The Fern Room in the Garfield Park Conservatory in Chicago, which reminded me of Japan
Many bloggers are taking part today in a day of silence for the tragedy that has struck Japan. I urge you to visit their blogs, follow their links, and donate to the Red Cross or another organization that is trying to help the thousands of people who have been affected by this disaster.
I'm not taking part in the day of silence, not because I don't believe in it, but because I want to share my thoughts about this tragedy, and my connection to Japan. I spent a relatively large chunk of time in Japan as a kid. We traveled there twice while I was in elementary school, once during third grade, and again the following summer. We lived in an apartment in Tokyo, and my mom homeschooled my sister and I while the three of us explored the city and the country. I learned fractions by cutting delicious Japanese pastries into pieces of 2, 4, 8, etc. My sister learned how to ride a bike in Showa park. M. and I picked up random pieces of the language, without trying to, as children tend to do (once, in a grocery store, a middle-aged woman came up to me and said something in Japanese. I, mimicking her, repeated it word for word, and she busted up laughing, as I had just told her that she was the "most adorable little foreign girl").
We ate sushi and all the other new Japanese foods like pros, and got the immediate respect of many Japanese people who had assumed that American kids would be throwing tantrums for their burgers. I remember staying in a hotel in Sendai (one of the towns that was particularly affected by the tsunami) and laughing with my sister at these British business men who were trying to demand that they get eggs for breakfast. We were happily devouring our salted fish. We used to stop in Shinjuku for lunch, and I remember being overwhelmed with the lights and movement and sheer number of people that moved through downtown Tokyo at any given moment. We bought almost all of our food from vendors at the local market street. I still remember the faces of the noodle lady and vegetable guy (I suppose we never knew their names, but we quickly became regulars), and I loved buying fresh soba noodles that we could cook at home in our apartment. For my birthday, despite all my affinity for Japanese cuisine, I really wanted a birthday cake, and we searched far and wide for classic vanilla ice cream, eventually finding a tiny pint for upwards of $7.
We spent tons of time in the department stores in Japan, which are truly a thing to behold. Some floors are akin to museums (I think some floors actually are museums), and occasionally there would be craft fairs going on on one of th levels. We learned how indigo dying happened, and saw silkworms making silk, and, as with everywhere we went, got tons of "oohs" and "aaahs" from the locals (lots of people touched our hair, a lot, which we got used to after awhile). My favorite level of the department stores, though, was the food level. We would ogle the melons, on sale for $200 each (I know!!), and buy small treats from tons of different vendors. My favorite was always the bean-cake vendor, who made these incredibly delicious cakes, filled with red bean paste, that I just couldn't get enough of. Even now, when I'm in Chinatown or an Asian food market, I try to find the same bean cake, but so far I haven't been successful.
I will always think fondly of our time in Japan. It happened during particularly formative years for M. and I, so we ended up absorbing so much of the experience. I could go on for much longer, about our travels around the island, our trips to Sanrio World and Japanese Disney Land, our brief excursion into Japanese elementary schools, etc., etc. When I got news of the tsunami, I was shell-shocked, like most people, and devastated at the utter loss. I keep wondering whether the noodle lady and vegetable guy and bean-cake cook are all okay, and whether the people and places near and dear to me have survived this disaster. I feel like a piece of my childhood has been shaken, and I want to hold onto those memories even more dearly now. So, rather than silence, I give you words today. And I urge you to do your part, however small, and try to help Japan, or Christchurch, or Haiti, get back on its feet.
Title song: Coldplay, "Lovers in Japan"
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