Wednesday 28 November 2012

Winter arrives

On Saturday the men-folk in the Gaynor-Takahashi family got busy doing what men-folk ought to be doing: changing tires. In Hokkaido snow, ice, constant sub-zero temperatures and insistent TV commercials by the Yokohama tire company mean that cars come with two sets of tires, one for summer and one for winter. The latter are made of softer rubber, are slightly wider and have deeper threads, which technically makes them more suitable for winter conditions. However, as any policeman here will tell you, it's the driver not the tires that makes the most difference.
Usually I get the tires changed down at the local garage along with an oil change and replacement oil filter. But under the withering scorn of my father - "Think of the impression you are making on Cian. He's half Gaynor. He's got Castrol oil in his blood. For God's sake, man up and change the tires yourself!" - I decided to do it myself.
So off to Homac we went (think Woody's but with way more cool stuff) and bought a socket wrench and a decent car jack. And some winter wipers (they have heavier blades for the snow). And a pretty damn cool flashing yo-yo, which we didn't really need at all.



So, we changed the tires and wipers, and emboldened by our lack of serious injuries doing same, we decided to go up on the roof to clean out the gutter.



Well I did. Cian got three rungs up the ladder before deciding he was better off down at ground level. Plus, he wanted to give one last torque check to the wheel nuts.
Up on the roof I marveled at (a) the view (yes, that's Sanae in the hot pink ski pants); and (b) the small shrub that had sprouted in the gutter.

Saturday afternoon
After cleaning the gutter, I was on a roll, so I also buried my bonsai plants, moved all the big potted trees to the lee side of the house under the kitchen and other stuff I won't bore you any more with.
And all just in time too as on Tuesday evening we had an almighty storm blow through. 140km/h winds, a meter of snow in 12 hours, trees felled, power lines down, over 50,000 homes without electricity, and Sanae's school closed until next Monday as they reckon it will take that long to restore power to that area. Which is great for Sanae but not so great for the people living there as they have no light, heat, water,  nor means of cooking. And the temperature is well below zero at night.

Tuesday morning

The (blocked) entrance to Cian's nursery school
Those of who you a bit 'jouzu' with the auld 'nihongo' can enjoy the link to the news report below.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6GOmyY-IpC4&feature=relmfu

Tuesday 20 November 2012

Deep in the enchanted forest...



Events at Forest Kozan last Sunday put me in mind of the 80's and the surreal European art house movies I used to stay up late on a Friday night to watch on Channel 4 in the hope of seeing some, well, things you certainly wouldn't see on RTE. Invariably I would be equally disappointed and fascinated; disappointed at the lead actresses innate velcro-like ability to keep her clothes on, fascinated by continental filmmakers' haughty disdain for anything that might even remotely resemble a plot. It was all about imagery, mood and incomprehension. To this day I still have no idea what the film Visszaesők  (Forbidden relations) is about, but that turkey-swan thing, surely, it's more than just a turkey-swan, right.


Anyway, the fine folk up in Forest Kozan seemed to have tapped into that same vein of multi-colored madness, for how else to explain the otherwise inexplicable. (Well, either that or this year's harvest of Uncle Satoshi's crop of home grown mellow gold was particularly good).
We had a not very convincing Bolivian flute player, a man with a cardboard face, slow, charcoal baked sweet potatoes and the sudden, unsparing onset of winter. All combined to push reason aside and made us embrace our inner arts-n-crafts pagan child.
That and it was too cold outside.



When it got to stage when we were all following the faux Bolivian flute player as he led us on a merry dance, I really did begin to wonder if this was turning into a Japanese version of the Wicker Man.


But no, thankfully, the fire they had built outside was to slow roast the sweet potatoes, not the foreign outsider.




Cian, by the way, was a Caribou. But you knew that already from the stunning authenticity of his costume.


The caribou, feeling the irrepressible call of the wild, yearns to be outside. The caribou's Daddy, keenly aware of his offspring's desire, says, "not a feckin chance, pal. It's feckin freezing out there".

Sunday 11 November 2012

Late Autumn



We are having a somewhat strange Autumn this year, climatically speaking. It has been unseasonably warm but also unseasonably wet, so that what the Japanese call koyo (the changing of the leaf colours), has been strangely muted.
Today though the sky cleared, the sun shone and the maple trees around the house got busy trying to reach out and touch the glory.




