Kimono Work Miracles
How often do you wear a kimono? In my case, usually just once or twice
a year. I have always loved the feeling of wearing a kimono, and wish I
could wear them more often. Kyoto is a city with a long and proud history
of kimono production. My grandfather actually worked in the industry as
a kimono painter, continuing to paint well into his 80's. He painted two
kimonos for me, both of which are the most treasured in my collection.
Usually, when producing a kimono, each process is separated and carried
out by a specialist. However, dye artist TAMAMURA Ei (ΚΊη), produces
kimonos from designing to dyeing in his studio located in the Nishijin
area, Kamigyo-ku Ward. Originally from Fukui Prefecture, Mr. Tamamura has
over 25 years experience working in Kyoto's competitive kimono industry.
As a dye specialist, he believes color combinations are of the utmost importance.
When designing a kimono, he patiently lays out a series of colors over
a multitude of patterns before coming up with the right match. Recently,
fellow "Life in Kyoto" volunteer, Mrs. Fukuoka, and I had the
privilege of visiting Mr. Tamamura for an interview to find out his thoughts
on kimonos.
Mr. Tamamura, I have heard that you usually use synthetic dyes.
We are surrounded by a bewildering array of colors. Usually, we first recognize
an object or shape by its color. This in turn stimulates a feeling and
allows our imagination to roam. My job is to awaken unknown feelings by
producing unique color combinations. I must carefully choose colors one
by one, considering which colors are complimentary and which combinations
will evoke what kind of feelings. In order to produce these color combinations,
it is necessary to dye as many visible colors as possible. Natural dyes
tend to reproduce sober colors, which can be limiting. That is why I always
use synthetic dyes.
It is interesting that the different combinations of colors evoke different
feelings. When you produce kimono, do you imagine something concrete, for
example, flowers that you like, or shapes or some specific people?
No, I generally do not. The most important thing when I produce kimono
is the combination of colors. Each single color has its own beauty. But
when two colors are combined, sometimes their beauty is lost. Yet, on the
other hand, sometimes their beauty is enhanced. Either way, the combinations
produce many and varied appearances which arouse different feelings. I'm
always testing different color combinations with the hope of creating the
ideal blend, but this is a continuous process of trial and error. I believe
the color combination produced by these consecutive trials is more attractive
than any concrete shapes.
When I buy kimonos, I usually choose my favorite colors or patterns. But
recently I have come to realize that the color that I like and the color
that suits me are sometimes different. So now it is difficult for me to
choose a kimono without a sense of doubt creeping into my mind. Since kimonos
are expensive, I'm afraid to buy one incase later on I realize it does
not really suit me.
You do not have to buy a kimono when you are young. In many cases young
people do not know which kimono really suits them. Many probably regret
purchasing one recommended by a shop clerk or somebody later on. You have
to remember that your face changes with age. However, once a person reaches
about 45 years old, I don't think their face changes that much. That is
to say, one's character begins to appear on their face from around this
age. My kimonos are designed more for mature or middle aged people rather
than for young people. I think adult women who have lived their life as
honestly as they can are really beautiful and elegant. Kimono can help
to bring out attractiveness or personal magnetism from those adult women.
Kimono has the amazing power to do so. Someday you will "meet"
your kimono, the one that really suits you. It makes me so happy to see
a person and my kimono finally meetc"true chemistry!"
By wearing kimono, feelings are stimulated and one's attractiveness is
heightened. I also agree that ones face is important. Now while it may
be a little too late for me, I will at least endeavor to live my life as
honestly as I can. I just hope it will help me to become a woman who looks
beautiful in kimono. Thank you very much.
After the interview, we were lucky enough to try on some kimonos that
Mr.Tamamura personally handpicked. It was very exciting trying them on.
We were surprised, or should I say shocked, at the results! We actually
looked very elegant and even more beautiful than usual!!! Well, put it
this way, we realized that wearing kimono does make a difference. But,
there was just one problem - it doesn't hide one's character! I dream that
someday I will "meet" my special kimono, one that seems to be
made just for me.
