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Six Weeks in Istanbul

A view of the Istanbul skyline from the top of Galata Tower.

Having finally finished my posts about my Japan travels in summer 2018, I can now move on to talking about what I did with the rest of the summer. I know all of this makes it seem like I’m doing so much traveling, and I guess I have been; but since the summer it really has been mostly just buckling down and working. And a few conferences here and there.

Istanbul is a fantastic city, much like a dozen other places I would love to visit or try living in, from Dublin to Copenhagen to Brussels to Amsterdam to Berlin to half a dozen places scattered across the Balkans. It’s no Kyoto. I find myself much more comfortable, much more in my element in a certain sense in a place like Kyoto than Istanbul – not just because of logistical conveniences like the fact that I know the language and the culture better, but also because this is a culture which for the better part of the last 20 years has spoken to me. Walking along the Kamogawa, hearing shamisen music, seeing wooden machiya, makes me smile makes me happy in a way that the Istanbul equivalent does not. It’s just not my thing, in the same way as Japan doesn’t spark that similar excitement in my girlfriend, who studies Turkish music and who loves Istanbul.

But, all of that said, I loved living in Istanbul, and I miss in particular the experience of constantly learning new things. Living in a city I never expected to even visit, I learned a handful of words in Turkish, learned about foods and places and all kinds of things I never would have been exposed to otherwise. And now I can come back here to my life in the US, and bring back a certain bit of knowledge, experience, which I never had before.

I also love the feeling, or the idea, of having favorite restaurants in faraway cities. Living in the Cihangir neighborhood, we had several of the best breakfast places in the city right at our fingertips. Van Kahvalti Evi is probably the best, but we went a number of times to places like Kahve 6* and Cuppa Cafe as well, all within super close walking distance. Though I never really took full advantage of it, it would have been an excellent neighborhood, too, for just picking cafes to sit and do dissertation work in; I did that a couple of times at a cafe called Journey, one called Kronotrop, and also at a chain place called Espresso Lab once on Istiklal (one of the most main shopping boulevards in the city).

Breakfast at Cuppa Cafe, including menemen (eggs w/ tomato & pepper), fried eggs, vişne reçeli (sour cherry jam), nutella, acuka (a spicy pepper paste), bal kaymak (honey and clotted cream), several kinds of cheeses, cucumber, tomato, bread, pişi (fried dough), and of course çay (tea). Not pictured: tahin pekmez (tahini + grape molasses).

I guess before I go on I should talk about Turkish breakfast. I happened upon an article recently, long after coming back to the States from Turkey, which said something like “Turkey has the best breakfast in the world, hands down.” And I think it’s true. I mean, I thoroughly enjoyed a nice tea and crumpets on my last trip to London (to be discussed in an upcoming blog post); somehow despite living in London for a whole year (way back in my very early grad school days), I somehow never discovered the wonders of jam and clotted cream and a good cuppa. … And I’m plenty happy with the kind of breakfasts I scrounge together for myself when I’m in Japan – most often, steamed buns or egg salad sandwiches or something like that from the convenience store; really, more like lunch food I guess than “breakfast,” but so it goes. But in Turkey we were enjoying a real proper breakfast – basically, the experience of a nice Sunday brunch in San Francisco or Brooklyn, but affordable, and every day. Kahvaltı (lit. “before coffee”) just means “breakfast,” but kahvaltı tabağı (“breakfast platter”) means eggs, several kinds of cheeses, some nice cut-up tomatoes and cucumbers, at least one kind of jam (I think the vişne / sour cherry is my favorite), clotted cream + honey (bal kaymak), and a mixture of tahini and grape molasses (tahin pekmez), along with plenty of bread to eat it all with, and at many places, free refills of Turkish tea (çay). We also often ordered menemen, a dish made chiefly of eggs, tomatoes, and bell peppers. So damn good.

We also discovered a chain called Midpoint which had surprisingly excellent pasta – like, seriously, amazingly amazingly good, not to mention nice atmosphere and a cool menu. Midpoint is like one of those fancy restaurants you might want to go to at the shopping mall but never do because it’s too expensive.

Galata Tower. Built in 1348 by the Genoese, roughly a century before the Ottomans (Turks) took the city. And it’s still standing and looking beautiful.

I have to admit, I do think that a lot of the appeal of Istanbul for me came from the fact that it was so affordable. Because of basic purchasing power parity (it’s a poorer country, and so things are cheaper there overall; the US dollar, or Euro, or British pound, goes a long way) and all the more so because the Turkish lira tanked while we were there, going from roughly 4.5 lira to the dollar to closer to 7 more or less overnight, we could live so much more comfortably than we ever could here in the States. Living in a nice apartment, going out to nice cafes and restaurants all the time, and not having to worry too much about how much we were spending… It wasn’t pennies a day by any means, and it’s not like we were absolutely living like kings, but to be honest, just sort of living the nice sort of “young people in the city” sort of life that so many TV shows and movies have taught us should be within reach (look at, for example, the kind of apartments people live in on Friends or New Girl, or in movies like Julie & Julia). Clothes were suddenly what I would consider a normal reasonable price – closer to $15-20 per shirt or pair of pants, for example, instead of $60-100. And it just means getting to spend time in the nicer parts of town, like Beşiktas and Nişantaşı, and, again, trying out nice cafes like Yeşil no 11, and buying new (knock-off) Birkenstocks without having to spend hundreds of dollars on them. It also means that little nice features of life, like getting your clothes tailored or your shoes or luggage repaired, suddenly becomes affordable enough (more than affordable! actually, really quite inexpensive indeed) that you can do those things. And order a drink, appetizer, salad, and/or dessert with dinner without constantly constantly feeling like you need to hold back and watch your spending like I do at home.

But, I feel bad for thinking that that alone should be the reason I should love Istanbul. I mean, it’s a great thing for living a decent cosmopolitan life to be affordable. But I don’t want to think that I didn’t or don’t love the city for its own distinctive culture and history as well… But, while I sort of waver and worry on that point, I think overall I’m safe. I’ve been to Morocco and Jakarta (Indonesia) as well in the last couple of years, and while things may be more affordable there, I really can’t imagine enjoying living there for any real length of time, unlike in Istanbul.

The view from our apartment in Cihangir. Photo courtesy of my partner.

I’ve been thinking about it lately, and I am not really sure what kind of experience I might have had if I had gone to Istanbul by myself. I’m not sure what kind of experience I would have if I went back there again by myself. So much of what I enjoyed about the city was because I was with my girlfriend, who had been in the city for about two months already by the time I got there, was studying Turkish, and is super into and knowledgeable about Turkish music and a whole lot else; I don’t think I would have ventured into nearly as many bookstores, CD stores, music venues, without her. More to the point, I just don’t think I would have had any idea where to look to go, where to try to go. If I had for some reason found myself in Istanbul without ever having gone with her – like, if I had never met her but then ended up going to a conference in Istanbul, for example, I don’t know that I would have ventured much past the most standard tourist sites. I certainly never would have experienced the city as fully as I have now, after living there for six weeks. I wonder what it would be like if I were to go back again on my own – certainly I have a stronger sense for myself now of a lot more of the neighborhoods and such, beyond just the touristy parts, and I have some sense of which shops and which brands to look for, which foods I like, and so forth; how to get around by subway, bus, and ferry boat; and a very few key words of Turkish (which, who knows how long I’ll still remember…). But even so, traveling alone is so different than having someone to go shopping with, to go to breakfast and dinner with, and so forth. To go on errands, as it were, seeking out a tailor, or the best cheapest produce, or other things… A certain way of exploring and experiencing a city that’s quite different from being there as a tourist. And so much of the book, CD, and clothes shopping was for her – though some was definitely for me. I wonder, if I were to go back, would I be able to feel I was getting anything out of going into some of these shops, or would it just feel empty?



*Kahve 6, or Coffee Six, kahve altı in Turkish, being something of a wordplay, since it sounds so close to kahvaltı, meaning “breakfast.”

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For the final week of my crazy jaunt around Japan this past summer, I enjoyed the privilege of taking part in a “graduate summer school” run by Kyoto University. It was a great program, introducing us to the university’s great collections, and presenting just a tiny glimpse into how archaeological research is done, how medieval documents are read, and so forth. I was certainly blown away by the items in the collection, the opportunity to see such things up close is always such a pleasure.

