Musashino Musings

This Summer has been really great. But it’s not all been lounging around on beaches and having impromptu barbeques in our car parking port here at Beerhound Mansions. There was also the small matter of my iaido third dan examination that took place in September. Regular readers will know that I failed the first attempt earlier this year. No surprise, as I had really not had enough practice in the run-up to the test. If I’m honest, I’d also seriously underestimated the standard required. Having never failed a martial arts grading before, I thought I’d be able to swing in on the day. I was wrong. So this time, and with the honour of the dojo at stake (this is actually quite a serious point) I was determined not to make the same mistake again.

I had been practicing regularly throughout the Spring and early Summer, but my plan was to start accelerating the training in the run-up to September. As well as iaido practice, I also wanted to build up a reasonable level of base fitness. Even though the examination is not a full-on aerobic challenge like the gradings we used to do in aikido, it is still necessary to have a reasonable amount of core strength to be able to carry out the moves properly and with the required poise. So to help with this, I started running in June. As a devout Fat Bastard, this didn’t come easy at first but within a few weeks I was running a 5km circuit quite happily.

The next milestone was attending the dojo’s Summer Gasshiku, or Summer Camp. This is a tradition in many dojos – a kind of retreat where you just focus entirely on practice. As there is also an element of shared endeavour about the whole thing, this has the additional benefit of helping to strengthen the social ties within the dojo. So it was that I found myself trudging to the station at 4.30am on a bright and hot August morning for the long train journey to Katsuura on the Boso Peninsula.

My destination was the Japan Budo Centre; a purpose-built complex for visiting dojos and school clubs. Set high on a hill, the centre overlooks Katsuura and the Pacific coast of Chiba. It’s basically a hotel with dojo facilities. When I say hotel, perhaps the word hostel would be more appropriate as we were all expected to share 4 or so to a room and the facilities were somewhat, er, Spartan. But comfortable nonetheless, and the dojo was blessed with AIR CONDITIONING! a rare luxury.

The weather was, to use the correct terminology, Bleedin ‘ot. So the air con in the dojo was a blessed relief indeed as the training sessions ran from 9am until 6pm with an hour for lunch. Over the two days, we ran through a lot of stuff; Seitei no gata, lots of koryu (old style) and some of the paired kata from our school where you get to practice with a real opponent using a wooden sword for safety.

On the Saturday night after practice, I walked down the very steep hill from the Budo Centre to the town below. After purchasing some liquid refreshments from the local Family Mart, I made my way to the little fishing harbour for a little drink and some contemplation time. When I say ‘fishing harbour’…think more ‘Grimsby’ than ‘The Algarve’. But the fact that it was dark and warm, and I had a plentiful supply of various alcoholic beverages to hand, lent it a subtle charm. I spent a while watching the local yahoos let off fireworks on the beach (fireworks are a Summer thing here –quite sensibly, in my opinion) and quietly quaffing my Nodo Goshi and Chu-hi. As I sat gazing out across the calm Pacific waters, I really had a sense of wonder about how my life has turned out. I wouldn’t say utterly brilliantly – there’s plenty of things I’d change given the chance. But it certainly has been a remarkable journey; and I think I can take a little bit of pride in the experiences I’ve had and achievements I’ve attained along the way.

After the gasshiku, I had a couple of weeks to refine techniques ready for the grading and I took full advantage of the training opportunities to make sure I was as  prepared as I could be. I was still struggling with niggling doubts. Things can always go wrong in an iaido embu (demonstration). The cords that are used to tie the sword scabbard onto the belt have to be expertly handled and can easily get tangled; the scabbard can jump out of the belt; your foot can easily get caught under the hakama – the long pleated trousers we wear. These are all apart from any technical errors in the handling of the sword itself, and any of these will result in an instant fail. Bear in mind that this perfection has to be demonstrated under the baleful glare of a panel of 8th dan masters, looking at you from several different angles, and you can begin to appreciate some of the pressure. Oh and the entire embu has to be completed in 6 minutes, otherwise that’s an instant fail too. I’d had some real problems with the opening and closing Reiho (bowing and sword etiquette) during the gasshiku. During one practice grading, I just couldn’t get the sageo (cords) tied on correctly and I went over-time. These things were really playing on my mind: If it went wrong in the practice, it could also easily go wrong during the exam. But iaido is just as  much about mental training as it is physical. Having practiced as hard as possible – including hours spent at home just practicing tying and untying the cords and performing the bows correctly – I felt I had done my best and now it was really out of my hands. With that realisation came a degree of calmness.