K. Kimura
Fools Paradise
Rising 12,388 feet (3,776m) over the Kanto Plain, Mt. Fuji - or Fuji-san,
is the highest and most sacrosanct mountain in the "land of the gods".
In fact, climbing Mt. Fuji began as a religious practice, and even today,
carries an underlying spiritual meaning for the many thousands drawn to
her slopes each year. To witness a mesmerizing sunrise from atop her peak,
and peer out over the dreamy clouds below is an awe-inspiring and unforgettable
experience.
Perfectly symmetrical, Fuji-san is a composite volcano formed by three
separate volcanoes. Appearing in her present form about 10,000 years ago,
Fuji-san has remained dormant since the last eruption occurred in 1707.
Five small lakes lie at her northern base, offering amazing inverted reflections
of her in their still waters. With each season comes a different landscape.
Ever changing yet unchanging, Fuji-san represents an unbroken chain between
past and present. Efforts to express this enigma through art and literature
can be traced as far back as the first inhabitants of the archipelago.
Indeed, the mountain's name is of Ainu origin, meaning "everlasting
life".
For both similar and varying reasons, people make the journey to Mt. Fuji.
In my case, it was back in 1992 while living in Japan for 12 months as
a Rotary Exchange Student. My host dad at the time announced that there
was more to see in Japan than just the gritty urban sprawl of Tokyo, not
that it wasn't postcard picturesque or anything, but a trip to the inaka
was called for. So, our bags packed we set out through the nightmare-ish
Tokyo traffic of "Golden Week" in pursuit of nature, harmony
and a chunky piece of Fuji-rock. My host parents, evidently not of the
genki middle-aged hiking generation, preferred to cruise half way up the
mountain to the 5th Station, the highest point attainable by car, from
where we could meander around. Well, maybe it was not exactly an adventure,
but the thought was there. After checking out the shrines, the souvenir
shops and the view, my host parents headed back to the car. Stumbling around
the black rocky terrain, I lingered for a while longer. As blustery 100
km/h gale winds torn at my clothes, I took one last look at the snow-capped
peak above and thought to myself, "the next time I come here will
be to watch the sunrise from the top".
And so it was with a sense of fate and a severe case of "Fuji-fever"
I succumbed like many others before me, to the bizarre gravitational pull
eastward. A pilgrimage to Fuji-cho, the top of Japan, now firmly fixed
in my mind, I set about trying to convince my "pack-a-day" housemate
to join me in this delirious adventure.
"Sure, it'll be a little shindoi, but come on, I saw you bound up
those seemingly never ending stairs fronting Himeji Shrine, you weren't
even puffed! And crowds, well, you've managed to survive the most ferocious
of bargain sales, so to all intents and purposes, you're more prepared
than I am!... (OK. what else can I say I thought)...not afraid of a challenge
are you? Fervent? Maybe not, but he was in. The rest, as they say, is history
- and here is a slice of it.
The official climbing season for Mt Fuji runs from July 1 through August
31. Having heard some pretty harrowing stories about making the trek in
winter, and given our desire to actually "see" the sunrise, we
decided that July 20th would be d-day. Late July is said to be when the
weather on Mt. Fuji is at its most stable, but as a semi-believer in "Murphy's
Law" - what can go wrong, (probably) will go wrong - I was preparing
for the worst. The plan was for a night accent, departing about 10pm; we
assumed this would give us ample time to reach the summit in time to see
the 4:30 sunrise. We stocked up on essentials at a local convenience store:
toilet paper, energy drinks, chocolate and onigiri - and in case of altitude
sickness, 2 canisters of oxygen. After a hardy meal of hamburger steaks,
our next stop was a nearby onsen. The canny ploy behind this was to loosen
up the muscles in the warm water, followed by a power nap in the relaxation
room down stairs.
