Terrifying Typhoons: Resilience and Respect for Nature

September saw more than its fair share of natural disasters, including the  most powerful typhoon to hit the country for twenty five years closely followed by the Hokkaido earthquake a few days later. And that was not the end of it. Typhoon Trami (number 24 or nijū-yon gō in Japanese - yes, it was the 24th this year!) resulted in 200 injuries and 3 deaths as it barrelled through the mainland on the evening and throughout the night of September 30th (Sunday). In this post I thought I'd write about the effects of such a typhoon on everyday life in Japan and describe how it feels to sleep (or try to sleep!) through one.

Before the winds and rain started to be felt in Tokyo the trains stopped early (around 8:00pm), something for which the train companies received a great deal of praise since it forced commuters to return home early, probably saving lives. The next day, safety checks delayed the re-start of many lines as trees and other objects had to be cleared off tracks resulting in further delays and absolute chaos at big stations like Shinjuku. All but two of my students were unable to reach school on time and in the end I had to cancel class; we were told not to penalise students who were absent or late for that day. The fact that classes went ahead at all was due to the university's policy of relying on the weather warnings (kishōkeihō =気象警報) issued by the meteorological agency: if the warning is lifted (kaijo =解除) by 6:00am classes are supposed to go ahead (a classic example of the Japanese tendency to go by the rule book rather than be flexible and adapt to actual circumstances).

Although we were lucky to avoid power outages (450,000 households in the Tokyo area were not so lucky) the winds were incredibly strong, despite the typhoon not hitting the capital head-on, and speeds of up to 164kph were recorded in the nearby city of Hachioji, western Tokyo, in the early hours of Monday. We made sure all the windows were firmly shut in our 8th floor apartment and that there was nothing left on the balcony. At bedtime the wind was picking up and it had started to rain quite hard; by the time I should have been nodding off it was rattling the windows in rather frightening fashion. Needless to say it took me hours to fall asleep.

Waking up on the Monday morning, it was quite a shock to see the sheer quantity of foliage and branches that had fallen off the bushes and trees surrounding the apartment block. One of the apartments had actually had a tree crash into it; see the emergency notice (kinkyū kokuchi =緊急告知) on the apartment noticeboard informing residents of the need for emergency cutting (bassai =伐採). Walking (or trying to walk) the dog that morning along the the Green Road, a popular 21km tree-lined walking path which rings the city, was easier said than done. Some parts were simply impassable as the picture shows.

A few days later, after the clean-up, signs warning to be careful of broken branches falling (ore-eda rakka=折れ枝落下) dotted the Green Road with some areas cordoned off entirely. Typhoon season - which typically runs from May to October, peaking in August/September - is almost over, but with three months of the year remaining and 25 typhoons so far this year promises to exceed 30 which is rather unusual. Some may point to global warming, but the record was actually set in 1967, which saw an incredible 39 super storms batter the country: a reminder of the kind of resilience - and respect for nature - needed to live life in everyday Japan.

UPDATE:  A post-typhoon survey by Prof. Seiki Takatsuki along a 30km stretch found 111 trees (including large cherry and hinoki cypress trees) had been felled by the wind, particularly in the Eastern part, with most of the trees falling in a northerly direction suggesting the winds blew from south to north.

Praying or Cutting? A Snapshot of the Marvellous Mantis

Reading back over the blog, I can see there has been a definite shift towards longer, more complex blogs to the point where some have become like mini academic papers! On top of that, the nature and language focus has taken something of a back seat so this week I'm going to go back to basics, keep it short and simple, and focus on the things I see around me. I must admit I do have an ulterior motive though; September/October is perhaps the busiest time for university teachers in Japan - as I write, I have a pile of essays and graduate thesis (sotsuron=卒論) drafts waiting for my attention!