Bullit


As Cian so incisively pointed out, while it is all very well "composing scathingly incisive critiques of Japan's political establishment" (his words), there comes a time when you have to put down the pen, pick up the car keys and burn some goddamned Goodyear rubber!!
YEAH!! ALRIGHT!! WHO B DE MAN?! U B DE MAN!!! etc.
So it was earlier today when World Rally Championship came to hitherto sleepy, suburban Muroran. For those of you who have the terminal misfortune to come from a country where driving in elongated circles 500 freakin times is regarded as the ultimate in automotive accomplishment, WRC is basically legalized high speed car chases down narrow, windy country roads.
And it is big in Europe. Yes, Europe, that continent of molly-coddled social welfare recipients and eh, Greece. So this, parkour and hurling is how we get our rocks off in the old world.
It takes cojones my Yankee friends, la bouleliathróidí, great big brass ones.
Anyway, me and Cian, proud genetic bearers of the Gaynor liathróidí (though a shout out to the Moss man down Clon way. And to John up in Helsinki. Maith na fir), hit the open road this morning in preparation for the start of next year's championship in Monte Carlo.
By coincidence I had just rewatched Bullit the night before and, as it turns out, the hills of Muroran make a fair substitute for San Francisco.
Topographically speaking.
In all other aspects Muroan and 'Frisco are as about as far apart as, well, two cities on opposite sides of the Pacific Ocean.
Those of you easily alarmed should look away; those of you who believe that the only place for the pedal is firmly down on the metal, should clink on the link below.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rdhadmldP2c&feature=youtu.be

Sunday 4 November 2012

Shintaro Ishihara

It is not often you can conclusively point the finger at one man and blame him for the woes of a nation. Yet, here in Japan, we have a contender: step forward and take a bow, Shintaro Ishihara.


Up until last Wednesday he was the governor of Tokyo, quite possibly the most important political position after the prime ministership. However, after a run of 13 years he quit in order to found a new political party and run for the Diet, the Japanese parliament. Given that he is somewhere to the right of Texas in his extreme, conservative nationalism, it is highly unlikely he will become prime minister come the next election. He could though, become a 'shadow shogun', a behind the scenes kingmaker, who may well decide who does get the top job. He is also 80 so his ambitions are necessarily constrained and may explain his abrupt decision last week; it is, essentially, now or never.
My preference would be for the latter, but then again, I don't get to vote.
Besides having been governor, Ishihara is also a best selling author, film director, former journalist who covered the Vietnam War, an unapologetic racist, and, it would seem, politically (if not completely) senile. Earlier this year he announced that the Tokyo metropolitan government, at his behest, would buy the Senkaku Islands (the Daioyu Islands to the Chinese, Tioayutai Islands to the Taiwanese, or "those feckin rocks" to Cian). The islands form a rough apex between China, Taiwan and the Okinawa islands in southern Japan.



They are actually 1,900 kilometres from Tokyo, but to Ishihara that's the sort of bureaucratic nitpicking that have laid this once great nation so low.
After the second world war the islands were administered by the US, but following the reversion of Okinawa to Japanese sovereignty in 1972, the islands were returned to their private owners. At the time China contested this but weren't willing to force the issue as, well, this was 1972, Mao was in charge and the country was walking that fine line between state led second world power, and one rice crop failure away from third world famine.
Anyway, Ishihara is as anti-Sino as they come, (and lately they have been coming in droves), and his bid to buy the islands was widely seen as deliberate provocation to the powers that be in Beijing. Thus, the Japanese government, fearful of what he might do should the sale go through (probably borrow some neon signs from Shinjuku and erect a 100 meter display saying "Eat this, Mao spawn!"),  hastily stepped in and used ¥2.05 billion of my, my wife's and the rest of the Japanese taxpayer's money to buy the islands.



And this effectively nationalized them.
And this in turn sent the Chinese ballistic. Japanese stores and factories were ransacked and burnt down, workers at Japanese factories rioted, Japanese made cars were thrashed, and thousands tried to storm the Japanese embassy in Beijing. Throughout all this the Chinese authorities stood idly by, but rather less idly encouraged an armada of fishing boats to steam for the islands as well as dispatching numerous coast guard ships to enforce their territorial claim on the Senkakus. Sorry, Daioyus.



The authorities also took less overt but equally effective measures. Japanese imports were subject to strict customs checks; minor mistakes on the paperwork resulted in either cargo ships of good being sent back across the Japan Sea. Sorry, East China Sea.
Bowing to the inevitable various Chinese airlines terminated air routes to regional airports all across Japan while Chinese tourists cancelled their holidays en masse. All in all it was a concerted and pointed display of economic muscle, a rumbling reminder of who the big boy is in Asia now.
And it was all too painfully effective.