Rejuvenated and ready to hit the slop, I cranked up the stereo and we
sped off in search of the 5th Station (Gotemba Route), from where we were
to begin our climb. The ascent is divided into ten (depending on route)
official stages, marked by stations where - for a small fee - you can have
a souvenir stamp burned into your hiking stick. Opting to forgo the long
stamping lines we made a straight run for the top. To keep spirits high
we also made a pact: the first one to say, "I'm tired" had to
treat the other a meal of his choice!
We were less than 10 minutes into the hike before we made our first pit
stop.
Sweltering, we realized we had gone the winter woollies a little prematurely,
and had to stripe off a few layers. On we hiked. The first leg was 2-3
km through winding rugged woodland. A little surprised by the grueling
start, we came up with a "warm up" pace of 10 minutes walking,
4-5 minutes resting for the first hour. Finally cooperating, our muscles
stretched and our heaving gasps reverted to controlled breathing, and believe
it or not, we actually started to make progress.
Hiking along, what struck me as pleasant but a little unusual, was the
fact that we had come quite a way without seeing or hearing another human
being. Are we still in Japan I thought? Here I was, fully expecting there
to be zillions of fellow fanatics to join us in our quest - and yet, all
that greeted us a part from a few buzzing insects, was a refreshing, peaceful
silence. I took a moment to take in my surroundings. Blurry street-lights
sketched out the city below, and a full moon and lucid starry sky above
lit our trail.
Our solitude was short-lived, however, as we struck civilization at the
6th Station. We stopped for a brief rest and chocolate reprieve, before
continuing on.
The zigzagging trail began to grow steeper from here, and plenty of mutual
"gabare-yo's" were needed to get us through to the 7th. While
still alive, a photo was taken to commemorate the achievement so far.
Between the 7th and the 8th Station the terrain under foot became rockier,
each step had to be made with precision to avoid tripping over. Relief
spread over our faces as we dropped our packs and sank to our knees. It
was 2:20 in the morning - we had finally made it to the 8th Station. There
were swarms of backpack clad creatures gathered at this station, mostly
people on organized tours receiving last minute instructions from their
guides. We rested here for some time, as this was the last stopping point
on this particular route before we reached the top. I changed into a clean
pair of socks and felt a little better. The wind had picked up and the
temperature had sunk to a mere 5 degrees. We put on our jackets for some
added insulation, strapped on our packs and filed out.
Falling in line behind the troopers, aged from 7 to 70, the pace slowed
to a subdued plod. Sardine-like packed into the 2-3 meter wide trail -
comparable to a rush hour train, there was little room for overtaking.
Somewhat frustrated, all we could do was shadow the movements of the person
in front of us.
Dawn was fast approaching and the sky began to change from a night blue
to a shady orange. I could make out quite clearly the snake trail of people
above and below that had previously appeared only as dots of light emanating
from flash lights. Will we make the summit in time I wondered, beginning
to wish we had left earlier. Slower hikers were suddenly requested by guides
to keep to the right. Not wasting a moment, I surged ahead at every opportunity,
my housemate on my heels. "What's the rush?" he asked between
gulps of air, "the view is not going to get that much better you know!".
Ignoring his rational swipe, I pushed on. I pictured myself perched on
the very top waiting for the sunrise, and seemingly a new energy swirled
through my veins. Filled with this vision, I scampered up the remaining
rock face toward the torii gate.
With baited breath I sat, hypnotized, as the first rays of the new day
burst forth, spreading out over the thin misty cloud cover. I exhaled.
It was a breath of jubilation, of happiness and of relief. For not only
had we made it to the top, and made it in time to observe an intoxicating
sunrise, we had endured and my long held dream was finally realized. Would
I do it again? Well, you know what they say...
"He who climbs Fuji-san once is a wise man;
He who climbs its twice is a fool".