The fiercely hot summer has given way to much cooler temperatures and lots of rain. This weekend promises another deluge since yet another typhoon is on the way (the last one, as I wrote here, was the most powerful to hit the country for twenty-five years). One individual who seems to like this weather (or maybe it's just the fact that it's the mating season) is the marvellous praying mantis known as as kamakiri (カマキリ) in Japanese. It is interesting that in both Japanese and English the name comes from the spiky folded forelegs which they use to catch and grip their prey. Whereas to English eyes it looks like the creature is praying, Japanese are reminded of someone cutting weeds with a sickle or kama. Wikipedia notes that the bugs were thought to have supernatural powers by ancient civilisations but they appear to have very little cultural significance in Japan in contrast to say the snail, butterfly, dragonfly, or firefly who all have their own songs, poems, and myths. The best I could find was a 1995 ¥700 stamp by Sakai Hoitsu, a Japanese painter of the Edo period, entitled "Cotton Rose, Chrysanthemum, and Mantis in Autumn"  (Aki no Fuyō to Kiku to Kamakiri=秋の芙蓉と菊とカマキリ)!

US Open Winner Naomi Osaka: Japanese or not Japanese?

In Japanese Studies, one of the first and most fundamental questions is to examine who is (and equally importantly who is not) considered to be "Japanese" - and why. Judging from the popularity of my post on Nobel Prize winner Kazuo Ishiguro, the issue of Japanese identity is also of interest to a lot of readers, so with this in mind I thought I'd analyse another famous "transnational" figure in the news, this time recent US Open winner Naomi Osaka.

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Unlike Ishiguro, whose parents are both Japanese, Osaka is a so-called "half" (ハーフ), the word used to describe those with one Japanese and one non-Japanese parent (Osaka's father is Haitian). As such, "half" describes the amount of "foreign blood"; the term "quarter" (クオータ), for example, points to someone who is "three-quarters" Japanese (i.e. has one non-Japanese grandparent, such as Namie Amuro). Osaka left Japan for America at age three, two years before Ishiguro left for the UK. Like Ishiguro, Osaka can't speak Japanese well though she says she understands the language better than her attempts at speaking in public suggest. In contrast, she is a huge fan of Japanese popular culture - Pokemon and manga - as well as green tea (ice-cream). Unlike Ishiguro, Osaka has Japanese citizenship, and had (in theory if not necessarily in practice) to choose between Japanese and US citizenship when she turned 22 since Japan does not recognise dual nationality (she chose Japan).

In the Ishiguro post, I introduced the classic "clover-leaf" (NEC) model of Japanese identity, in which nationality, race, and culture are deemed synonymous and form a "set." Using this model for Osaka we could say that Osaka satisfies the legal aspect, half satisfies the racial aspect, and perhaps half for the cultural aspect (represented by a circle and two triangles in the diagram below).

Of course, this is only a very rough and undoubtedly outdated model; in practice, definitions of who is and is not Japanese vary from person to person and depend on the degree of importance they put on nationality, "blood", and culture (or other definers such as self-definition). Some Japanese for example, happily include "half" in the Japanese category while others don't. What is interesting though is how the Japanese media have suddenly moved to embrace Osaka as Japanese after her US success, despite being pretty lukewarm before that. In a Japanese article in the Huffington Post Waseda Professor (and "half") Naomi Iwase notes how the Japanese media are happy to embrace someone like Osaka as Japanese when it suits them, but at other times freely promote negative stereotypes such as foreigners as criminals in a society where discrimination (such as by landlords) against non-Japanese is by no means uncommon."

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What I personally find most disconcerting is that at the same time that foreign media such as the New York Times (here and here) talk about Osaka "bursting expectations" about and "redefining" what it means to be Japanese, the Japanese media is doing its best to "Japanise" Osaka by stressing her typical "Japanese qualities" such as perseverance, shyness, humility, and modesty while playing down or downright ignoring her non-Japanese traits. John G. Russell, in a superb article in the Japan Times, concurs, arguing that the Japanese media (including advertisers) have attempted to reimagine her as Japanese by erasing all markers of her black heritage. He interprets the attempt to present her less as “hāfu” (biracial) and more as Japanese as an attempt to claim her success for its own and thereby elevate Japan’s international standing.

