Earthquake names are interesting.  The English-speaking media seems to be calling it the Sendai earthquake, but Japanese usually call earthquakes by region names, not city names.  This one would later be called the Tōhoku Kantō dai-shinsai (the Tōhoku Kantō Great Earthquake disaster). [Note: This multi-faceted disaster has received a variety of names from media outlets.  I've settled on the name used by the national broadcaster NHK.]

Whatever its name, at 2:46 pm JST I felt the earth shake like I’ve never felt it shake before.  The quake arrived with a jarring start, and it was evident to me from the start that this was no small tremblor.  Then about 15 seconds into it, the shaking got much, much stronger and violent.  At this point, I got a bit worried and dropped to the relative safety of the space under the sturdy work desk where I had been sitting and stayed there.  Glassware and loose objects dropped to the floor and broke.  Wood trim, lamp escutcheons and ventilation ducts came loose and fell.  I could seen the windows of the lounge, as well as of the building opposite ours, flexing as if they were made of paper.  Then started the clanging of the jet bridges, which made an awful banging sound that—aside from being unnerving—suggested to me that they might detach from the building and fall to the ground.

It was three minutes before the shaking subsided enough that I felt it safe to stand up.  I didn’t know where the quake’s epicenter had been, but I knew this had been a very big one.

“It ain’t over til it’s over”

As soon as the quake ended, I had two goals in mind:  To set in motion my company’s crisis management system and to advise my family of my whereabouts and welfare status.  Back in 2001, when the attack against the World Trade Center in New York occurred, I was working at Sun Microsystems at its research lab in southeastern France. I remember the severe difficulties we had in communicating with our home office at that time.  Therefore, I vowed not to waste a minute of time in sending these messages, in case communications lines were lost or Internet access failed for some reason. By the time I tried my mobile phone, the networks were already overloaded and rejecting non-emergency calls.

Using Skype, I called our company’s central security control in the US and was, I feel certain, the first to tell them that there had been an earthquake in Japan that may have affected our office and employees.  I simultaneously belted out the news on a Skype text chat to my globally distributed workgroup:

2011-03-11 14:50
we just suffered what is expect is a major earthquake here in Tokyo
2011-03-11 14:51
I am fine
Waiting for flight at airport
i’ll let you know when/as soon as I find out more. went on for about 2 minutes and the most violent shaking i have ever experienced. in fact it still isn’t over, but just about
2011-03-11 15:03
alerted central security control by Skype – mobile phones are unusable/jammed
2011-03-11 15:04
7.9 magnitude
2011-03-11 15:15
Tokyo office is OK.  They had bookracks topple over, but no one was hurt.  Everyone is fine.
2011-03-11 15:16
They are evacuating this area so I have to depart.

Before we were asked to evacuate the lounge, we started seeing news flashes on television.  It was horrific news:  This was a very big earthquake, centered off the coast near the northeastern town of Sendai, estimated first at magnitude 7.9 but then quickly upgraded to 8.8, then to 8.9, and eventually to a jaw-dropping magnitude 9.0.  Stories were coming in of widespread destruction.  But this is when the first images, carried live, arrived showing entire buildings and villages being swept away by an enormous tsunami.  The devastation we were observing was the stuff of disaster movies, but this time it was the real McCoy.

But now was not the time for us to consider the fate of others, because it was time to follow the instructions of the evacuation wardens and leave the building. In hindsight, I think that the Airport Authority seemed a little bit out of their depth and not very communicative (in English or Japanese) about what was going on, but they did at least seem to have a plan.  The first step of that plan was to get everyone out of the airport terminal building and out onto the tarmac so that they could inspect the building for damage and safety hazards before allowing passengers back inside.  (I’m just glad it wasn’t raining.)

Around the time we were ushered outdoors, the free internet service provided by the airport went dark:  The wireless signal was present but network connectivity was lost.  Now only those of us who held 3G-capable phones had the ability to watch the news and communicate with the outside world.  I started to think about battery conservation, as it wasn’t clear when we would be allowed to reenter the building and plug back in.

