15 degrees celsius- indoors.

This weekend's adventure: The Japanese Bazaar.

My coordinator clued me in that on Saturday, in a town pretty far off the train tracks, there was to be a "bazaar" that I might like to see. She also mentioned the magic words that bring glee to my heart every time I hear them: "I've got a friend with a car who says she'll give us a ride." Cars in this part of the world are an event for me. They mean something special: That I'm about to venture into the countryside, far enough away from a set of train tracks that people of my... um.. ancestral persuasion (i.e. not Japanese) usually don't get to go. As such, every time I hear the words "car" and "ride" something stirs within me that I imagine is similar to the giddy glee felt by Marco Polo when he stepped off the map and into China.

The bazaar did not disappoint. It was in a giant silver dome structure nestled about an hour's car ride off the tracks and into the Japanese countryside. It juts out of the surrounding forests and rice fields like it had just landed there, and was about to disgorge a company of aliens.

Turns out I was the only alien around.


The dome was about the size of a football field, leading me to think that this may be some kind of converted sports arena, but I was sorely mistaken. The interior is one giant, empty, dirt-floored room, that is used exclusively for this trade fair and others of it's ilk. The merchants inside, packed in winding hallways that lead like an old-style labyrinth from the entrance to the food court, sold (in order from the entrance): industrial chains and load lifters, pulleys, robotic doohickeys (yup, no idea, just knew they were robots), electric/kerosene/LP/solar-powered heaters, chainsaws and large-scale gardening equipment, concrete drills, women's clothing, boxed curry, toys, athletic apparel, and objets d'art.

Concrete drills and women's clothing: Two great tastes that go great together.

So the friend, who was our ride and hookup for this little adventure, was the sent emissary from her company to this trade show. The heck if I know what her company actually DOES- or what it might be seeking at the bazaar- as she didn't buy anything and the company itself is a travel agency. Said travel agency was invited as the guest of a larger company, whose name we checked in under, and whose ID badges we were given. We were met at the door by our company "bargainer", an employee of the larger company whose entire job was to haggle prices for us, his guests, and ensure that we never paid full price. It is worth mentioning at this point that we never paid at all. As a thank-you for coming, all three of us were presented with large gift bags- the contents of which my companions never even glanced at, just bowed once (shallowly, indicating that this is pretty standard, no big thanks) and a pile of free food and drink tickets to be redeemed at the piece of cheese to this giant mouse maze- the Food Court.

We introduced ourselves to the bargainer, identifying first the company from which we came and then our individual names (last only), upon which we recieved his business card (with all the attendant bowing and reciept ritual), after which we went through the obligatory Gaijin Gauntlet of "He speaks Japanese? Wow! How tall is he? What, 190 cm-ish? Hey hey! Oh, I can ask him questions? Great! How are you liking Japan?"

Behind the eyes of every salaryman lies a small child who REALLY wants to stare. I don't think I shook hands with nearly as many people in the States as I do here, and definitely not nearly for as long. As soon as one of these guys has a hold of you, he doesn't want to let go. So, walking and shaking hands at the same time, we perused the wares for sale. Beautiful carvings of the Buddha sat next to giant industrial air compressors and piled boxes of dried curry. Usually, in a place like this, you'll get a lot of shouting and "WELCOME! TRY SOME CURRY!" banter. This bazaar was downright subdued. There were a lot of people somberly evaluating the quality of the five-foot ceramic cat statues and testing the load lifters, and every so often someone would tap their "bargainer", who would bow deeply to the shopkeep and ask politely for a discount. The shopkeep would apologize for the low quality of his wares, and offer a lower price. The bargainer looked back at the little group for approval, and when it was given bow ninety degrees to the shopkeeper, who would then produce a box of the product. This process was exactly the same for both the Adidas jackets and the concrete drills.

My little crew moved slowly through the aisles, snagging free samples and playing with the dangerous equipment. Since we weren't really shopping, our bargainer excused himself to tend to another guest, promising us that his cellphone was on him and that the number was on the business card. He apologized for being such a horrible guide, we told him he was wonderful, and he bailed. Such is how business is done in this country.

With that (and him) out of the way, we went to cash in those free food tickets. As we were stuffing our faces with free yakisoba (fried noodles), yakitori (fried chicken), yakimeshi (yep, fried rice) and (get this) french fries, all eaten with chopsticks, I couldn't help but ponder where Japan got it's reputation for healthy food.

Behind us, an auctioneer was going nuts raffling off stuff that my coordinator's friend aptly described (en japonais) as things she "wouldn't accept for free." Every piece of bizarro lawn sculpture ever dreamt of by human mind, and a few that weren't, sat on priceless lacquered cabinets awaiting new owners. Before opening the bidding for each item, the auctioneer bowed deeply to the crowd and presented the object to a few of the waiting masses, who weighed it in their hands and nodded appreciatively.