This process of "Japanisation" (=assimilation) is also something I noticed during my research of Asian brides in Yamagata: it was common to see the women pressurised to shed their "foreignness" and assimilate quickly and thoroughly. This process of Japanisation of the foreign (in order to remove the sense of discomfort generated by an incomplete "clover leaf") was brilliantly described in Crafting Selves, a book by Dorinne Kondo, a Japanese-American with minimal Japanese who like Osaka was raised in the US. Below she describes her experience as a grad student in Japan:

"Errors, linguistic or cultural, were dealt with impatiently or with a startled look that seemed to say, 'Oh yes, you are American after all.' On the other hand, appropriately Japanese behaviours were rewarded with warm, positive reactions or with comments such as, 'You're more Japanese than the Japanese.' Even more frequently, correct behaviour was simply accepted as a matter of course. Naturally, I would understand, naturally I would behave correctly, for they presumed me to be, au fond, Japanese...I had to extricate myself from the conspiracy to rewrite my identity as Japanese" (Kondo 1990: 16-17)

Poverty, Food Insecurity, and Food Loss: Introducing a Japanese Food Bank

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When people think of Japan, they often think of a wealthy country with amazing food; indeed, Tokyo is the most Michelin starred city in the world (boasting 314 stars, including twelve three-star restaurants). There is another side to the story though: growing income inequality - Japan is increasingly a kakusa-shakai ("gap-society"). Japan's poverty rate is well above the OECD average with slightly less than 1 in 6 Japanese living below the poverty line. For one-parent families this becomes an astonishing 1 in 2 (child poverty in particular has become a real talking point in recent years). This is mainly due to a sharp rise in non-regular workers (hi-seishain =非正社員), a new "underclass" without job-security or the perks enjoyed by full-time workers who scrape by on the minimum wage.

This is not a reality that Japanese politicians want to face. When challenged in the Diet a couple of years ago, Abe insisted that "there is no way Japan is in poverty." More recently, LDP Secretary-General Toshihiro Nikai said that "there are no homes in Japan where people go hungry." But a look at the newly released UN annual "State of Food Security and Nutrition in the World" report tells us that this is not so. The report estimates the prevalence of under-nourishment in Japan at (less than) 2.5% with up to 600,000 people experiencing severe food insecurity.

The first food bank in Japan, in Asakusa-bashi Tokyo, was set up in 2002 and is called Second Harvest (the old name for the US Feeding America NPO). With a slogan of "turning mottainai (waste) into arigato (thanks)", Second Harvest receives donations from manufacturers, farmers, retailers, and individuals and distributes them to welfare agencies, orphanages, shelters, homeless, and individuals. The goal is "food for all people" (subete no hito ni, tabemono o =すべての人に、食べ物を). According to the homepage, they delivered 3,152 tons of food in 2012 and helped companies save ¥310 million in disposal costs.

The above paragraph only hints at the huge problem of food loss (shokuhin rosu =食品ロス) in Japan: in 2015 6.46 million tons of food in edible condition was thrown away (to put  this figure in perspective, this was about double the total food aid in the whole world!). A big reason for these figures in Japan is the so-called "one-third rule", an unwritten rule amongst producers and sellers. For example, if the expiration or "use-by" date (shōhi-kigen =消費期限) of a product is 30 days, companies must deliver the food to shops within 10 days or one-third (in contrast, in Britain delivery has to be within three-quarters of the sell-by-date period). Moreover, the rule of thumb for shops is to sell the product within two-thirds of the expiration date (this is the sell-by-date also known as the "best-before" date - shōmi kigen =賞味期限). What this means in practice is that shops will not accept goods delivered after the "one-third" window and that shops will return or dispose of any products that have passed the sell-by-date - despite the fact that they are perfectly edible. In many ways, this is the dark-side of Japan's obsession with cleanliness, hygiene, and perfect service - Japanese consumers can be very picky. Moreover, they never ask for a doggy-bag in a restaurant!

Disaster Prevention Day: Preparing for the Big One

Not losing to the rain (雨にもまけず)
not losing to the wind (風にもまけず)
not losing to the snow nor to summer's heat (雪にも夏の暑さにもまけぬ)
with a strong body (丈夫なからだをもち)
unfettered by desire (慾はなく)
never offending anyone (決して瞋らず)
always quietly smiling (いつもしずかにわらっている)

Ame ni mo Makezu (Be not Defeated by the Rain) by Kenji Miyazawa

September 1st was Disaster Prevention Day (Bōsai no Hi =防災の日) in Japan and millions participated in drills and exercises - including children and non-Japanese - to prepare for the next "X-day" as well as to mark the Great Kanto Earthquake in 1923, the last big one in the capital in which over 100,000 people died (for a modern video simulation see here). As I wrote in an earlier post, Tokyo is way overdue another: the chances of a big one hitting the capital in the next few years is said to be in the region of 70-75%. It has been estimated that the potential death toll could be as high as 320,000 with 2.4 million collapsed or burned buildings for a quake centred on the Nankai Trough fault.