I think that most passengers were under the impression that we would get the chance to depart later that day—albeit with a huge delay, but this was not to be. News trickled in that flights bound for Narita had been diverted to airports further south, or to Guam.  There was no telling how long it would take the airlines to reposition their aircraft to support departures from Tokyo.  With the exception of a few flights whose crews had already been in the process of loading at the time of the quake, everyone was going to be spending the night at Narita Airport and the following day standing in long lines to get rebooked onto new flights.

(To be continued)

Japanese Prime Minister Naoto KAN

Japanese Prime Minister Yukio Hatoyama announced this week that he, his entire cabinet, and the powerful Ichiro Ozawa, Secretary-General of the Democratic Party of Japan (DPJ), would resign. Hatoyama would be succeeded by Finance Minister Naoto Kan, a fiscal conservative who is one of the founders of the DPJ. This move, which comes less than a year after the the party swept to power with promises of change and a break with the past.

The Democrats now face their first major leadership challenge since taking office. While reshuffling the government has been common in post-war Japan, the big difference between the DPJ and the previously ruling party, the Liberal Democratic Party (LDP), is that the LDP has a big well of experienced leaders on which to call. By contrast, the DPJ is relatively young and is having to scramble to suddenly find suitable candidates for a number of key positions.

The political goal for the shake-up seems clear:  After eight months of indecision and broken promises, Hatoyama bowed to party pressure to leave in advance of July’s elections for seats in the upper house of the Diet.

Japan is in transition

The choice of the 63-year-old Kan to succeed Hatoyama is not entirely unexpected, but highlights a dilemma in the DPJ leadership. Despite the fact that the DPJ ran on an agenda of reform and wants to represent change, Kan is closely associated with the government apparatus, being one of the founders of the DPJ and its leader on two occasions since the late 1990′s. Another rumored possibility for the post had been free-market supporter Shinji Tarutoko, who heads the House of Representatives Environmental Committee, but who was relatively unknown by establishment politicians. In other words, it seems that the party’s appetite for trying new approaches is muted.

All of the commotion surrounding the Prime Ministerial change is merely a distraction from Japan’s underlying trends: greater involvement on the international stage, including matters of defense and global security, and a pressing need to develop a new social structure that can accommodate Japan’s shrinking population base. The country is struggling to maintain growth in the face of this demographic crisis, and it remains to be seen whether Japan can rein in its debt, which stands at about 200% of the nation’s GDP.

The beauty of this tree holds a great deal of meaning in Japan — there are cultural references to the sakura everywhere — and the anticipation of flower-viewing season, called hanami, is palpable.

It’s palpable because it is fickle.  No one (not even the Japanese meteorological agency) seems to be very good at fixing the date for hanami.  In addition, sometimes bad weather shows up at the worst time, seriously abbreviating the bloom.

But when they’re in bloom and the weather is good, it’s definitely time for lunch in the park under the cherry blossoms (along with tens of thousands of your closest friends, all of whom had the same idea). Of course, cherry trees have been planted where they can be enjoyed most: in parks, around temples, near castles and along streams. Everyone waits until the day, once each spring, when the chance comes again to go to a favorite spot and luxuriate in the beauty. (And, usually, drink some beer or sake.)

no blossom
has ever realized
how we wait!

Soseki, circa 1520

The brief and delicate nature of the sakura is often likened to a woman’s beauty, and indeed is one of the most popular design elements on a woman’s kimono. In the age of bushido, the samurai also made connections with flowers.  Some were to be avoided because they portended ill; but the sakura in particular symbolized a life that was short but magnificent.

Also a symbol of the passage of time, the sakura is associated with April, which marks a new Japanese fiscal year for businesses and the start of a new school year for students. In effect, the sakura’s bloom and death marks the start of a new stage of life in all spheres of activity.

from evening
no sleep, tomorrow
blossom-viewing

Tekijin, 18th c.