The shelves were, oddly, not for sale.

After lunch, we all agreed that we had accomplished what we came to accomplish (play with expensive toys, scam a free lunch), so we returned our company ID badges to the front desk and bailed out.

It was still early in the day, so we decided to take advantage of our borrowed mobility and travel a little further from the beaten path, and visit the Miho Museum. My pictures of this beast don't do it justice- it was designed by the same guy who designed the Louvre, who attempted to emulate Shangri-La and was inspired by a Chinese poem about the same. You'll find better description- and much cooler web interface- at their website.

Go on, explore it. I'll be here when you get back.

Done? Cool. Here's my opinion: The thing looks entirely like a James Bond villain's secret lair. It's built into the side of a mountain, and is only reachable by either walking or taking an electric bus up this path...
and then through this tunnel in the side of the mountain....
Upon which you come to a large bridge, leading to a relatively small glass building.

Small from this side. It's actually four stories or so underground, and entirely glass where it meets the outside world. This is the front lobby.


Of course, photography is prohibited inside, so that's the only picture I've got. The centerpiece exhibit inside was a survey of Chinese art and funerary goods ranging back through just about all of the Chinese big-name dynasties- including the two heavy-hitters, the Han and Ming dynasties. Having now seen priceless Ming dynasty sculptures up close, the archaeologist in me can die happy.

As could be expected from an art museum in Japan, the Egyptian and Greek exhibits were tiny and unimpressive while the Chinese, Japanese, and Southeast Asian exhibits were absolutely amazing. What really did it, though, was the fact that the museum itself outshines a good percent of its contents.

Here's a surreptitious view from the back window- the buildings in the background are a Shinto shrine and its carillon tower (a rarity, as far as shrine architecture goes)


So after getting a good dose of culture (and getting the chance to play art expert and explain Greek mythology to a pair of Japanese folks that had never heard the stories, while they hooked me up with some Buddhist history and Shinto lore) we bailed out and got back in the car. Here's the bridge/tunnel from the other side, as you leave the museum.


A quick note on Japanese roads: They're not for the weak. Nor the weak-hearted. Getting UP this mountain was a grueling feat that made the car groan and labor. Getting down was like a video game- all hairpin turns and wicked switchbacks. I had true fear. Add to this the oncoming truck traffic and the cocky drivers behind us that wanted to pass, and there's a pretty good chance that your trip to the art museum could be terminal.

After the museum, I went to Japanese class, and on the way happened across a nighttime concert by my friends from Ryukoku University and Ritsumeikan University. They were singing "traditional" Christmas tunes - in Japanese- as well as punk rock fare, Japanese pop, and a band that did nothing but Red Hot Chili Peppers covers in broken English. These three fine gentlemen are singing the traditional Japanese christmas song "Chicken Rice". I'd post lyrics if I could find 'em, I promise. That'll be my homework for next time.

Sunday was another day of Art- I went to the Shiga Museum of Modern Art to see an exhibition on modern Japanese oil painting. It was great. The museum's in the Seta "Culture Zone", which resembles nothing so much as a college campus without a college. It's just a collection of libraries, museums, coffee shops and multipurpose classrooms. I'm not sure who pays for it.

The leaves here are beginning to turn and fall- here's a path in the Culture Zone that struck me as especially pretty.



The rest of my weekend was consumed by an epic quest to fix a punctured tire. This would have been much easier if I had noticed the bike shop five minutes from my house- instead, I ended up walking eight kilometers to the bike shop I knew about and getting the stupid thing fixed three times- through some criminal case of negligence, they missed the giant sliver of aluminum that was in fact the CAUSE of the problem, and so I made it all of a kilometer out of the shop before puncturing again and walking back. Twice. Third time's the charm, they actually checked the tire for debris.

Next time, I'm walking five minutes, not five miles. Lesson learned.

On the upside, I did get to pass the local KFC- and what to my wondering eyes should appear...


But Colonel Santa! There is a significant chance that he's deep-fried the reindeer, as they were nowhere to be found. Seems that in addition to having lifesize statues of the Colonel here in Japan, they also dress him up to fit the season- so Santa suits in the winter, cotton kimonos in the summer, and various holiday dress for various holidays.

Made the walk worth it, I tell you.

Not sure what the next week holds. It's getting pretty cold here- and what with no insulation or central heating, it's cold indoors and out, so I'm spending as much time as I can in the well-lit, warm public spaces where someone else pays the heating bill.

pax