In 2015 the Tokyo Metropolitan Government sent a 300+ page book (pictured) entitled Tokyo Bōsai (東京防災）together with a local map showing evacuation centres (hi'nanjo =避難所) and evacuation areas (hi'nan basho =避難場所）to all households. The book was highly acclaimed since it was written in a very clear and straightforward manner with lots of illustrations and manga-style explanations (available in English here). One page has images of what you need to have on hand when you evacuate the house (mochidashi mono =持ち出しもの) "if" the worst case scenario happens (moshimo no toki =もしもの時) including torch, candles, helmet, water, batteries, gloves, bank book and seal, first-aid box, and cash. There are also detailed instructions about securing furniture: our fridge for example is secured to the ceiling so that it won't fall over in the event of a quake while the TV is bolted down.

Since Disaster Prevention Day on Saturday, we have had the most powerful typhoon to hit Japan in 25 years on Tuesday/Wednesday quickly followed by a massive quake in Hokkaido Thursday which triggered landslides and an electricity blackout which they have said will take a week to fully restore. The number of deaths and missing rises each day and many people remain in emergency shelters. Watching the people in Hokkaido without electricity and water, queueing up at local government offices to recharge their phones made me re-think my own family's preparations for Tokyo X-Day. Indeed, on September 1st the newspapers came with multiple flyers advertising "disaster goods" (pictured). We took the opportunity to order more water, stock up on food like dried noodles, and also get a large battery capable of recharging phones and powering lamps, cool boxes, and computers.

From a sociologist's point of view, it is interesting how the frequency of natural disasters in Japan have been linked to "national character" (kokuminsei =国民性) traits such as perseverance (nintai-ryoku=忍耐力 or nebari-zuyoi =ねばり強い). Certainly, the word gaman (patience/endurance) became something of a keyword "to understand the Japanese" after the triple disaster of 3.11 (see here for a paper I wrote examining the portrayal of Japanese national identity in the media in the aftermath of the Tohoku Earthquake). The link between nation and nature - the idea that climate and exposure to multiple disasters has influenced Japanese thinking and behaviour - has received a lot of attention by a number of famous Japanese writers such as Yanagita Kunio and Watsuji Tetsuro. We certainly need to be careful, though, making such sweeping generalisations; the tragic reality is that most Japanese are not sufficiently prepared for the worst and are no more or less resilient or stoic than people in other countries.

Creepy-cute, Gory-cute, and the Fragmentation of Kawaii Culture: A Cry for Help?

The last post about yuru-kawa (laid-back cute) characters like Rilakkuma - whose popularity among over-worked Japanese was put down to their healing and comforting nature - got me thinking about how kawaii (cute) could function as a keyword to understand Japanese society as a whole. In an earlier post, I introduced Kinsella's thesis on kawaii as a rebellion against or escape from the responsibilities and obligations of adulthood - in essence a rejection of Japanese society itself. This notion of rebellion fits in with the common image of the yankī (delinquent) whose car dashboard is typically covered with soft toys in much the same way as hot-rodders in the UK might have furry dice hanging on the rearview mirror.

To further unravel the kawaii mystery I visited Tokyo Character Street, an underground mall of 32 shops in Tokyo Station (pictured). These include a few non-Japanese characters too, including Miffy, Snoopy, and the Moomins, but the majority are Japanese. While some of the characters were clearly aimed at elementary schoolers or younger (think Purikyua=プリキュア) most seemed to be aimed at the older or even adult market. While in Britain hanging  character key-rings on your bag or collecting soft toys would be looked at as serious child-like behaviour, in Japan this is fairly common amongst adults: I used to know one woman who was so crazy about the Sanrio character Pompompurin she decorated her whole house with related goods; even the captain of my futsal team, a guy who you didn't want to mess with on the pitch, had an overriding fascination with Capybara-san (カピバラさん), a soft toy based on the South American rodent of the same name. So what's going on here?