Perhaps it’s penance for not doing any hanami last year, but for whatever reason, I did a lot of flower viewing this year. And, indeed, I was well rewarded for my efforts.

This year, on the first real peak day of hanami in Osaka, I hopped on my bicycle and rode to Osaka Castle Park, which turns out to be much closer to the area in which I live than I’d imagined. When you ride the trains too much, you think of your routes in terms of train lines and connections.  By bicycle, you merely have to think about where to park it when you get to your destination.  (This is not a trivial point. There are hordes of illegally parked bicycles in Osaka, and they routinely get swept away en masse by the city.)

The trip was not in vain, for I was immediately treated to a scene of flower petals crowned by the Osaka castle on the hill in the distance. As I got closer to the castle, the large number of cherry trees in the park became more and more evident. This year the blossoms were mostly white with a slight trace of pink, though from previous years I know that other varieties of sakura with bright red petals bloom slightly later.

People, people everywhere

Why do people really love hanami so much? Flower viewing is really a big social event. If the weather’s nice, you can expect the grounds around temples and other famous landmarks, as well as riverbanks and even local parks, to be dotted with blue tarps on which groups from work, social circles or families will be spread out for lunch amid the splendor.

In fact, the normal reserved demeanor of most Japanese goes out the window during flower viewing. It’s not unusual to see people drinking sake at an alarming rate. And it need not be said that drinking and noise seem to go together. But, on the whole, people enjoying hanami are quite well behaved.  And this is a good thing, because every season there is a remarkably large number of people who take in this ad hoc festival.

Walking through the park, I was met with more than just the flowers and the people. First of all, there was lots of grilling going on. I think that on top of those blue tarps more yakitori was being made than at the busiest yakitori restaurant on a good day — despite the fact that cooking is prohibited on the grounds of Osaka Castle. It seems that this rule is overlooked on this occasion. (For anyone Japanese to overlook a rule is itself quite unusual!)

In addition, there were all manner of people performing acts of one kind or another.  One pair of flautists was performing traditional Japanese music before a large crowd. A young woman closer to the castle was having her dog perform tricks for another crowd.  On top of this were the group tours whose leaders were running around with their tour flags held high, so as to be seen over the heads of the other tourists.

But the main players in this story are the castle, its fortress walls and the sakura that overlook what once was an important defense to Toyotomi Hideyoshi, who originally built the complex. Over the years, Osaka castle has been built, put under siege, burned, rebuilt, struck by lightning, repaired, neglected and restored. Today, the rebuilt and restored castle is magnificent, and all the more so when one sees the beauty of the cherry blossoms in full bloom near the watchtowers.

the mountain
as one tree blooming
with our spirit

Sogi, 1502

Himeji

The next day, I decided to jump on a superexpress train and travel to Himeji to see the flowers around one of Japan’s so-called “three famous castles,” Himeji-jo. Getting there was easy: I took local trains to the Shin-Osaka train station and then switched to a Nozomi superexpress shinkansen train to Himeji — a mere 30 minutes west of Osaka on this high-speed train.

I’d never been to Himeji before, but of course have heard many things about what an impressive and historic place it is. No matter what you might have heard or what photos you might have seen, Himeji-jo is even more amazing than you could imagine. Towering over the castle-city of Himeji, this citadel is far more of a central landmark than, say, Osaka Castle is to Osaka. In addition, Himeji Castle was one of the first sites in Japan to be accorded the status of World Heritage Site by UNESCO.

Built in phases during the period 1346-1618, Himeji Castle has served as the headquarter for several important families in Japanese history, yet has never fallen or been destroyed. As an amazing footnote to this last point, a firebomb was dropped on the main tower of Himeji-jo near the end of the Second World War, yet the device miraculously did not explode, allowing the building to survive in nearly mint condition to the present day. Today the castle is an important landmark and tourist attraction; it is frequently featured on television.