Still, I feel bad to say so, but while I think it would have been a fantastic program for students earlier in their programs, I’m at a stage right now where anything not directly related to helping me improve and finish the dissertation just doesn’t grab me right now. I must admit, I spent much of the week thinking about how “I could/should be working on my dissertation right now.” Especially after two weeks of just travel, even though that travel included archives and libraries, I was feeling guilty for not just buckling down and getting back to work. But, still, I’m very glad for this program as it (1) gave me an opportunity and excuse to spend a whole week in Kyoto, easily one of my most favorite cities in the world, and (2) allowed me to meet a whole lot of new people, make new friends/acquaintances/colleagues.

Yasaka no tô (Yasaka Pagoda), as seen from a small street near Ninenzaka.

At the end of it, I am sad to leave Kyoto. I had a really fantastic time. Even after all the rest of the traveling, I can tell that Kyoto, more so than Fukuoka or Kagoshima or Tokyo, is a place I could really enjoy being for a real length of time. I wish I had another week, or a year, to sit in cafes and just write, interspersed with going out to dinner with friends, going to theatre, visiting historical sites… I suppose that having friends around makes a whole lot of the difference, that that’s a part of what made this week in Kyoto so great. Without friends it wouldn’t be the same. But even so, it would still be such a wonderful city. I love exploring Kyoto, the shrines and temples and historical sites and cafes and restaurants and everything. I love the particular aesthetic and charm of so many Kyoto cafes. And I love how just historical and cultural everything is.. You can feel it, it’s in the air.

On my first trip to Kyoto, I remember writing in my LiveJournal (haha) that it was a small city with just enough of the modern city amenities. I remember that I was thinking in particular of Harajuku, and how you can in fact get cool fashion and other “modern” city experiences in Kyoto, but that it’s much smaller. That if you want the ultra-modern X, Y, and Z of Tokyo, you have to be in Tokyo. (Or Osaka, I suppose, but I still have never spent any time in Osaka). But, I’m not sure I feel the same way about Kyoto anymore. I know it’s because my interests have changed – I don’t need the anime stores of Ikebukuro anymore. And because Harajuku itself has changed, too. What once was, is no longer, even in Tokyo. Now, I’m more interested in history and culture and theatre and cute cafes and so on than I ever was before.

A view along the Kamo River.

I think I would really love to live in Kyoto for a year or so. Or even just for a few months. It’s not a city with too much direct relation to my research, unfortunately. So much talk all week about the Heian court and such… very far from my studies. But who cares, right? … And there are plenty of universities in Kyoto, hopefully one of them might be looking for a postdoc or something.

After this trip, I really do feel I could stay in Japan long-term. Maybe not indefinitely, make my whole life and career here. But certainly for a few years. It’s just such a good place to be, and with so much great stuff to see and do. Life is clean and good. It’s not dirty and falling apart like NY. It’s not a society pulling itself apart at the seams over politics like our own. Japan has its problems, to be sure, and in certain respects all the moreso as a foreigner. But sometimes I just really want, need, an escape from the insular, local, problems and politics of home. I feel like Kyoto is such a city of possibility. Not that one can’t say the same thing of any other big city, but there’s somehow something that just grabs me about Kyoto, that makes me feel like there is such a wealth of experiences to be had. That if you met the right people, made the right contacts, heard about the right opportunities, you could get into just so many incredible spaces and experiences. From Noh to Butoh, from tea to Zen, from shamisen to Nihon buyô. From dozens of cool or cute cafes to amazing temples, archives, seminars. I would love to live such a life.

Apologies for the disjointedness; for the rest of this post, I’m just going to share my thoughts-at-the-time on a couple of sites I visited in Kyoto.

The Ninomaru Palace at Nijô castle.

NIJÔ CASTLE

Nijô castle was built in 1603 to serve as the base of Tokugawa presence in the imperial city. Though as it turned out no shogun visited Kyoto for over 200 years from 1634 to 1863, representatives and officials continuously occupied the castle, overseeing goings-on in the city, handling various administrative matters, and so forth. Today, Nijô is of particular interest (at least to people like myself) because it’s the chief surviving site that might offer some sense of what the shogun’s main castle in Edo was once like. (The main residence and administrative buildings of Edo castle having never been rebuilt after an 1863 fire) Here are some thoughts I had at the time while visiting there for the first time in 15 years:

When you really think about it, it’s so weird, to walk around these rooms, these very rooms where these events really took place, and not be able to enter them to experience the space more directly. On one level, sure, it makes perfect sense, and I don’t need to enter the rooms at Independence Hall, for example, and to sit at those desks, to get a sense of what happened there and its gravity. But, somehow here it’s different. Walking through the honjin at Futagawa, and actually sitting in the room, you really get a sense of the space that you don’t by walking around only in the corridors. There’s just this incredible disconnect I feel here. The whole building becomes such a completely different space when the chief areas become unused, and the corridors become the main areas in which any human activity takes place.

The Ôhiroma, or Grand Audience Hall, of Nijô castle, arranged with mannequins to show how lords would have sat or bowed before the shogun. Sadly, obnoxiously, no photos allowed inside the building. This photo from Hananomichi blog.

I don’t know why, but somehow it just feels weird to me that a building of such great importance should become so empty, so dead, just put on display like this. I know that’s the very essence of the historical house as museum and I’m glad it’s preserved and open to visitors – neither destroyed nor kept limited to official business. I’m glad I get to see it. But somehow, more so than all the other castles and historic homes I’ve seen, this one struck me somehow. I somehow really wish we could engage with it more directly, or more extensively somehow.

Of course, there are simple practical reasons why you can’t let people walk on the tatami – it would get ruined so quickly. But, I wonder if some replica experience could be produced somehow. So people could experience these rooms not only from the outside, but from within the space, surrounded and immersed in the effect intended by the designers, and experienced by the people of the time.

TÔJI

Somehow, in my previous visits to Kyoto, I had never actually been to Tô-ji, one of the oldest temples in the city, and home to the tallest pagoda in Japan. I guess part of the reason I’d never gone was because Buddhist sculpture has never really done much for me. But somehow this time was different. To see them all arranged together, in 3D space, in context, and especially the grand size of these works, I think one really can sense the impact, the feeling of peace and spirituality that’s being evinced.

You can really feel / sense the deities looking down upon you. You can really imagine them being not sculptures buy actual deities manifesting before you. And the smell of the statues, of the wood, and of the incense also makes a big difference.

I think, at least in my own personal experience, that for a lot of Japanese arts, one just needs to be in the right mood, or catch it from the right frame of mind. I’ve been so moved by Buddhist sculpture two or three times, even when dozens and dozens of other times it didn’t really do much for me, and there have been a handful of times that I became truly taken in, entranced, moved, by Noh, though so many previous viewings I never managed to cross that mental or emotional divide. And the same for paintings – seeing paintings in person, with no glass or anything, is almost always a breathtaking experience, but seeing them on display, it’s really not so often that a piece takes me in. So, maybe it is just the timing, or just catching me in the right frame of mind.

Photo of the interior of Sanjûsangendô from the Nikkei newspaper, because god forbid they should allow regular people to take photos of some of the most famous examples of beautiful, masterful, Kamakura period artworks in all of Japan.

We also visited Sanjûsangendô, a very long hall containing 1001 medieval (c. 12th c.) sculptures of the bodhisattva Kannon. I had been there before, but this time we happened to arrive on a (slightly) historic day. These sculptures were long designated “Important Cultural Properties,” but were very recently upgraded to “National Treasures.” In connection with this (I think?), they moved many of the sculptures back to an earlier Edo period configuration just today (August 1), rearranging the exact arrangement of the auxiliary figures surrounding the central larger Kannon, as well as switching the Raijin and Fûjin (Gods of Thunder and Wind) sculptures at the very ends of the arrangement.

Today’s Keihan [train line], feels good.

Finally, I guess I’ll end this post with just a few thoughts on Kyoto as a tourist city.