The last post on yuru-kawa provides a hint: pure kawaii (like Hello Kitty, pictured) may be mostly for the kids but there are now a multitude of different genres and types of kawaii, including those aimed distinctly at the adult market. Indeed, Japanese character culture has become rather fragmented and nuanced in recent years. For example, there is kimo-kawa where kimoi means disgusting or yucky (sometimes interchangeable with busu-kawa/busa-kawa from busu meaning "ugly") and guro-kawa with guro meaning gross or grotesque (more recently called yami-kawa or dark/sick-cute). An example of the former (kimo-kawa) are the Kobitos (こびとづかん) pictured and Nameko the slimy mushroom (Crayon Shin-Chan probably also falls into this category); an example of the latter (guro-kawa) is violent and bloodstained Gloomy Bear (いたずらぐまのグルーミー).

To sum up, kimo (creepy) cute and guro (sadistic/gory) cute are but two manifestations of a recent explosion of distorted cute that acts as a (rather disturbing) window into the modern Japanese adult psyche. Do we need to be worried? Some certainly think so: this article sees it as an expression of psychological distress - a cry for help - in a country where depression and mental health remain taboo topics, and counselling is ofen seen as something shameful or embarrassing.

Rilakkuma the Relaxed Bear and other Lazy Characters: Healing and Escapism for the Over-worked Japanese

There are many mysteries when writing a blog and one is the popularity of certain posts. Here, the 2nd all-time most popular post is about Crayon Shin-chan, the disgusting cartoon kindergartner. Recently, I spotted another immensely popular character "wrapped" (as they say in Japanese) around a train in much the same way as Tokyo subway trains were decorated with Shin-chan images last year. This time, the character is more conventionally cute (kawaii) and is known as Rilakkuma (リラックマ) a combination of the words relax (リラックス) and bear (クマ). Images of Rilakkuma and friends also adorn the inside of the train carriages, carrying safety messages (below) as well as promoting the upcoming Netflix series.

Although a relatively new character - Rilakkuma first appeared in 2003 - he is immensely popular in Japan and is used to sell all sorts of merchandise from phone cases, stationery (pictured), and note-book computers to soft toys and keyrings. When I visited the Rilakkuma store at Tokyo Station (there is also one in Solamachi mall under the Skytree) it was crowded with male and female customers of every age and nationality. The site of customers hugging the soft toys under the slogan "happy life with Rilakkuma" made me wonder precisely what needs are satisfied by this laid-back bear.

So what is the appeal of Rilakkuma and what insights does it provide on Japanese society? When asked exactly why this character is so popular, Japanese typically say that the bear's relaxed, easy-going, stress-free life are "healing" (iyasareru=癒される). In fact, since the turn of the century there has been something of a "healing boom" (iyashi būmu =癒しブーム) in Japan with a large number of "healing" products and services promoted to ease the physical and psychological stress of the workplace and daily life in general. One manifestation of this boom has been the emergence of yuru-kawa(ii) or "loose/laid-back-cute" characters such as Rilakkuma (not to be confused with yuru-kyara or regional mascots, like Kumamon and Funasshi, though many of these also have a degree of yuru-kawa). According to artist and lecturer Aya Kakeda the yuru-kawa category grew popular "because of the stressful life in modern society. People are always searching for something to make them calm and relaxed. In the US, perhaps people search for spa or meditation classes. In Japan, there are Yuru[-kawa] characters who make you calm and relaxed just by looking at them.” A perfect recent example of the popularity of this genre is Gudetama (debuting in 2013), an indifferent, weary, lazy, low-effort, no-energy egg yolk who in contrast to the positivity of Rilakkuma is more about the unbearableness of life itself. In Japanese guda-guda is onomatopoeia for doing nothing or being lazy (guden-guden is drunk) while tama comes from tamago (egg).