Immediately beneath the castle’s front gate is a park that, on the occasion of hanami season, was not only packed with spectators but also completely surrounded by sakura trees. Much like in Osaka, many people came to the park around lunchtime to relax on a blue tarp along with coworkers, friends or family. I had originally planned to visit the interior of the castle, but the line of tourists waiting to see the building was so long that it would have taken hours of waiting in the bright sunlight to make it inside, so I decided to spend the afternoon in the park instead.

Chance encounter

While I was milling around the park watching the goings-on, I happened to meet a woman from the city of Nagoya, where she recently retired as a middle school teacher. We struck up a conversation and, despite my sometimes halting Japanese, spent 30 or 45 minutes in a fun and spirited discussion about all manner of things, including the Japanese education system, calligraphy, the difficulties of learning Japanese as a foreigner, post-war Japan and, of course, Himeji-jo.

Meeting and having nice conversations with random Japanese is one of the most lovely things about traveling around Japan. My own level of Japanese is perhaps good enough to hold small talk, but I am confronted continually by an unknown vocabulary word here and there, which makes fluid conversations a bit hard sometimes. Yet, the Japanese I’ve met over the years almost universally are just as anxious about their ability to express themselves in English.  This makes for something of a detente: neither side would even think about complaining about the others’ linguistic failings. The result can make for a very enjoyable time.

Heading home

I left Himeji park in really great spirits, noticing along the way that the bridge, as well as the gate it services, are named after the sakura.  It was probably named that hundreds of years ago.

As I headed back to the train station, I realized that I had not eaten lunch, despite the fact that it was after 3 PM.  So, before entering the train station for the ride home, I stopped off at a small kissaten coffee shop for a bite to eat.  After all, the fried oysters looked particularly good.  When I entered, I found that I was the only customer; it was obvious (based on the pile of just-washed dishes) that the staff had been very busy up until just recently and were cooling their heels for a moment.  But, even though there were no other customers, as soon as I walked in the door, I was greeted with a hearty irrashai!, the customary greeting in these parts, and they got right to work on my order.

Shortly after that, another customer (obviously a ‘regular’ at this place) came in and sat at the counter, one seat away from me.  The three employees and the customer talked for quite a long time while I read a book and waited for my meal.  Suddenly, the customer offered me a beer out of the blue and I responded with a thank you in Japanese.  Well, needless to say, this started yet another long and very enjoyable conversation, engaging him and the staff as well.

It was the cap to a fantastic day and an equally memorable week.  The rain was to come in just a few days, washing the petals away for yet another year.

rain! clever me
coming to view blossoms
the day before

Kito, 1789

But, indeed, something was seriously out of place.  I simply hadn’t noticed it yet.

After looking at the departure board, I started to mount the stairs to the platform.  On most days, one of the station staff stands at the top of the stairs, barking out announcements on a megaphone, warning about passing trains and advising passengers of the destination of the next arriving train. However, looking up the stairs, I saw a uniformed police officer.  Very unusual.  Then another.  And then a small throng of train personnel.  I didn’t have to get far enough up the stairs to see the police tape strung along a large portion of Platform 2 to understand what had happened:  someone had jumped in front of a train at my station. Someone committed suicide.

Arriving on the platform, I saw the shards of shattered safety glass all over the platform serving trains going away from Osaka, headed east toward the ancient capital city of Nara. And one thing more: a large white tarp that covered the mortal remains of some sole (I don’t know whether male or female, young or old) who decided that leaving this world was the solution to whatever problems he or she had.  Statistically speaking, it was probably a Japanese male somewhere around age 30 who lost his job or had severe financial difficulties of some kind. According to one of the other passengers on the platform, it was a “jumper” who stepped willingly in front of a rapid express train — the sort of through train that doesn’t stop at our small local station.