Are some parts of Kyoto getting Disneyfied? Absolutely. And it’s a shame to see. But I would be curious to know the numbers, the statistics, regarding tourism – is this gentrification, this “touristification,” this Disneyfication, primarily in connection with appealing to great numbers of domestic (Japanese) tourists, or foreign tourists? But, then again, does it matter? Does it make a difference in how we think about it, does it make a difference in whether we are critical of it or not?

I’m frankly not sure how I feel. On the one hand, I can absolutely sense, feel, that Disneyfication, and it’s worrying. It’s problematic. No one should have to feel like their own home is no longer their own – that their own neighborhood is designed around tourists and not around residents. It’s something I’ve seen in Hawaii and Okinawa as well, and it’s no good. But, if there’s a silver lining at all it’s that a great deal of the city doesn’t look/feel like Ninenzaka or Hanamikoji, and it’s still vibrantly authentic, for lack of a better word. I know some people who say Kyoto’s too far gone already – they won’t come here, they won’t bother anymore, because it’s already gone to the dogs, so to speak. Maybe it’s just because it’s been so long for me since my time in Kyoto, and since my time this time around was so constrained; maybe it’s just because I still entertain fantasies of what it’s like rather than knowing how it truly is, but for me, it’s still very much worth visiting. I had a marvelous time this time, and an all the more astounding time the previous time around, and I think I would again, if I ever got the chance to live in Kyoto for an extended period again. I don’t think it’s time yet to write the city off.

Kyoto is still full of wonderful cafes, temples, universities, museums, theatre, and all sorts of other arts and cultural goings-on. And all of these, I am sure, sway with the winds that are blowing, feeling the impacts of increasing tourism and increasing touristification. But for now at least I think we can still honestly say that a great deal does continue to go on in this city in a relatively authentic fashion, disconnected from catering to what the tourists want.

I wonder if there is anything meaningful or worthwhile to say about the touristification of Kyoto regarding that it may date all the way back to the Edo or Meiji periods. That this isn’t an entirely new phenomenon. After all, tourism in Japan really boomed towards the middle and late Edo period (18th-19th centuries), and during our workshop we saw some tourist maps of the city, pointing out Buddhist temples and other sites of interest. In the Meiji period, after some considerable debate and waffling and so forth, the government decided to keep Kyoto as a traditional, historical, imperial city, in contrast to the very modern city they were going to turn Tokyo into. Not that any of this is necessarily perfectly pertinent to the current phenomenon of what’s happening to Kyoto, but even so, context.

I wish I had anything more to say, more insightfully, regarding this interesting and important issue. But I guess I have to just leave that to those who are actually in tourism studies, unlike myself. I’ll just end this already very lengthy blog post by saying that “Let’s Make a Bus Route” (バスルートをつくろう) is a wonderful little board game in which you compete with other players to build the best bus route around Kyoto. No Japanese language ability required. (h/t to my friend Evan for introducing me to the game!)

All photos my own, except where indicated otherwise.

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The garden at guesthouse toco in the Iriya/Uguisudani neighborhood of Tokyo.
Now I’m trying to remember where I stayed in each of these cities, during this crazy journey.

I’ve already touched upon my lodgings in Naha, Kagoshima, and Fukuoka for this trip. Two great hip hostels/guesthouses, and one crappy boring-as-hell ordinary business hotel.

In Himeji, I ended up staying in a business hotel again (Himeji Green Hotel Tatemachi), because I couldn’t find anything else. It was fine. Served the purpose, on a basic level. But, honestly, really, nothing impressive or positive about the experience. I really do think I’m going to try to avoid these places as much as possible from now on.

I didn’t stop in Ise overnight, but ended up staying that night in Nagoya. Actually, I didn’t really have a plan for where I was going to stay that night – didn’t book anywhere because I didn’t know if I’d end up in Nagoya, or all the way back in Tokyo, or where, by X hour of the evening. So, using Agoda.com (or perhaps some other app; I don’t recall), I found at the last minute, late that night already, a place just outside Nagoya Station. EcoHotel Nagoya. Since I was arriving late at night and leaving the next morning, it certainly served my purposes. But it was the most absolute basic arrangement. The one staff guy was pretty much only there for check-in, and the entire arrangement was just basically here’s a room. Shared showers in the basement. Elevator didn’t go to the ground floor, so you had to lug your bags up the stairs. I’m not sure if it was converted from day laborers’ dorms or what, but it was just really small rooms, a place to lay your head. One towel. A big trough with pipes flowing over it, just the most basic thing you could image that allows for the basic needs of brushing your teeth and washing your hands without having to go all the way downstairs to the showers. I don’t even remember what the room looked like, just the hallway, entranceway, stairway, which looked completely un-renovated, like no one made any effort whatsoever to make this look nice/clean for visitors. But I guess that’s okay, when you’re paying #20/night or whatever it was.

At least I got to have a room to myself. Didn’t get that one night in Tokyo, at Tsubame Guest House, which was not only rundown-seeming, with a faint sense of mildew or the like, and with no elevators, and with multiple beds in a shared room, but also it was quite a bit of a walk from the nearest station; not a convenient location at all.

Still, I’m glad I got that place to stay in Nagoya at all. It was already 9 or 10 at night by the time I booked it, using the wifi at the Starbucks at Nagoya Station.

Returning to Tokyo, I spent one overpriced night at FirstCabin Azabu, but also managed to score a few nights at a cool guesthouse called guesthouse toco. FirstCabin is a chain of glorified capsule hotels. I guess this “cabin” thing is getting big now. Unlike a capsule hotel (which I’ve never tried; too claustrophobic), you get a space with a more normal height of ceiling. But otherwise, it’s still less like a full proper room than it is a whole row of over-large capsules (or “cabins”). There’s no door to lock, and indeed for whatever reasons you’re not allowed to lock it at all. There’s a sort of curtain to pull down, like a garage door, and inside your little box, you have just the bed, and just barely enough space to keep your luggage, and like a small bedside counter. Anyway, I didn’t mind this; it was private enough, and comfy enough, for my purposes. But, I don’t know, I can’t quite put my finger on it, there was something just too impersonal, too depressing or dystopian about the aesthetic somehow, it just really put me off. The main lobby was like a hotel lobby – unnecessarily fancy, and generally impersonal and off-puttingly over-professional (i.e. unlike a hostel/guesthouse where the young cool hip staff might be more friendly). And the whole rest of the place felt empty, even more inhuman, like being on a spaceship or something, disconnected from Earth. I know, it’s a funny thing to say, but there just really was something about the sterile, antiseptic, high-technology, dark-colored decorating scheme that just made me feel this way. Sure, there were other people around, but it’s not like we talked or anything. The whole hotel was the 9th, 10th, 11th floors or something like that, with only one elevator, and guestroom cards that were required for accessing certain areas (e.g. the showers) but which wouldn’t get you into other areas (e.g. the women-only floor). Which is fine, it makes sense, but it also gave me a sort of dystopian, space station, too high-tech HAL 9000 sort of vibe.

The entrance area at guesthouse toco.

In any case, the other place, guesthouse toco, was great. I mean, it wasn’t some super amazing special experience like I thought it just might be based on the fact that the place was featured on Nippon.com, as if it was really a unique special place worth knowing about. Based in a repurposed Taishô-era (c. 1910s-1920s) house, it definitely has character, in a good way. When you first walk in, there’s a nice little bar/café area all in wood, with a bunch of tables and a little bar towards the back, which in my experience I found to be a very friendly collegial, fun place for conversation. I almost never hang out and talk to people at hostels – I’m no backpacker, I’m usually a fair bit older than most hostel-stayers, and I’m usually much more experienced with Japan, being here not for some wacky once-in-a-lifetime adventure but for, well, something else. But, at toco, at least those particular days, it just seemed like a really good mix of people, and people willing to talk and just chat and be cool. I dunno. It just worked.

A staircase in that first room is painted all rainbow, and leads up to some of the guest rooms. Then, you cross out the back of the bar and cross a small outdoor garden sort of area, into the somewhat more traditional-design older house. Two (or more?) big main rooms are taken up by six or eight beds; I don’t like sharing a room, but it worked out fine. I basically just hung out in the bar area until I was fully ready for bed and then just went to sleep. It’s tough not having any full-on private space to yourself for a few days, but it was only for a few days. Sliding doors, wooden veranda planks, a nice little garden to admire out the window, the whole deal. Very nice.