Gudetama goods on sale at Tokyo Character Street, Tokyo Station

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All this would suggest that such characters have become popular because they are the ideal escape for the over-worked over-stressed salaried worker whose free time consists of nothing more than eating and sleeping. Sleep statistics seem to bear this out: one recent survey found Japanese sleep only an average of six hours and 35 minutes each night with 40% sleeping six hours or less; in a 2009 survey Japan ranked 28th out of 29 countries (sleeping one minute more than South Koreans). Another survey found nearly half of Japanese to be suffering from insomnia! The problem, as the above article suggests, seems to be that there are no time regulations for those in managerial positions; the new work reform law (hatarakikata kaikaku hō =働き方改革法) passed in June and billed as the first major reform in 70 years (triggered by the shocking 2015 case of a young women working herself to death at ad giant Dentsu), still exempts highly skilled "specialist" white-collar professionals from work-time regulations. The lifestyle of Rilakkuma, Gudetama, and other yuru-kawa characters (Tottoro also springs to mind) represents an impossible dream for "company warriors" in a system that has little regard for their health and well-being.

Cooling off in the Art Aquarium: Goldfish and Edo Kiriko Glass

As the oppressive summer heat continues unabated - yesterday was 33 with high humidity making it "feel like" 36 - Japanese continue to search for ways to cool down. Watching carp and goldfish - basically mutated carp - may not strike many Westerners as a good way to do this, but since the Edo period people here have admired swimming fish as an entertaining way to keep cool. In a modern variation, since 2007, an Art Aquarium - Edo: Coolness of Goldfish (アートアクアリウム：江戸・金魚の涼) event has been held featuring 8,000 fish housed in massive multi-faceted kaleidoscopic tanks illuminated by an extraordinary light show. At night the space transforms into a club with famous DJs, "goldfish cocktails", and a Dassai sake bar.

Goldfish or kingyo - combining the characters for gold (金) and fish (魚) - first came to Japan from China in 1502, a hundred years before they made their way to Europe. At first, they were a luxury item, a status-symbol for lords and aristocrats, later spreading to samurai and wealthy merchants in the Edo period. It was only in the Meiji period that they became accessible to the general population, triggering a kingyo boom which saw goldfish images drawn in ukiyoe pictures and on furniture, kimonos - and (a summer staple) fans (pictured).

You enter the exhibition through a corridor featuring glass water tanks built into the ceiling (apparently popular with one wealthy Edo merchant) and then enter an open space with tanks of 15 different shapes, including folding screens or byōbu (pictured - 18 panels each over 5.4m in height) and various globes, prisms, and mirrors that distort and warp the fish, making shadows and reflections that are so mesmerising they do indeed momentarily help you forget the blistering heat outside. I say momentarily, since the pressing crowds and snapping camera phones are the antithesis of the cool relaxation that the exhibition promotes.

Edo Kiriko cut glass: sake glasses in red and blue

A final interesting feature of the exhibition is the use of Edo Kiriko (江戸切子), traditional hand-crafted cut glass dating from the end of the Edo period (1603-1868) and originating in the Nihonbashi area where the exhibition is held. It is a great idea for a souvenir - then President Obama was presented with a set of Edo Kiriko glassware at the Japan-US summit in April 2014 as were world leaders at the Group of Eight summit in Hokkaido in 2008. In the past, dishes and vases were popular, but recently sake, wine, and whisky glasses are the most popular. For more on the history and present state of Edo Kiriko see here.

Japan and Italy, Japan in Italy: Noodles, Mikado, and Internal Organs

A few months ago I did two special posts on the relationship between Italy and Japan and introduced Italian culture, including food, coffee, and films, in Japan. This was partly motivated by a recent spurt in viewers from Italy, particularly mysterious spikes of 60 views every two or three days (perhaps a university class?). In terms of total all-time views, Italy is currently in second place behind Japan at 5,006! Unfortunately, I'm still no closer to unravelling the mystery of my Italian fan-base (do drop me a line in the comment box!) but I'll continue the Italy/Japan theme, this time looking at Japanese culture in Italy.

This summer, I was lucky enough to spend a week in Italy, 2 days in Rome and 5 days in Florence. In terms of Japanese food, sushi and noodles seem to be the most popular and I spotted quite a few ristorante giapponese (pictured). The Japanese pavilion was apparently very popular at expo Milano in 2015 (in Japanese these kind of international expositions are called banpaku =万博). Even small supermarkets stocked Kikkoman soy sauce and instant cup/pot-noodles (pictured) and for those with a sweet tooth there were Pocky stick-biscuit chocolates (covered here) though the name, and packaging had been changed: in Italy they were called Mikado (!) and had a giant rising sun on the package!! There were also some rice-puff biscuits called (wait for it) Nippon, again featuring a mini rising sun.