The grading itself was held at the Tokyo Budokan in Ayase – scene of both my biggest failure (first 3rd dan test) and my biggest success (winning my 2nd dan class at the Tokyo area championships). There are just two gradings each year. The Summer one was a good deal less busy than the March one, which made it feel a little less stressful. As always, I got there very early so I had a lot of hanging around to do before hand. But soon enough, it was my turn to march out onto the court and do my demonstration. You are given five techniques from the seitei no gata to perform within 6 minutes, including all the opening and closing formalities. These are announced on the day, so there’s no chance to practice these specifically in advance – so you have to know all twelve kata from the set equally well.

I don’t really remember much from the test itself, apart from the fact that it felt a whole lot better than last time. The techniques we’d been given were not my worst ones and I felt quite strong, smooth and in control, compared to last time’s desperate thrashings. It was all over pretty quick, and then I had the long wait to see what the result was.

Once everyone has completed the test, the judges retire for their deliberations. I think for 3rd dan, a minimum of 3 out of 5 judges have to award a pass. The techniques are judged purely on technical merit, so it’s quite unlike a competition where you need to imbue your demonstration with a bit of spirit. I watched another gaijin going for 2nd dan – alas, with a bit too much gusto. He was obviously trying hard but it looked far too aggressive and didn’t exhibit the calm spirit required to advance up the grades. He didn’t make it that time.

After what seemed an eternity, the official emerged with the sheet of paper containing the numbers of those who had passed. If your number’s not on the list, you didn’t make it. I remember the disappointment of last time as I scanned the list in vain for my number. But this time, it was there. Ureshi! I’d done it! My sensei and fellow students were as delighted as I was (and perhaps a little relieved that I hadn’t disgraced them with another failure).

So, another milestone passed. I’ve passed a dan grade exam in Japan and I am now a fully-fledged sandan. Not that this means very much in the great scheme of things: I’m still one of the most junior members of the dojo. However the significance for me is that I have now passed the rank of the guy that wrote my first iaido manual, that I bought maybe 20 years ago when I was studying aikido. The book, “Iaido – The Way of the Sword” by Michael Finn, told the story of the author’s travel to Japan to study iaido and was just as much a personal adventure story as it was a description of the art itself. I was fascinated by his tales of harsh training sessions, stern discipline and his fear of losing face with his teacher. I remember thinking that, while it sounded exciting, it sounded pretty scary too and I wondered if I would be able to cope in such a demanding environment. The author finished his particular journey as a 2nd dan. I can now understand much more about his experiences. Whereas at the time I thought him the ultimate expert, now I can see that maybe he wasn’t quite so adept at negotiating the subtleties of iaido and Japanese culture. But that’s not a criticism – at no stage does the author try to elevate his own status or claim any special knowledge or skills, even though at the time the book was published he could have so easily done both. I have the greatest respect for someone who can maintain such dignified humility. And I still enjoy reading his book – I have it with me here in Japan.

Having an experience like this really brings life’s long journey into perspective. Like looking down from a high mountain pass at the road you’ve travelled along. I am very pleased to have had the opportunity to travel the same road as an author and commentator I respect, and to have perhaps even passed a little way beyond his vantage point.

Well done Chile on a successful outcome to the trapped miner saga.

I am looking forward to re-enacting the dramatic rescue later with the Mrs. I shall be playing the role of the Phoenix 2 capsule. Hopefully managing a few more than 33 return trips.

Well, it’s been a while since my last post and to be honest, I don’t know where this Summer went. One minute I’m blogging about the end of term at Japanese class, and the next I’m sitting here listening to the September rain pounding the street outside and wondering what happened in between.

Well, actually, that’s not strictly true. It’s been a truly great Summer and enough stuff happened over the intervening month or two to provide amble blogging material for the cooler, wetter nights to come. Now things are settling back into a more home-based routine, I shall be relating some of those tales over the next couple of weeks – so stay tuned!

Last night was my Japanese class’s annual end-of-term りょうりパーチ イー(cooking party). Held at the end of the Summer term each year, this event has become something of an institution, popular with both students and teachers alike. The idea is that everyone cooks a dish from their own country. Given the huge diversity of nationalities at the school, the results are always interesting. And last night was no exception.

Big M joined me for the evening and it was a good opportunity for her to meet my teachers and some of my friends from school. But of course the real reason was to enjoy the tasty treats cooked up by my fellow students. We weren’t disappointed.

Last night’s fare was a gastronomic trip around East Asia. No Indian curries this year – alas – but some fantastic Thai curries, some Vietnamese dishes, Chinese dim sum and gyoza and some really tasty spicy Korean dishes. Plus, some Japanese favourites like tako yaki (sort of fried dumplings with octopus in side), onegiri (sort of rice sandwiches) and various chicken dishes.

Naturally, your humble scribe – being no slouch in the kitchen – rose to the occasion. This time, with a chicken and asparagus pie. Although I have to say, my effort looked a bit lame alongside some of the wonderful creations cooked up by my more talented colleagues.