One more downside of the shared room and bunk beds – nowhere to put your luggage. I suppose I was being kind of entitled and obnoxious to keep my luggage outside of the room, but, seriously, I’m not going to go through my luggage right in front of someone else’s bed, and then try to shove it under that bed… Even if I am comfortable enough with having just a bed and not a whole room to myself for sleeping, I need a little space to sort myself out. I don’t know if I’m just getting too old for this, or if that was never my kind of thing to begin with. But, really. I’m flexible, I’m easy-going, I can manage a lot of different living/sleeping conditions, and I certainly did on this trip. But I really would prefer having a bit more space to myself, if only for basic logistical purposes of not making noise and taking up space directly around other people who are trying to sleep!

In any case, behind these main sleeping rooms was a kitchen & common area, with bathrooms and showers, and a little outdoor garden area with laundry machines and clotheslines. I feel bad that I did laundry and then left my stuff out all day – and it then rained – such that my stuff was taking up almost all of the clotheslines such that no one else in the whole guesthouse could hang their stuff out to dry for a day or two. But I guess maybe that’s just how it is? .. And the staff also cook you breakfast in the morning, which is really nice and also provides another opportunity for chatting and hanging out. Again, I wasn’t really looking to make friends; I had my own things to do and wasn’t going to find/make a traveling buddy. But, still, it was nice to feel a little social interaction after so many days of traveling on my own.

So, yeah. There’s my short run-down of a few more of the different sorts of places I stayed during this trip. All in all, I think my favorites were places like &AND HOSTEL AKIHABARA and the Abest Cube Naha, as well as WeBase Hakata, all very clean, sleek, hip, white aesthetic sort of places. Small rooms on halls with shared showers or whatever, but still, private rooms, which makes all the difference to me, and with a nicer aesthetic than business hotels. Even if I have to share a bathroom with others, I still prefer that to the sort of “box” bathrooms in these business hotels, which always feel too small to me, and just somehow never feel clean enough. Quite frankly, if my bedroom and bathroom are going to be that small, I don’t want them to be so close to one another. Even if I have to go all the way down the hall to a shared bathroom, that’s better than feeling like I’m basically in the same room as my toilet, as if it were a camper van or a prison cell or something. I don’t feel that way in normal-size hotel rooms; only in the tiny Japanese ones.

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The main tower keep of Himeji Castle.

In between my visits to Okinawa, Kyushu, and Tokyo this past summer, before landing in Kyoto for the final week, I took the opportunity to make use of my JR Pass to visit a few other places, including Himeji Castle, Ise, a Tokaido post-station known as Futagawa-juku, and … So, before I get to finally talking about Kyoto (and then finally moving on from my summer 2018 Japan trip), this blog post is going to be a little scattered.

7/22 HIMEJI

Himeji is of course one of the largest, most famous, castles in Japan, and one of only a few to actually date from the Edo period and not be largely/entirely 20th century reconstructions. But, as it’s a short ways west of Kobe, and not located within a major city, I had never gotten around to visiting it before.

It’s certainly a cool thing to get to see, and with great history. The Sakai family lords of Himeji were interesting folks, including some very prominent and influential figures within the Tokugawa shogunate government, as well as figures like Sakai Hôitsu, son of one of the lords of Himeji, who never gained any political prominence or power but is surely among the greatest painters of the Edo period. I also very recently learned that several of the Sakai lords were real pioneers in patronizing Ming (Chinese) music in Japan. And, as I learned upon visiting the castle, Princess Sen (or Senhime), a daughter of Tokugawa Hidetada and wife of Toyotomi Hideyori, once lived there. Stories about her thus dominated much of the labels and descriptions within the castle.

Inside the main keep at Himeji castle.

I only wrote a very few thoughts/reactions about the castle at the time. But, one thing that struck me was the way they did it up as a history of the castle vs. as a history of the domain more broadly. It’s funny… When visiting for example Fukuyama Castle (near Hiroshima), as well as Hiroshima castle, both of those pretty much just use the castle as a space to tell a much broader history of the domain, and of the successive lords of that domain. In both Fukuyama and Hiroshima castles, which were just chock full of artifacts, paintings, documents, displayed as museum exhibits, I felt it was a shame that we couldn’t really get a sense of it as a castle. I wished they’d done it up more like a historical house recreation.

And yet, at Himeji, the first half of what I visited, the tenshu (main keep) has no objects on display at all, and is almost exclusively about appreciating and experiencing the space itself, the architecture, and the way the space was used at the time (primarily for storing weapons, and as a guard tower, from which warriors could defend the castle, or something like that). It’s only in the second half of the site (a different, nearby building) that you learn about Senhime, and her life there. But even then, I was wishing there were more teaching us about the Sakai family, from Sakai Tadahiro to Tadazumi to… whomever. But I guess you can’t have it both ways.

Of course, this castle also is mostly just empty rooms, and not anything approaching a recreation of what it would have actually looked like in use. So, there’s room for going in that direction as well. I would still love to see any of these historic castles done up a little bit more to really show not just the rooms, but the furniture, etc.

The Great Audience Hall (Ôhiroma) at Nijô castle in Kyoto.

Nijô castle in Kyoto does that to a certain extent. The Ôhiroma, or Great Audience Hall, at Nijô has mannequins arranged to show you how lords would have gathered before the shogun, and that I really appreciate. Really does just so much to show you how these rooms were used, rather than giving you an empty room and asking you to imagine. But even at Nijô, most of the other rooms are still left empty.

7/22 ISE

「大林寺の方へ飛んでいたわいな。」

The small temple of Dairin-ji, in the Furuichi neighborhood of Ise. And, just to one side of the main temple building, the graves of Magofuku Itsuki and his lover Okon, the inspiration for the Kabuki characters Fukuoka Mitsugi and Okon.

On my way from Himeji to Nagoya, I stopped in Ise. As you do. Actually, for anyone reading this and planning your own trips, note that actually Ise is rather out of the way. You can take the Shinkansen (bullet train) straight from Himeji to Nagoya; Ise is not strictly-speaking along the way. Only local trains and not bullet trains go there.

As I wrote in a series of blog posts quite a few years ago, Ise was historically not only the site of one of the most important Shinto shrines in Japan, but as a pilgrimage destination it also developed in the Edo period a very notable neighborhood of inns, theaters, brothels, etc. There is very little left to see today of the Ise Furuichi (“old market”) neighborhood, but even so I was very much curious to see it, as Ise Ondo Koi no Netaba, the kabuki play I took part in during my time in Hawaii, was set there. So, I visited the Buddhist temple Dairin-ji, mentioned very briefly but never seen in the play, where Manjirô escapes to briefly, so as to not be seen by… I forget, who, actually. And, perhaps more importantly, the real individuals who served as the basis / inspiration for the main characters of the play are buried there. It was kind of funny trying to find the temple. I’m not sure exactly what I expected. Well, I expected that the temple grounds might be even just a little bit larger than they turned out to be, and in particular, I expected that there would be some kind of traditional wooden gate. I don’t know why, but somehow I had in my mind an image of the big wooden gate to Dairin-ji, and that that would be where I might take a photo. As it turns out, there is no gate. Not even a modern one. Just a single main temple building (and a few smaller more modern ones attached to it), immediately facing (or, depending on how you look at it, situated within) a small parking lot, and then to the side of that, an extremely small graveyard, no more than 10 or 15 gravestones. And, a stone marker indicating the name of the temple. That was it. I’m glad I went, glad I saw it, but there was really nothing at all to see other than to take a couple of photos and move on.


Sadly, I arrived too late in the day to see the Ise Furuichi local history museum. So, I do wonder what that might be like. For all I know, it might surprise me. Might be quite nice and newly-maintained, like the ones at Futagawa and Tomonoura. Maybe all that I expected to find at the temple might be satisfied at the museum. But, yeah, sadly, I didn’t get to see that. Fortunately, however, just as I was despairing at having come all that way just to see so little, I came upon a small stone marker (right) indicating the former site of the Abura-ya, the brothel where nearly the entire play takes place. Actually, it’s funny – I opened up Google Maps to search for it, to search for where it might be, and then noticed it was actually right there right in front of me. Haha. Wow. Not that this was much either – it truly is simply nothing but a stone marker. But, even so, as something I’d hoped to see for years, I was glad to not leave without spotting it.

