a bit.  Alphie played some jazz CDs during dinner, including a nice Duke Ellington version of Peter Gynt which I had never heard.  As we left to head back to the station (me still in a food coma) Clara gave a really sweet note, complete with drawings.  Once again, I felt very close to home.

After reaching Osaka, I bumbled through the streets of Umeda until I found Bricks again.  There was band that night, as it happened, and I posted up at the bar to listen.  The bassist and guitarist I knew from the last Jazz Ya session, and they were joined by a singer and a trumpet player.  I made chit chit with the fellow sitting next to me, and he gifted me some of his scotch (which was a kind I did not care for, but I was grateful just same).  The singer kept mentioning me in between songs because I was a native speaker.  I didn’t quite know what she was saying, but I caught the gist of it.  I also talked a lot with the trumpet player, who’d been to San Diego before.  Toyamasan took a picture of all of us, too.

As I was getting ready to leave, the bassist (Watanabe Haruo) offered to give me a lift.  As it was I was on my way to another session in Namba I had heard about from a guitarist at the Rug Time jam the previous night.  It was a late session, running from (as Watanabe informed me) midnight to 5am at a place called 845.  After fitting his bass and the rest of his rig into his rather tiny car, he ferried me through Umeda down Midosuji to Namba.  He even got out of the car to guide me to the club.  The kindness of everyone here never fails to amaze.

Once down some stairs, it was liked I’d walked into a European club circa 1966.  The band hadn’t started yet, so I took a seat next to Umiharu, who was one of few people there I recognized from other sessions.  Shortly after ordering a beer, the band got started.  It was a guitar trio, let by a shredder named Yoshimitzu Murayama.  The guy swings, to be sure, and his harmonic and rhythmic sense is tops, but he does like his wanking.  A lot, actually.  He just flies up and down the neck, and though he probably plays WAAAAAAY too much, I had to admit he was clean, had perfect time, and was actually pretty damn interesting to listen to.  He digs his rhythm superimposition, too (to quote Umiharu, “it’s quite fashionable.”)

I got to play a few songs over the course of the next five hours, including a few with the Muray-man himself.  There was also a troupe of recent high school grads in the club, some of whom were off to Berkeley in the Fall.  One, Izumi, was actually from Boston, but had gone to HS in Japan.  As such, he spoke both languages perfectly (and English in an American accent).  We talked a lot, and I got to play with most of his friends (including a burning saxophonist with a sharp attack and bite to her tone and another really pianist who, in addition to swinging well, had some nice textures to his solos).  We’ve made some plans to jam and gig in the near future.

At 5am, after the final blues was played, we headed topside to find that a) it was raining like a bitch (a typhoon was heading in off the coast) and b) it was dawn.  Apart from the rain, this was sort of a jazz fantasy of mine.  No club in California is open past 2am, and having a jazz jam go that late back in San Diego?  Forget it.  Naturally, even though I was tired as hell, I was exhilarated at the same time.  Izumi, his friends, and myself headed down to the nearest subway line (Midosuji), and caught the first train (they went North, and I went South).

The next day was a bit odd for me.  I got up around 1 (having gone to bed at 6am).  I spent the day in hotel lobby, reading, and chatting it up with whoever came down.  As the night came, I took a the subway to Nipponbashi and then the Kintesu over to Fuse and headed back to Cross Road, where there was another jam.  This one was slightly more populous, but no less fun.  Thomas, the Canadian bassist showed up with his roommate (a beginning trumpet player), and his girlfriend.  Umiharu was also there, as was the bassist from the last session and the drummer/owner.  I got to play a good mix of tunes, including ‘Stablemates,’ which I regret I had to read.  I hadn’t played that song in ages.  As such, it featured my fast failing chops.  Oh well.

After the jam was over and done with, I talked with Umiharu and Thomas about this, that, and the other until we realized we’d missed the last train.  Umiharu drives a scooter, so he was good, but the rest of use were a long way from home.  Fortunately, Thomas’s girlfriend’s friend was there, and she was gracious enough to ferry as all back to Thomas’s neck of the woods, where I caught the last train back to Nishinari-ku.  It was my third ride from a total stranger in as many days.  What a country!

I used my final 150 yen to buy some noodles at the shop, then settled down in the lobby.  After eating the noodles and some cake (graciously given to me by a really nice guy who I think works for the hotel), I set to work on a puzzle that had appeared on the tabletop.  It was one of those ‘tangram’ (is that right?) things.  It’s a series of oddly shaped, flat pieces of wood you have to arrange in various shapes.  It was past midnight, and I wasn’t tired, so I kept it for some time.  Eventually, a few American girls came down.  After chatting for a bit, one went back upstairs to sleep, but I and the other girl (Ayla) both had sleeping schedules that were thrown off, so we talked until about 6 in the morning before going finally heading back to our rooms.  It was a nice morning, actually.

After getting a few hours sleep I hurriedly packed and checked out, only to find out Al couldn’t see me until about 4 in the afternoon.  Fortunately, the Mikado was cool with me hanging out in the lobby until an appropriate time to leave.  I spent a few more hours on the tangram.  Try as I might, I was unable to even make the first shape: a rectangle.  A damn rectangle, I tell you!  It was maddening!  Eventually the hour drew near, and I slung up my back, thanked two guys who worked at the hotel who had helped me out a number of times, said goodbye to the people who I knew, and set off for Kyoto.