The thing that I really enjoy about the cooking party is that it really brings it home to me how lucky I am to have experienced so many different cultures and made so many friends with people from every far-flung corner of the globe. The more I learn about people, the more I come to realise that most people are basically the same, and if we each reach out just a little, we are rewarded with friendship and a shared humanity that is enormously satisfying.

Sometimes, because the scenery changes so slowly, it’s difficult to gauge just how far you’ve come in life.  But every so often you have a kind of flashback to a former existence that brings the contrast between “then” and “now” into stark focus.

Me and Big M’s married life together has not been easy. In fact, persevering through the many cultural, linguistic and personal problems we’ve encountered has been by far the most difficult thing I have ever done. And I’m sure the Mrs would agree from her side too. We’ve had some bleak times. But slowly – almost imperceptibly – the grey clouds have drifted away. Now, despite the odd gloomy afternoon, we spend most of our days basking in the sweet, sun-blessed meadows of married bliss.

Maybe that’s something that a lot of married couples experience. But in our case, the cultural dimension makes it so much more special. Not only have we both had to learn to live together as individual human beings, but we’ve also had to learn how to close the cultural divide to enable us to function as a couple in the face of the problems that the world inevitably throws our way. In our own little way, we are a microcosm of the culture clashes that have shaped human history; a miniature United Nations, arguing over the dinner table.

When I think back to (or when I am reminded of) how I behaved when we were first married, I really cringe at how insensitive I was to my wife’s culture and sensibilities. This wasn’t down to any callousness on my part – merely the result of a big cultural disconnect between what I thought a husband should be like, and what Big M’s expectations were. Likewise, she has had to come to terms with the fact that the man she is married to holds different values to what she was expecting, and often behaves in ways that she finds surprising –to say the least.

Our married life has, essentially, been a the process of these two worlds slowly colliding; like two galaxies crashing into each over over millennia, we have slowly and quietly adjusted our orbits to be able to dance together in the void without smashing each other to bits in the process. The remarkable thing is that in learning to accommodate each other, we have each gained something of the other’s culture and absorbed it into ourselves. Over the years, this has created a kind of cultural Venn diagram – two distinct cultures but with a shared area between the two that grows a little larger with each passing year.

What brought this home to me was a conversation yesterday about Big M’s workplace. She has recently changed jobs and now works in a government office in Nishi Ogikubo. As a civil servant, she’s not exactly under a lot of pressure (as a civil servant myself for many years, I know what I’m talking about). But nevertheless, the peculiarities of Japanese culture can always be relied to introduce high levels of stress into even the most relaxed working environments. And so it is with Big M’s place of work.

It’s now summer here in Japan. High temperatures combined with insane levels of humidity make life unbearable without air conditioning. Big M’s place of work has – like every building in Japan – air conditioning. But, until last week, it hasn’t been switched on. The reason – the boss has the job of pushing the button: If the Boss decides it’s hot enough to warrant air conditioning, he will push the button. As subordinates, none of Big M’s work colleagues are willing to take it upon themselves to be the first to supplant the Boss’s authority by pushing the button themselves, despite the fact that they are all dying in the heat. So – there has been a subtle campaign running over the last few days to get the most junior and lowly member on the team (Big M) to push the button, so that the other members of the office can a) be cool and b) have someone to blame for pushing the button. I know – it sounds crazy to our western ears. But this is Japanese culture.

But what they haven’t reckoned with is my missus; having absorbed by osmosis the innate British aversion to Jobsworths and all forms of unfair authority, Big M has caused a mini-revolution by declaring  - in her own words - “Bollocks – I’m hot…where’s the button?” Pushing the button was one thing: Not feeling bad about it is quite another. I cannot overestimate the impact this has had on Big M’s petty minded colleagues, nor indeed on the esteem in which I hold my dearly beloved wife. In my own small way, I have gradually migrated towards a Japanese outlook on life and the obligations that life places upon us. The net result is that we share a unique, quasi-anarchic, pseudo-conformist attitude of our own creation that can exist happily in both western and Japanese cultures, yet not be absorbed by either. In other words, our own little world that has us as its centre. How great is that?

Bitter disappointment last night at the Beerhound residence as Japan were so narrowly defeated by Paraguay. The end – by penalties – was especially difficult to cope with, coming as it did after such a hard-fought battle. Japan came close to scoring a couple of times – one blinding strike rattling off the crossbar just inches from its target.

But disappointed as the country is, I think it’s fair to say the team acquitted themselves admirably well and have shown amazing progress since the last World Cup. Maybe next time…

But in the meantime, both I and Big M will be wearing our new Japan shirts with heads held high. Unlike England fans, of course, who I’m sure will be only to willing to try and put England’s humiliation behind them. How I feel sorry for anyone that got stitched-up purchasing the vastly overpriced England strip.