Of course, I didn’t leave Ise without visiting the shrine. But, to be honest, and I’m sorry if any of my Religious Studies friends take offense or something, but after having visited Meiji Shrine, Atsuta Shrine, and some other such places that also involve very long walks through wooded paths before you finally actually get to the sacred center, I kind of felt like I’d seen and done that before. And since, of course, at Ise you’re forced to remain at a certain distance from that sacred center, and can’t go in further past a certain point, well, that was about it. Even the closest point you can go, the one place where there really is something (anything) worth taking a photo of, is the one place where you’re not allowed to do so, and they have a pretty serious-looking security guy from the Imperial Household Agency (or something? I forget) watching to make sure you don’t take photos. So, *shrug* that was that. If I’d had more time, I might have enjoyed the touristy shopping street just outside the shrine, get a little more of a feeling of having actually experienced something by coming all the way out there, but, oh well. I’m sure I’ll be back, eventually. Maybe in 2033 when they rebuild the shrine over again, haha.

7/23 NAGOYA

From Ise, I then made my way to Nagoya. I’d been to Nagoya before, and had seen all the really major sites – Nagoya castle, Atsuta Jingûso this time, while I had just a day or so, I made sure to poke out to some more minor, but interesting, sites related to the Ryukyuan embassies to Edo.

Since Atsuta Shrine was a major destination, it was also a stop on the Tôkaidô. Just a few blocks away from the shrine, though there’s nearly nothing to see of it today, is a small parking lot and a stone marker marking where the Red Honjin, the main elite lodgings at this Miya-juku (lit. “shrine post-station”) once stood. The honjin can be seen in an 1832 illustrated book known as Meiyô kenbun zue, which I’ve quite enjoyed using for my research.

Above right: A gravestone at Zuisen-ji in Nagoya, for Tomiyama peechin Ryô Bunhitsu, musician who died on the 1832 embassy. The inscription reads 「中山富山親雲上梁文弼久米村儒家以楽師于後江戸来至没於尾張国鳴海駅回葬馬時午三十八」(roughly, “Tomiyama peechin Ryô Bunhitsu of Chûzan [i.e. Ryûkyû], master musician and Confucian scholar of Kumemura, later traveled to Edo and died at Narumi station in Owari province [i.e. Nagoya] … [and then a part I don’t quite understand; he died at age] 38.).

Also quite nearby is Shichiri-no-watashi, the former site of a boat dock where people used to arrive and depart for the crossing across Ise Bay to Kuwana. A Ryukyuan mission was nearly lost in a storm on this crossing in 1671, and so from then on (with one exception), they took an overland route.

Finally, I also visited the really small and slightly out-of-the-way temples of Kaikoku-ji and Zuisen-ji, where Tokashiki peechin Shinfu Ma Gen’ei (a member of the 1748 mission) and Tomiyama peechin Ryô Bunhitsu (a master musician on the 1832 Ryukyuan mission to Edo), respectively, are buried after dying of illness on the journey. Sadly, this was not entirely uncommon; the almost complete separation of Japanese and Ryukyuan populations, combined with the Ryukyuan lack of experience with cold weather, were likely key contributing factors, and a number of members of embassies to Edo caught Ryûkyû no kaze (the Ryukyuan cold, or Ryukyuan flu) and died. Many Japanese fell ill, however, too, whenever Ryukyuan embassies passed through their towns, so Ryûkyû no kaze went the other way as well.

A guardtower at Shichiri-no-watashi, at what is today known as Miya-no-watashi Park 宮の渡し公園. I wish I might have visited the corresponding site at Kuwana on the other side of Ise Bay, but there was no time.

7/24 FUTAGAWA-JUKU

The entrance of the main honjin at Futagawa-juku, as seen from inside the building, looking out towards the street.

I then sped to Tokyo to meet up with some professors, and a day or so later took the Shinkansen out to Toyohashi City, Aichi prefecture (which was a fair bit farther from Tokyo than I’d thought), to visit the honjin museum at Futagawa-juku. Futagawa was one of 53 official “stations” along the Tôkaidô, the chief highway connecting Edo (Tokyo) and Kyoto. When daimyô (samurai lords), Ryukyuan or Korean embassies, imperial envoys, or certain others passed through such post-stations, they were often provided lodgings at a honjin – a special inn set aside for such elites, that was usually larger, nicer, better than the other inns, and that often included certain special amenities for precisely that purpose, such as a small area with a raised floor, so that the lord could literally sit above his retainers when he met with them. These honjin often served as lodgings for only a portion of the time, and often doubled as the home and/or main “office” so to speak of the town headman. Getting to the point, the honjin at Futagawa is one of only a very few that are still intact, and that are maintained as a museum.

I wasn’t quite sure what to expect from such a small local history museum, but I was certainly not disappointed. Quite to the contrary, I was pleasantly surprised and impressed. All along the main stretch in Futagawa, along the old Tōkaidō, nearly every house and shop has the same blue Futagawa-juku noren (curtain) hanging outside. Makes me curious, if people really feel a strong connection and pride in the history or whether it has more to do with community, or how exactly they (and we) might characterize it.

The honjin itself is huge. I guess I’m not surprised, it totally makes sense that for an inn worthy of a daimyo, and one that can house 30-40 of his followers, it would be such a size. And of course not all honjin were this big; they varied, and we can look that up. But to see it first-hand, experience the number of rooms, is something. A much different experience from simply reading about their size or capacity, or looking at illustrations or diagrams. And the Museum itself, housed in a neighboring building, was surprisingly large, too, with two floors of exhibits. Awesome of them to allow photos too.

The beginning of the second floor exhibits at the Futagawa-juku Museum, showing travelers on the Tôkaidô.

Plus, the curator, Wada Minoru, was so kind. He not only came out and helped show me exactly which publications listed the relevant documents, but he even was willing to go and get them and let me see them immediately. If he had said you have to make an appointment, I would have totally understood. But he was willing to take the time to let me look at them immediately. Amazing. Of course, who knows how useful they’ll be especially since I really don’t have the time to actually read them. But… Maybe just by having them in my HD, I’ll gain something by osmosis or something, haha.

I know I’ll never work for such a small local history museum; unless I end up doing some kind of research on the museum itself, I don’t see how (why) I would ever find myself actually spending more than a couple of days there. Which is sort of a shame, really – considering that they actually seem to have a pretty great operation at the Futagawa-juku Honjin Museum. The exhibits are very nice, they publish a lot of good catalogs … The local museum at Tomonoura is perhaps similar, but even so their exhibits were still not as extensive as those at Futagawa.

I feel like it would be really great to get to know some of these museums, and their surrounding communities, a bit better. Someday. Somehow. At the very least, I do want to go back to Futagawa someday, if only to visit the small local history museum at the Arai sekisho (checkpoint) a couple train stops away, and Hamamatsu (Okitsu) and Sunpu (Shizuoka), where there are a few more Ryukyu-related sites to be seen.

For now, though, this past summer, I simply went back to Tokyo, finished up my business there, and then headed to Kyoto for the remainder of my summer sojourn.

All photos my own.

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After Kagoshima, I activated my Japan Rail Pass, and took the (relatively) newly opened Kyushu Shinkansen up to Fukuoka. The main purpose of stopping over in Fukuoka was to see a procession scroll held by the Fukuoka City Museum. I do wish that I had planned a bit better, gone over to visit Kyushu University, checked out their library, maybe met up with a friend/colleague or two. But, everything was just so up in the air. I focused on getting permission and arranging an appointment to see this one scroll, and then just figured I would take the opportunity to see the rest of the City Museum, the Kyushu National Museum, and whatever else I might happen upon.

The only other time I’d been to Fukuoka (visiting a friend for a weekend in 2008), I made the mistake of trying to visit the Kyushu National Museum on a Monday. I had forgotten that National Museums (and a lot of other places) are closed on Mondays. And I had heard such amazing things about this then very newly opened national museum, which supposedly had such new and innovative approaches to the way its displays were organized. So, I was glad to get to finally go and check it out.