Exports to China fell by 14% in the month of September, and as the dispute continues with no end in sight, Cian reckons it will knock 0.8% of Japanese GDP for this year. For individual companies, the damage has been even more severe. Toyota has just reported a 40% drop in Chinese car sales while Sharp and Panasonic have announced billion dollar losses, with Sharp teetering on the verge of bankruptcy. Up here in Hokkaido we are not immune either. Tourism and agriculture, the two mainstays of the island economy have been particularly hard hit. According to 'De Paper', reservations by Chinese tourists are down 70%, and food exports are down by 40%.
And all because of the nationalistic hubris of a vain glorious old man. Yet Ishihara is not even a bit apologetic. Rather he believes Japan needs to be 'strong again' and berates the younger generation of politicians for not doing their fair share of geo-political weight training. And yes, that is a fairly stretched simile.
Anyway, for a country with the myriad of problems Japan faces, the last thing it needs is somebody like Ishihara gunning for glory, but this, unfortunately, fearfully even, is what we may well end up with.




Thursday 1 November 2012

News

On Wednesday afternoons I teach at a nursing school in Date, a town some 25km down the coast from Muroran. On my way back I usually listen to the five o clock radio news, or at least that much I can understand. Natural disasters are fine - "Hurricane Sandy, like, ohmygod!", and more general topics such as this week is library week here in Japan are also pretty comprehensible; did you know for instance, that the average person borrows 5.8 books in a year, while for elementary school children that rises to a very impressive 27.3? Bet you didn't. On the other hand, matters political and economic are too full of intricate circumlocutions and polite sounding bullshit to make any sense, though I reckon that's the same for most countries. In the sports news I have no interest as there are, shockingly, no reports on Dr. Crokes' three-in-a-row success in the Kerry championship. And the weather, well that is probably the one aspect of my Japanese language ability in which I claim absolute fluency. Life in here in Hokkaido requires it - it's essentially a survival skill, same as deer hunting and clothing yourself in bear fur.
Anyway, I was driving home, listening to the news on NHK radio. Prior to the national news was the local Hokkaido news broadcast from Sapporo. Now I use the term 'local' advisedly. This isn't the equivalent of Clare FM, where Bazza Keane rules and everyday is a banner day. Hokkaido has a population larger than Ireland's, its regional domestic product is ¥18,360 billion (that's 183.6 billion of those increasingly dubious euro), more than Ireland's rapidly shrinking GDP of 168 billion; Sapporo, its largest city and the fifth largest in Japan, has a population of 1.92 million, making it considerably larger than Dublin's 1.05 million. So 'local' here is pretty much the equivalent of 'national' back home.
And I am digressing.
So, I am (still) driving home listening to the 'local' Hokkaido news. The main story is the inaugural direct flight from Bangkok to Sapporo heralding, it is hoped, a new source of foreign tourists now that the Chinese have stopped coming. The governor chirped some "it's a great day for the region, etc., etc.", while some hoteliers mangle their way through ยินดีต้อนรับ as they greet the first arrivals. Fair enough. Significant economic story. As the cold rain begins to pepper my windscreen I briefly consider making a dash for the airport and catching the return flight back to Bangkok.
The next story up, the second of the day, is about window cleaning at the Goryokaku viewing tower in Hakodate.
I kid you not.
Apparently after a good wipe the windows fairly sparkle, and visitors to the top of the tower can now happily peer at miles of dull, grey, autumnal cloudiness.
Like I said, second only to Thai Airways in the top news of the day. There wasn't, apparently, much else of note happening in Hokkaido on the last day of October. Which isn't entirely true; there was a fair bit, from car crashes to factory closures (unfortunately here in Muroran), as was reported in the following day's newspaper. But for the editors at NHK, these weren't as newsworthy.
This approach to news is quite prevalent in Japan. Unlike back home where news tends to explicate Hobbes famous dictum about life being "nasty, brutish and short", here in Japan they like to take time to smell the cherry blossoms and polish the windows. News tends to be balanced, not merely in terms of avowed neutrality to the topic (though this is debatable), but also in terms of positive and negative stories. You will of course get your required daily dose of gloom and doom, but you will also get reports on the record oyster harvest they are enjoying out Akkeshi way; or how one of the big hotels in Tokyo has started serving venison (I am not telling which hotel, but it's one of the big ones. The really big ones).
And these aren't the sort of winsomely humorous "dog saves duck from drowning" reports you get at the end of the news programmes back home. These are interspersed throughout the program, like the great glazed clean up high above Hakodate. In essence it is a differing perception of what constitutes news. And this in turn evinces a different way of looking at the world - more silver lining less cloud. And this day and age, that's no bad thing.


The Goryokaku Tower in Hakodate. Note the incandescent sparkle of the freshly cleaned windows.

April - the most stressful month

 And so, with its usual unstoppable momentum, April has rolled around and with it the start of the new school and business year. Sanae must ...