Somewhat anticlimactically, I caught the wrong subway.  I was able to quickly switch trains, and soon found myself back on course, but was now running late.  By the time I reached Yodoyobashi, I had to call Al and let him know I was going to be there around 4:30 instead of 4.  I hadn’t gotten on a wrong train my entire stay in Osaka, so I was naturally a bit bummed to have my perfect record ruined.  All well and good, though.  I got on a Limited Express on the Keihan Line which got me out of Osaka and to Kyoto in about an hour.

My brother Al met me at the station, having spent all morning at the onsen (he does his reading there).  After catching a smaller train from Demachiyangi, we arrived in his neighborhood.  His house was a short walk from the station.  The house, which is about 80 years old, sits betwixt several newer, monstrous looking mansions.  It’s a very traditional Japanese house, and a startling change of pace from the Mikado.  It’s drafty, and creaky, the doors are very low and the stairs are very steep.  I set up shop upstairs, and after a grand tour, we took bikes down to a local eatery.  Al ordered, to be honest, a bit too much food.  He wasn’t sure what I tried yet.  It was biggest meal I’d eaten (even larger than the feast at Alphies a few days before), and combined with a few beers, I found it difficult to mount my bike after we left.  I felt like my center of gravity was about two feet below the street.

We biked through the campus of Kyoto University to a small pub Al likes, and spent the night drinking and talking, largely about beer, which Al makes for a living.  He went right into technical terms, and lost me almost instantly.  I had to smile and nod sometimes (he spoke clearly, but the subject matter might as well have been elementary combinatorics for all I understood it), but I’d gotten good at that dealing with the locals.  This is most time we’d ever spent together, and also the first time I’d seen him as, well, an adult (the last time I’d seen him I’d been 17).

I’ll speed a bit through the next couple of days, just to hit the highlights:

1)     The Gael- We’ve gone to another pub (this one Irish) called The Gael every night I’ve been here.  Al is regular, and knows everyone there.  It’s a good group of people, who I’m gradually getting to know as well.  There’s a number of guijin ex-pats at the place, actually (including Peter, who lived in San Diego for a while).  On Wednesday there was an open mic night, and both Al and I sat in.  We finally got to play together.  To quote Al, “The Kornhauser Brothers, together again for the first time.”  The host was a very good (and very tall) English pianist named Benny, who did a few duets with me as well.  It was fun night.

2)     Biking through the city- Al was kind enough to loan me a spare bicycle, and I put it some extensive use.  The part of town where Al lives is a short ride away from some beautiful temples, shrines, and this road known as ‘The Philosopher’s Path.”  It’s just a little road, shaded mostly by trees, that runs along a deep canal.  There are lots of shops, cafes, quirky houses, and a temple or two on the path.

3)     The jam sessions- I hit up two sessions while in Kyoto.  The first was at ‘The Blue Note,’ though it should just be called ‘A Blue Note,’ as there is no relation to the other sanctioned Blue Notes of the jazz world.  The host pianist at the session has his Bill Evans impersonation down to the letter (though he’s decidedly more cheery when you talk to him).  The house drummer (and indeed, most the drummers that night) were loud enough to wake the dead.  Still, a good session.  Yu, the guy who gave me a lift home the previous week after the Rug Time Jam was there, too.  The other session I went to was a place called ‘Le Club Jazz’ (a stupider name you’d be hard pressed to invent).  The place was really nice, though as the night wore on, a few too many players turned up.  It was crowded, but everyone there was a player, so it was kind of an awkward crowd to play to.  Still, there was very little suckage.  On the contrary, most of the cats ran the gambit from decent to really good.  What’s more, there were a lot of younger players there, too, including Izumi and a few of his friends, who I had met at the 845 jam the previous week.  My brother Al also turned up.

4)     DonQ- The Japanese do a pretty good job when French bread is concerned.  There’s a bakery/café close to Al’s, and I spent many an afternoon there reading, sampling their wares, and drinking way too much coffee (they have a bottomless policy).  I did a fair amount of Japanese research, as well as took down a book (‘The Siege of Krishnapur’) during the course of my DonQ days.

As I write this last bit, I’m on a train bound for Kanazawa, which is the capital of Ishikawa Prefecture on Nato-hanto peninsula.  I’d really never heard of those places before yesterday at breakfast, but with Al leaving for Hong Kong this morning, I needed somewhere to go.  I’ve never seen the Sea of Japan before, so this place seemed as good as any.  I’ll be using Kanazawa as a base of operations for day trips out unto the peninsula, along the coast, and to the large national park which nearby.

At the moment, I’m very hungry.  I can’t wait to get to the last stop so I can eat.  To save money, I took a series of local trains rather than the express (I saved about 3000 yen, but it takes over 6 hours compared to 2 ½).  I did miss the first train, but luckily a girl helped me find the right one.  The countryside is, not to sound too terribly posh (too late), quite picturesque.  Winding through the mountains and through tunnels, this train’s taken me by countless small villages, all tucked neatly into the sides of the mountains.

I do hope I can find my hostel.  I wrote out the directions last night when I got home around 1am, when I was slightly drunk.  I tried reading them this morning, and they’re a bit of a mess.

Soupy twist,

Edward