The Kyushu National Museum.

Sadly, the Kyushu National Museum turned out to be quite the disappointment. Firstly, because unlike the Tokyo National Museum they don’t allow photography, meaning I couldn’t capture anything of the really incredible artifacts on display, which can’t be seen anywhere else.

These included a 1591 letter from Nguyen Hoang to the “Ruler of Japan” (i.e. Toyotomi Hideyoshi), which I actually blogged about a short while back. The earliest extant communication between Vietnamese and Japanese rulers, ten years older than what was until very recently believed to have marked the earliest such exchange, this letter was designated an Important Cultural Property in 2018. I researched and wrote about late 16th – early 17th century Japan-SE Asia relations in my first MA thesis, and for more than ten years now have been excited to eventually get to see some of these letters. But now that I finally have, I wasn’t permitted to take photos for my personal enjoyment, or to post here. I guess the best I can hope for is either that Kyûhaku will eventually change their policies, or that the object will eventually go on exhibit somewhere else, that does allow photographs.

A series of seals from Korea were also of great interest. Coming from the collection of the Sô clan, samurai lords of Tsushima, these seals have a rather special historical pedigree. By which I mean, I’m sure there are plenty of Korean seals out there created for all different purposes and which made their way around the world for all kinds of reasons. But these are some of the very seals which the Sô clan lords were given directly by the Korean court to use as authorization to trade. These are not simply examples of something sort of similar, these are the very objects I have read so much about, in discussions of Tsushima’s special position in the history of Japan-Korea trade relationships. The Korean court granted seals or tallies to certain groups and individuals, which they could then use to identify themselves as authorized merchants. The Ming court gave tallies to various samurai warlords for similar purposes, and Toyotomi Hideyoshi and the Tokugawa shoguns later gave “red seal letters” (shuinjo) to authorized merchants in a similar fashion. In fact, the 1601 letter which I mentioned above, exchanged between Nguyen Hoang and Tokugawa Ieyasu, discusses just such trade concerns and red seal authorization papers. Of course, any such system is going to lead to the creation of forgeries – fake authorization documents (or seals). Such forgeries appear prominently in discussions of Korea-Tsushima interactions, and so to see them on display as well was fantastic. No photos, though. Boo.

One more I’ll mention is a scroll painting by Sesshû, one of the most celebrated Japanese ink painters of all time, depicting “peoples of various countries” 国々人物図巻 and including beautiful and detailed depictions of Qing/Chinese individuals of a great many ranks or social positions, from King to monk to peasant.

Entrance to the “Cultural Exchange” permanent exhibits gallery at the Kyushu National Museum.

Sadly, the organization and design of the exhibition overall was quite the disappointment as well. I had heard wonderful things, that it was going to be so innovative. But unfortunately it feels little different from any “international contacts” and “cultural exchange” section of any other museum, just expanded somewhat.

The exhibits are organized only very roughly into any semblance of chronological order or by geographical or cultural logic. There is not much of a coordinated narrative, but rather just a splash of many different examples of exchanged. A few items related to red seal ships and Vietnam, a few related to the Sô/Tsushima and Korea, a model of a Chinese temple in Nagasaki. But no discussion of Korean or Ryukyuan embassies to Edo, or of Dejima or the Nagasaki Chinatown. At least not in as clear and explicit a way as in the British Museum, for example. And no sense of the overall history of interactions between Japan and any one other culture or country. Things aren’t really placed in a context. We get some Ryukyuan ceramics but no discussion of the embassies. Some items related to interactions with Vietnam, but no models or paintings of the red seal trading ships that constituted one of the central forms of interactions in the 16th-17th centuries, and no discussion of Ayutthaya or anywhere else in SE Asia at that particular time.

Overall, the entire thing is very scattered, very bara bara as they say in Japanese. Outside of large numbers 1,2,3,4, on the walls, there’s no real structure guiding you through the galleries – it’s all open plan and you’re left to wander around in no particular order, and thus within no particular structure of narrative order or context.

As cool as it is to have so many SE Asian artifacts on display, it doesn’t feel so revolutionary so much as it just feels like the Asia galleries of the Tokyo National Museum.

In some sections, objects from all over Asia are displayed together, with no context or framing device at all. In one room, they have a Gandhara Buddha, a Buddha head from Afghanistan, Goryeo & Sui Buddhas from Tsushima (very cool examples of very early cultural interaction), and a large bronze Bishamonten that’s apparently the only surviving bronze of its kind by the Ashiya 芦屋 foundry. But no labels saying “Buddhism appears differently around the world,” or “each culture’s Buddhist sculpture was influenced by others, including from as far away as Afghanistan.”. Nor anything about the history of Chinese and Korean Buddhist sculptures entering Japan.

I can see why they didn’t have a catalog of their regular exhibit, but only catalogs of “treasures of the collection”: because there is no real logic, no real narrative.

Portraits of the Kuroda lords and other artworks, at the Fukuoka City Museum.

By contrast, the Fukuoka City Museum was excellent. They allowed photos throughout most of the exhibits, if I’m remembering correctly, had lots of fantastic stuff on display, and followed a clear and structured chronological narrative.

Easily one of the most famous objects in the Fukuoka City Museum collection is a golden seal from the year 57 CE. The oldest object with writing on it ever found in Japan, it was a formal royal seal granted by the Emperor of the Han Dynasty to the ruler of a small kingdom called Na, based at that time somewhere in the general vicinity of what is today the city of Fukuoka. Who knows what happened to the seal for 1700 years, but sometime in the 1700s, a farmer found it (!?!?) on a tiny little island just off in the bay, near the castle-town of Fukuoka. In the museum today, the tiny seal, only about one or two inches square, is dramatically displayed in its own small room. Immediately afterwards are displays including 18th-19th century manuscripts writing about this discovery.

From there, the museum goes on to tell a thorough but not too overly-detailed narrative of the history of the area, in a very well-organized and engaging way, with lots of wonderful objects on display and good thematic divisions, gallery labels, etc.

They allowed photos of much of the exhibits but not everything, and for whatever reason I never really wrote down any notes while I was there. So I have nothing too deep to say, except that it seems a very well-done museum. I really love local history museums like this one, where they have a really grand worthwhile story to tell – the history of one of Japan’s greatest and most intercultural port cities throughout the pre-modern period, the home of a most ancient kingdom, and later of various palaces and castles of great historical significance, including becoming home in the 17th-19th century of the Kuroda clan, one of the great samurai families, who left behind tons of great treasures. We don’t learn nearly enough about any of this in, say, the National Museum of Japanese History or the Tokyo National Museum, let alone in our survey histories (or even our much more in-depth seminars or the like), and so it’s wonderful that here it is, a museum telling this story.

The Asian Art Museum, Fukuoka, was another exciting stop. I had never actually heard of this museum before, but as it turned out it was just down the street from the place I was staying at.*

Once I learned that there was an “Asian Art Museum” specializing in modern art from across Asia, I got excited that it might be some Nihonga, Yôga, Guohua, and the equivalents across the region. Maybe it’s just purely because I had an MA advisor who specializes in such things, but I’ve really grown quite interested in that period towards the very end of the 19th century and the beginning of the 20th when Japan, China, and I presume Okinawa, Korea, and elsewhere as well, began engaging with “modernity” in art, wrestling with whether to make their own traditional modes of art “modern” in some way, either making them into “national arts” or “national traditions,” or ditching them in favor of Western styles and modes of art (which were seen at the time as obviously more “modern”) and adopting that as the new national art. And all at right around the same time as much of Europe was in fact leaving behind such expert masterful realism in favor of various modes of “modernism”, beginning with Impressionism.

In any case, there was not to be found any such discussion or display of issues of modernity or modernism at this museum. Here, “modern” really means “contemporary,” as in contemporary art of the last decade or two or three, meaning a very different set of types or styles of artwork than Nihonga or Yôga. Which isn’t a problem – it was still very cool.

Still from Yamashiro Chikako’s video piece, “Your Voice Came Out Through My Throat” (2009).