Word Glossary:
Inaka - Countryside
Genki - Vigorous, energetic
Shindoi - Tiring (Kansai dialect)
Onigiri - Rice ball
Onsen - Hot spring
Ganbare-yo - Give it one's best
Torii - Shinto shrine gate
T. Grey
Flavor of the Month: Nasu
Nasu (Φq: Eggplant), also called Nasubi, is one of the most popular
and versatile vegetables eaten all over world. Usually round or long and
slender in shape, the eggplant comes in a range of colors; from the glossy
black and deep purple variety commonly found here in Japan, to the unusual
green and white fruits of the Middle East. The color provides an appeal
all of its own, and from the delicious taste and vast array of dishes possible,
there is sure to be something to tempt even the fussiest eater. Historically
speaking, the eggplant can be traced back to Asia.
Initially grown in South East Asia as an ornamental plant, the eggplant
was first produced as a food in India from about the 4th century. By the
5th century it had spread east to China and west to the Arabian peninsular.
In China, the eggplant not only served as a food source, the skins of blackish-purple
eggplants were used to make cosmetic dye. Two types of eggplant entered
Japan via China during the 8th century. From North China came a round-shaped
variety, while from South and Central China, a slender elongated type was
introduced. In the 12th century, the Arabs introduced the eggplant into
Spain, from where it later traveled to England, Italy and other Europe
countries under an aphrodisiac guise.
In Japan, nasu have enjoyed favor with the local palate since its introduction.
Produced in abundance throughout July and August, nasu are invariably consumed
most during summer and early autumn. However, "Aki-nasu" (HΦq)
or Autumn eggplant, which are harvested in September, carry a reputation
as the most flavorsome.
Kyoto is famous for the excellent quality of nasu it produces. Of particular
note are the large round-shaped variety called "Kamo-nasu" (ΑΞΦq).
The name comes from the Kamo district in which they were traditionally
cultivated, an area also renowned for the magnificent shrine, Kamigamo-jinjya
(γκΞ_Π). Today, only a small number of the farmers continue to cultivate
traditional Kamo-nasu. Hence, due to it delicious taste yet limited supply,
it has become quite expensive to buy. The Yamashina district, also famed
for its nasu, produces a delicious long slender-shaped fruit called "Yamashina-nasubi"
(RΘΦq). Unfortunately due to the expanding urbanization of the district,
this type of eggplant has almost disappeared, with only a few producers
remaining. While nasu production may be on the decline, there is no shortage
of nasu delicacies.
When it comes to making Japanese nasu dishes, it is common to use a little
bit of salad or Tempura oil as plant oils compliment and enhance nasu's
flavor. And this is particularly so when cooking Kamo-nasu. I suggest cutting
the large Kamo-nasu into halves or thick slices and frying them in Tempura
oil. After you have done this, why not try your hand at making Dengaku
(cy) or Agedashi (go΅) dishes from the fried nasu.
You may have tasted Tofu Dengaku (€
cy) made of grilled slices of
tofu (soybean curd) with miso (fermented soybean paste) spread on top.
The miso spread is very easy to make. All you need to do is mix miso, sugar
and sake (rice wine) in a proportion of about 3:1:2 and simmer the mixture
for several minutes over low heat. Then, pour the paste over the fried
Kamo-nasu and you have "Kamo-nasu Dengaku".
You also may be familiar with Tentsuyu (V`), a flavor sauce that goes
well with Tempura. You can find concentrated Tentsuyu at the supermarket.
Add water to dilute it as indicated, then warm up the mixture. Dip the
fried Kamo-nasu into the warmed Tentsyu and eat immediately. As an extra,
you can add grated ginger and/or grated Daikon (white radish ) to enhance
the flavor. This is "Kamo-nasu Agedashi".
Of course, all of these dishes can be made using any type of nasu. In
general, Asian eggplants have a very tender skin, so there is no need to
peel them. This makes cooking nasu, be it grilled, fried, roasted, pickled
or stir-fried, quicker and easier. Bon appetite!
T. Fujii