Although suicide is not unlawful in Japan, its prevention is growing as an item of concern in Japan, as the numbers of self-inflicted deaths exceeded 30,000 for the 12th straight year in 2009. To this end, back in October of 2009 the rail company installed emergency power-kill switches on all four platforms of our local station. But even these bright orange-colored buttons can’t do anything to stop a determined jumper, who gives no warning of his intentions.

The rail staff have an obligation to keep the trains moving, as trains are the key artery of transportation for an entire nation. It occurred to me that, had this occurred in the United States or Europe, the rail would have been shut for an indefinite period whilst an investigation was held. But, not here: apparently the damaged train was moved shortly after the incident to allow trains to pass. After all, the accident had happened only about 30 minutes before my arrival at the station.

As to the customers, while a few seemed interested in the goings-on, the vast majority kept to themselves and merely went on their way, looking anywhere except in the direction of the accident. As for me, despite the fact that I had worked in the past both as a paramedic and as a police officer, I was quite shocked.  This wasn’t an abstract “someone, somewhere killed themselves.”  No.  Someone specific — someone whose remains were just steps away from me — decided to take themselves out at my train station at about the same time as I had planned on being there.

I tried to shake off the whole scene and my thoughts about what might have led up to it.  Some of my Asian classmates, with whom I later spoke about this incident, said it was terrible because of the great inconvenience caused to other passengers of the rail service, but few people seemed concerned about the life of the person who opted out, or of family who might have been left behind in the aftermath.

For their part, later in the day the train service posted a notice in the foyer of the train stations affected by the service disruption that morning. Using some of the most polite Japanese words I’ve read, it expressed its sincere regret for the delays caused by fatal accident that morning.

The evening started with garlic, and lots of it. Frankly, I think that the amount of garlic that the chef cooked up at the start of the meal rivaled anything you could find at, say, The Stinking Rose in San Francisco. These ended up serving several roles during the meal: appetizer, beef accoutrement and post-meal rice accompaniment.

The meal was elegant in its simplicity and prepared in perfection.  As with most Japanese meals, there is a wide variety of flavor on offer during the meal, but no one element of the menu swamps the rest.  Instead, there is always a nice balance of color and intentional asymmetry during the meal, supporting a Japanese aesthetic view called “wabi-sabi.” (Not to be confused with “wasabi,” which is a strong spice used in Japanese cooking.)

Speaking of wasabi, I had never before considered using it with beef — it had always occupied a “use with sushi and sashimi” role for me before. However, at the chef’s suggestion, we tried topping the small, cooked cubes of beef that were delivered to our places with coarse salt, wasabi and, of course, some garlic. Doing so delivered a wonderful taste, and one I hope to repeat in the future.

The close of the main meal was signaled by the preparation and delivery of garlic rice.  Some of the garlic left over from the initial garlic serving was crushed into a white paste and warmed, while white slightly glutenous rice was cooked and seasoned.  At first the chef left the rice to slightly overcook (so I reckoned) on the bottom, but in fact he was allowing a small film of cooked rice to develop, which he tore off and set aside like a piece of paper.  Then the resulting rice was mixed together with the garlic and thoroughly cooked.  Once divvied up into individual bowls, the chef used the previously prepared, and deliciously edible, “rice paper” to decorate the serving before its delivery.

Once the meal was finished, we retired to an anteroom for a light dessert of mousse or fruit, accompanied by either coffee or one of the varieties of tea available.  Again, although simple in its preparation, the hand-made desserts were clearly a cut above.  My melon mousse was accompanied by a dollup of caramel ice cream of excellent quality. And the tea that followed made a nice end to a fantastic meal, surely one of the best I’ve ever had.

As a final note, I should point out that the restaurant, situated on the top floor of the Granvia Hotel and directly above the epic-sized Kyoto JR main train station, has a commanding view of its surroundings. In daylight it has a view of the mountains while at night the subdued interior lighting showcases the famous Kyoto tower that is just opposite the train station. A trip to this restaurant will set you back about ¥5,000~7,500 at lunch or about ¥10,000-12,500 for dinner, but it is surely worth every yen spent.