In fact, to my surprise, the very first work in the gallery was by an Okinawan artist. Yamashiro Chikako (b. 1976) is an Okinawan video artist. In her 2009 piece 「あなたの声私の喉を通った」(“Your Voice Came Out Through My Throat”) – I’m sorry I haven’t been able to find the video online – a survivor of the Battle of Okinawa tells of his experience, and his voice is heard even as we watch Yamashiro’s face, mouthing (seemingly speaking) the words. Complete with her tears and facial expressions. At one point, she stops talking and just cries, losing her composure at the thought of these horrors, as the voice continues describing them.

I really appreciated the way that Yamashiro’s work was displayed. I had been in Okinawa just a few days earlier, and I really felt – really got the feeling – that this is pretty much just how it would have been shown in Okinawa too. Catalogs for key recent exhibits of Okinawan contemporary art, including Okinawa Prismed and Okinawa Bunka no Kiseki, were placed for visitors to read, alongside catalogs specifically about Okinawan women artists. Yamashiro’s work was displayed very straightforwardly, without exoticization, I felt.

And the Asian Art Museum allowed photos! Very surprising for a modern art museum, and especially for one in Japan. Truly, a most welcome thing.

Modern art from across Asia is shown, not country by country, but by periods and themes. I was a bit disappointed to not see more Nihonga and Yoga, but the great range of stuff from across Asia is pretty great in a different way.

Still lots to see in Fukuoka, though. I’ve got to go back sometime.


*Incidentally, a nice place worth staying at. Sadly, I didn’t remember to get photos of this place, or to take good notes either. But from what I can remember it was extremely clean – that white, bright, new aesthetic that I just don’t understand why the business hotels with all their brown don’t aim for. I had a small room all to myself – bunk beds, if I remember correctly, but I guess you can book the room rather than only booking by the bed. Small but perfectly clean, good showers/bathrooms down the hall. The whole place had a slightly funny nautical theme, like you’re staying in a modified spaceship or cruise ship or something. I dunno. But in any case, they also had a nice sunny common room on the top floor. I’m not super into socializing with other hostel-stayers; I’m a bit too old for that partying backpackers sort of vibe. Or maybe I’m not too old and it was just never my thing to begin with. But, free wifi, plenty of tables, a nice big kitchen up there. And just a good, bright, clean, aesthetic. Not gloomy or claustrophobic like the business hotels. Plus, WeBase Hakata is pretty conveniently located – only a couple blocks from the subway, the Asian Art Museum, and a major theatre venue.

All photos my own.

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Just someone’s bike parked at the Kagoshima University Dept of Agriculture

Continuing my way-behind recounting of my summer adventures:

One of the really wonderful things about being back in Japan is the feeling of infinite possibilities. Especially when I’m in Okinawa, I feel like if I had ten lifetimes, I could research and write about such an incredible variety of topics. Really explore a diversity of aspects of Okinawan history and culture. Not to mention trying out countless cafes and restaurants, going to shows, getting to know performers/scholars/activists, etc.

Back in Naha for the first time after living (nearby) there for six months, and I just kept thinking, I love this town. Part of it, I think, is just the self-reinforcement of how familiar it’s become. The more you get to know a place, the closer you get to it emotionally, just from familiarity. But I think a lot of it also just has to do with the city itself. I love the feel, the culture, the food. Of course sometimes it’s brutally hot out but even then, much like in Hawaiʻi, the sun just makes everything so beautiful. The colors pop, the sky is so blue and those buildings and whatever that are white are so white, and when there’s a breeze, or even when there isn’t, it just feels so open and airy. Maybe that’s just the difference of coming to Naha from Tokyo and NY – anywhere is going to feel open and airy compared to the “canyons” of Manhattan.

The view of Kokusai-dôri in Naha from my guesthouse, AbestCube Naha.

Coming back to “mainland” Japan from Okinawa, I always feel the cultural difference pretty strongly. It’s not a difference like one would get culture shock, like going from the US to Japan or the US to England or something like that. But, just that Japanese food and Japanese traditional architecture and certain other things like that are, basically, foreign in Okinawa, or at least they’re a minority cultural presence. When you go to a “Japanese restaurant” in Okinawa, it stands out, it feels like you’ve entered a different space, much like for example a Japanese restaurant in the US. You’ve stepped out of Okinawan cultural space into Japanese space, where the food is different, the aesthetics are different…. And, one does get a sense or a feeling that this is the culture that conquered and annexed and sought to assimilate Okinawa. I don’t mean that in an overly political, fist-shaking, crying for revolution, kind of way; I don’t mean it in an anti-Japanese kind of way; but just that I do get a little bit of a sense of that. And it is tied into a certain ignorance – which, again, I don’t mean in an overly political way, but just that it’s interesting to go from somewhere where the tension between Okinawanness and Japaneseness is ever-present, to somewhere where there is (more or less) only Japaneseness, and thus no tension – whether in Tokyo or in Kagoshima, Okinawa is just not at all on the forefront of the vast majority of people’s attention, just as Hawaii or Guam or Okinawa for that matter are not at the forefront of people’s attention or awareness in LA or DC or NY.

Okinawa University of the Arts as seen from Shuri castle.

In any case, on a separate subject, for my first few nights in Kagoshima I was staying in a real proper hotel for the first time on this trip, and was seriously wondering why. I got it for quite cheap, if I remember correctly, so that’s good. But, honestly, I stayed with my dad in a motel on the side of the highway in middle-of-nowhere New Jersey, and the place was nicer than this. I guess I should have expected it – I’ve stayed in enough Japanese hotels in my life. But it’s just funny, it’s weird, you know? Here I am, moving from what’s ostensibly a lower-class of establishment, hostels and cabin hotels, youth backpackers’ sorts of places which are kind of, in a certain sense, on the margins of the hotel industry (insofar as they are not the big chains which dominate the industry). And yet, both the &AND HOSTEL AKIHABARA that I stayed in for a few nights at the beginning of my trip, and the Abest Cube Kokusai-dori place where I stayed in Naha, had a much brighter, cleaner, nicer, newer aesthetic, and, really, in a certain sense, better facilities. I mean, having your own private bathroom should of course count as a plus over having a shared bathroom down the hall. But, actually, I just really don’t like these tiny in-suite box bathrooms. The hotel room itself is so small that you’re literally sleeping just two or three feet away from the bathroom door, just two or three feet away from the toilet, albeit with a wall in between. And it’s just gross. Plus, these box bathrooms always feel cramped, and quite often you have to switch over the water from the sink to the shower – I don’t know why that bothers me, but it does. It feels cheap, low quality, to me.

And while the room, and the hotel overall, certainly look clean enough and don’t have an overtly run-down sort of feeling like so many hostels do, still, in comparison to the very bright, clean, white sort of aesthetic of the nicer, newer, hostels, I don’t understand why it seems so standard in mainstream hotels for everything to be brown / tan / cream. Not that I think it’s genuinely less clean, but it feels less clean. It feels darker, smaller, more closed-in. It lacks that sunny, airy, open feeling that you get at places like Abest Cube and &AND HOSTEL. Why do they do that?

Halls at Abest Cube Naha.

Sure, they’ve got some funny stuff, like how you can’t control your AC individually, and how they don’t want you talking on the phone in your room (because I guess the walls are too thin, and the noise carries?). But outside of those two things, I have absolutely no complaints at all about Abest Cube Kokusai-dori. Everything looks perfectly clean and sleek like it’s brand new. Not just recently cleaned, but honestly like-new perfect. There isn’t even the tiniest hint of the place being rundown or “discount” or lesser-than. It’s no glitzy five-star hotel, but who needs that honestly? The bathrooms and showers are perfectly clean. The water pressure and temperature in the showers is excellent. The beds are nothing super amazing (memory foam or anything) but they’re big, and more than comfortable enough. The common rooms are nice, and offer a nice view overlooking Kokusai-dori. The breakfast is small and basic, but it’s freshly made and it’s included. A slice of toast, half a hard boiled egg, a little salad, a little fruit, and a little soup.