One of my favourite places in Florence was the Central Market (Mercato Centrale) which had all sorts of amazing produce such as fish, meat, cheese, olive oil, spices, dried fruit and nuts, truffles, fresh fruit, and panforte (a Tuscan chewy dried fruit and nut cake which was a great souvenir - or omiyage =お土産 - for my Japanese friends). For those Japanese tourists worried about fitting all these omiyage into their suitcase - Japanese buy a lot of presents for people back home - I even spotted a Japanese takkyūbin (home delivery service) flag on one of the market stalls (pictured)! Upstairs is something of a hidden gem, a food court with all sorts of pastries, sandwiches, and coffee, perfect for a cheap breakfast. In fact, a new sushi shop was due to open - another taste of Japan in Italy.

Staying in Florence, one of my favourite local snacks was the lampredotto sandwich (panino), traditional street food in Florence made from tripe (the stomach of a cow) which has been slow-cooked in a vegetable broth and seasoned with herbs. One vendor had a sign (pictured) explaining this local delicacy in Japanese. The sign explained it was a regional speciality or meibutsu (名物). This particularly resonates with Japanese tourists since almost every region in Japan will have its own meibutsu, whether food or handicraft, which are popular choices for omiyage. It also explained the sandwich in terms Japanese would understand - the sign says motsu-nikomi (もつ煮込み) sando where motsu means the innards of an animal and nikomi means stewed. Japanese, like Florentines, love their internal organs, as exemplified by dishes such as motsu-nabe (hot-pot). Buonissimo!

Preparing to Enter University: Starting Examination Hell Early

A few weeks ago I gave a sample 30-minute lecture (known as a mogi jugyō =模擬授業) at an event at Tokyo Big Sight, a convention and exhibition centre in Ariake, Eastern Tokyo, an area which sits on reclaimed land in Tokyo Bay. The five-city event was called Yumenavi LIVE (夢ナビライブ) 2018, organised by FROMPAGE, a Japanese commerical services company, and supported by the Ministry of Education. Aimed at 1st and 2nd year high-school students, the Tokyo event alone boasted 380 lectures, 206 university booths, and 72 TED-style talks and was attended by 50,164 students! The event was billed as "a day to discover what (you) want to study and to get in touch with universities (you) can study at" (manabitai gakumon o mitsuke, manaberu daigaku to deau ichi-nichi =学びたい学問を見つけ,学べる大学と出会う一日).

Tokyo Big Sight convention and exhibition centre in Ariake, Eastern Tokyo

Given the number of attendees and lectures, it was hugely impressive how smoothly everything went, with preparation starting many months before with an interview and short video message for students (viewable here together with the full lecture). On the day itself, everything was ultra efficient and timed to the second. Speaking about the construction of Japanese identity, my own bilingual lecture, entitled "Who are the Japanese", had a full-house of 120 students (who could book seats before) plus others standing at the back. Lectures took place in 10 giant hexagons, with 6 speakers talking concurrently in each block; in fact, I'm not quite sure how students managed to hear amid all the cacophony! Afterwards, we were whisked off to a special area for students who had questions.

As Japan's population plummets - current estimates see it falling from 127m to some 90m by 2050 - the number of 18-year-olds is also in free-fall and competition between universities to secure entrants has become increasingly fierce. In Japan, the market for those looking to enter top schools and universities - known as juken - is big business. The word juken suru (受験する) literally means to take an exam and students preparing to or actually taking exams are called juken-sei. When does this start? In the case of those applying for national, prefectural and other public universities (kokkōritsu daigaku =国公立大学), students will be going to private after-school cram schools (juku =塾) from the first year of high school, and could start preparing for the exams as early as the end of their second year. For third-year high-schoolers the pressure is really on and they are pretty much devoting all their time to study by the summer when they become juken-sei proper. Whereas some students do get into universities through the recommendation and the AO system (based on interviews and essays rather than exams proper) and end their juken hell early, for most December-February are the juken peak, with an unfortunate few not finalising their place right up until March (for entry in April). But it is not only the student that suffers; the whole family is expected to pull together and support the juken-sei during this period, which means no holidays, no noise, and no fun...