And I can hardly imagine a more convenient location. It was cool staying in the guesthouse in Tsuboya, and it would be cool to stay *in* Heiwa Dori as well, really immersed in a neighborhood like that. But this is really the next best thing. A couple minutes walk to the monorail, a few minutes in the opposite direction to the entrance to Heiwa Dori. Sure, Kokusai-dori is crazy touristy, in some respects it’s like staying in Times Square. But even so, it puts you right in the center of everything. And I managed to get a room – a private room, not a capsule or a dorm bed – for less than $30/night.

*This* is the right way to do lodgings. I wish I could stay at Abest Cube all the time everywhere I go.

Right: Heiwa-dôri, a maze of a shopping arcade in central Naha.

“Ryûkyûjin ôrai suji nigiwai no zu,” c. 1850, Uetsuki Gyôkei, detail. Section of a handscroll depicting the hubbub in the streets of Edo just after a Ryukyuan embassy procession passed through. Small, low-quality photo found online somewhere – no thanks to Kagoshima University Library, who refuse to make such images available at all.

Turning to my time in Kagoshima, my sincere thanks to Hori-san at the Kagoshima University Library for allowing me to see two beautiful and one-of-a-kind paintings, even though the library’s website seems to suggest that as a basic policy they don’t generally show anyone the originals. No thanks to his institution’s policies, meanwhile, which do not allow researchers to take photographs, even with an application /permission form, and which insist we should satisfy ourselves with the rather poor, low quality digital images of which, even those, can only be viewed at the library and cannot be downloaded or otherwise copied to take home. I don’t know how anyone is supposed to do research like this.

No thanks, too, to the Kagoshima Prefectural Library, which on multiple occasions has shown the most obnoxiously strict interpretations of copyright law I have ever seen. Even when other institutions explicitly say you can copy one whole article out of a journal so long as you’re not copying the whole journal, only at Kagoshima Prefectural Library would they consider an article one whole and expect that anyone should be okay with only copying parts of the whole. Seriously?

Above: Model of Kagoshima castle main gate, which apparently they’re planning to rebuild by 2020.
Below: A shiden electric streetcar passing through the Tenmonkan neighborhood of Kagoshima.

All that said, though, Kagoshima is a city I could see living in. I don’t know anything about which institutions might ever hire me, but I guess thinking more along the lines of a several-month fellowship or something, I just like that it’s such a good size city. Tenmonkan is a great vibrant but cozy shôtengai neighborhood, and more or less everything else in the city is in either short walking distance or there are the shiden streetcars, which I love.

There’s something about the Tenmonkan area that just makes me feel like it’s the classic model shôtengai. After a night or two in that crappy business hotel, I found a wonderful AirBnB right in the middle of the shôtengai. I was nothing too special, not fancy at all, but for less than $35/night I got to have an entire apartment to myself – small kitchen, private bath/shower, A/C, wifi, and (oddly) three beds in the one large bedroom. I don’t know when I personally will find myself looking to stay in Kagoshima with 2+ close friends as a whole traveling group, but if Take’s apartment is available, it would be an excellent place. And the shôtengai itself is nice, too. Not particularly touristy, not particularly hipstery/gentrified, but also not too run-down or out-of-date. Just, I dunno, normal. A good, decent, assortment of shops. I imagine that if I lived there more long-term, it could be a decent place to go shopping, to find favorite stores or bars or cafés… Not as exciting as Naha’s Heiwa-dôri, but, a nice taste of the “regular” (non-touristy) Japanese shopping street experience.

Outer walls of Kagoshima castle.

All photos my own, except where noted otherwise.

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The musical instruments stores area of Tokyo, near Ochanomizu.
My summer adventures continue. After accompanying my gf to a conference she was presenting at, and then spending some time home in New York (and Philly) with family, I was fortunate to receive some kind and generous funding for a research trip to Japan; just for a few weeks, to grab a few more materials I hadn’t obtained in my year there, to catch up with professors again now that I have one more year of progress under my belt, and so forth. One advantage: being on a tourist visa rather than the year-long student or researcher (cultural activities) visa meant that I was able to get a JR Pass – unlimited rides on Japan Rail, anywhere in the country, including most bullet trains (shinkansen), for one week.

Deep gratitude to the University of Tokyo Historiographical Institute (Shiryôhensanjo) for allowing me affiliation for this brief period. Though I was not physically in Tokyo for most of it, it was a pleasure and a privilege to have access to walk around the stacks (rather than only searching the databases and requesting books from the desk) and to have a workspace of my own, to use at any hour of the day or night (rather than being limited to the hours and policy restrictions of the Reading Room). Not to mention having somewhere to receive mail – since I was moving around from one hostel/guesthouse to another every few days, it was wonderful to have somewhere I could order books to. In so many ways, having affiliation as a “visiting researcher” at the Hensanjo really saved me, 助かりました as they say in Japanese.

I’m still rather behind on my blog posts, so this is about two months ago already, but here are some of my thoughts from that time:

The Red Gate (Akamon) at the entrance to the University of Tokyo, in a woodblock print by Oiso Yoshihira (1903-1988).

After living here for a real amount of time now, it feels weird to come back for such a short period. Really just sort of dipping in, and then back out. Coming back to Tokyo yet again, for what I guess must be my eighth(?) time, there’s that relaxed feeling of happiness, that smile of comfort, that sigh of relief that comes with being here. But normally, or I guess I shouldn’t say normally, but last year at least, being here for the better part of a whole five months, it was such a completely different situation from this time. That excitement about being here is tempered by the knowledge that I won’t get to see very much of it at all. I’ll see a few friends, go to a few archives, then leave, that’s really about it. I mean, I suppose, over the course of the next three to four weeks in total, I’ll get to experience Japan, for sure. The food, the convenience stores, the trains, etc etc. All the little things I love about everyday (and not so everyday) life in Japan. But just not all that much in Tokyo specifically.

Coming back to the Hensanjo, also, has that same feeling. To be here, it’s so tempting to want to think I’m here for some real amount of time. To settle back into the office, and to just sit and get back to work, get back into a routine. But that’s not to be. It’s a wonderful feeling to feel familiarity with such a place, and a certain sense of belonging. But it’s so oddly temporary…

I also feel much the same feelings I do about any place I’m nostalgic for – remembering the daily routine I had and probably romanticizing it. Thinking of the life I led, or could have led. It sounds stupid perhaps, but walking past a particular Starbucks and thinking of how you could have – even though you didn’t – but could have made that a regular place you regularly studied at, for example. Or just thinking about life at the visiting researcher dorms at Oiwake, and how nice that apartment was and how nice it could be to live there again (or, how doing so would be too much of a return to the same-old, and that I might actually get kind of sad about being there, and should instead seek out new experiences!).

An early 20th century (?) hand-drawn copy of an 1832 document diagramming the Ryukyuan envoys’ ceremonial audiences with the shogun in that year. A tiny little booklet just tucked away amongst the multitudes on the shelves of the Historiographical Institute.

On a rather different train of thought, another thing that I was reminded of as I explored the many floors of shelves of books at the Hensanjo is how much my interest in History is in part informed by a love of materials and images – a love of for lack of a better word, show and tell. I want to show people what neat stuff I’ve found. But the structure, or culture, of our academia, focusing not on the materials themselves but only on what can be learned from them makes this difficult, if not impossible. There’s no good way to show in a citation the wonderful variety of documents you’re citing, and more to the point, I’m not sure anyone (officially) cares. Which I think is a terrible shame. In person, most historians would be excited to see what kinds of things you’ve found, but in citation, it’s only about the quality of the argument, which I think is a real shame.

But, then, I suppose that’s what blogs and social media are for. I’ve truly loved getting involved in Academic Twitter. People sharing their adventures and misadventures in the archive, the cool things they’ve found and so forth. And just seeing that some of the scholars who produce the most interesting work are not simply professionals, but are also simultaneously the kinds of people who might tweet about cats, about food, about all sorts of things. Makes them human. But, returning back around, while I sometimes hesitate to post photos of objects for which I was only officially permission to take photos specifically for research purposes, and while that continues to be source of frustration and disappointment for me, I am glad for the outlet where I can share at least a little of something of what I’ve found. All my photos of things I feel comfortable sharing, if they don’t appear on the blog, then on Twitter, and if not on Twitter, then at the very least they will appear on my Flickr. Though I am very far behind in both uploading and labeling, so I do apologize for that.

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