It was a little bit unnerving to give a talk about Japanese language and business culture to an audience that included a large number of Japanese. After all, they would all have much more experience than I do in Japanese business settings. But I tried to make the case that the differences–things that lead to misunderstandings–are extremely important, too. I was really excited to get positive feedback not only from the overseas audience, but also from the Japanese audience. That so many people enjoyed the talk made me very pleased indeed.

It’s all very regular, very orderly and, most importantly, very predictable.

But it seems to me that predictability is not the prescription for succeeding in today’s open global markets. And the Japanese themselves have seen less of this predictability, with the reduction of retirement benefits and the retraction of so-called lifetime employment in most sectors. Yet, the social structures seem largely unfazed by the new realities of the global economy, and of the severe impacts it is having on the Japanese themselves.

And so I was happy to come across a very nicely written Op-Ed piece in the New York Times this week, written by Masaru Tamamoto, an iconoclast who asks the serious question “where is Japan going?” By calling into question the discrepancy between those who cling to an aging Japan that is free from foreign influence and the potential for a Japan that is more progressive, he sheds an interesting light on contemporary problems of immigration, social class and risk-averse behavior normatives in Japanese society.

In my experience, I find that Japan has many tremendously gifted people; moreover, the industriousness of the country is beyond reproach. Yet a feeling of stagnation seems ever-present — sometimes close at hand, and sometimes more distant, but always there.  Life in Japan — not just for me, but also for my Japanese friends — is good.  But the social structure seems to demand that no one really succeed in a big way.  In the long run Japan needs and deserves more.  We’re all canaries in a gilt prison.

The original article is available on the New York Times website.

Op-Ed Contributor

Japan’s Crisis of the Mind

By MASARU TAMAMOTO
Published: March 1, 2009

Yokohama, Japan

RECENT events mark Japan’s return to the world’s stage, or at least so it seems. Tokyo was Secretary of State Hillary Clinton’s inaugural overseas destination. Last week, Prime Minister Taro Aso was the first foreign leader to visit the Obama White House. All this suggests that Washington sees Japan, the world’s second-largest economy, as a powerful nation. If only we saw ourselves the same way.

The truth is, Japan is a mess. Mr. Aso’s approval rate recently hit 11 percent, and his ruling Liberal Democratic Party is in open disarray. His predecessor barely lasted a year. The opposition Democratic Party of Japan just offers more of the same. This is largely because we have become a nation of bureaucrats. What passes for national policy is the sum of various ministerial interests, often conflicting or redundant, with jealously guarded turfs and budgets.

There can be no justification for all those mostly unused airports. Or for roads that lead nowhere. Or for the finance minister who appeared to be drunk at the Group of 7 meeting this month in Rome. Our problem is so deep that it sometimes seems that no political party can tame the bureaucracy and put in place a coherent national agenda.

But what most people don’t recognize is that our crisis is not political, but psychological. After our aggression — and subsequent defeat — in World War II, safety and predictability became society’s goals. Bureaucrats rose to control the details of everyday life. We became a nation with lifetime employment, a corporate system based on stable cross-holdings of shares, and a large middle-class population in which people are equal and alike.

Conservative pundits here like to speak of this equality and sameness as being cornerstones of “Japanese” tradition. Nonsense. Throughout much of its history, Japan has had social stratification and great inequality of wealth and privilege. The “egalitarian” Japan was a creature of the 1970s, with its progressive taxation, redistribution of wealth, subsidies and the dampening of competition through regulation. This all seemed to work just fine until our asset-price bubble popped in the 1990s. Today, the hemmed-in Japanese seem satisfied with the knowledge that everyone around them is equally unhappy.

Since the middle of the 19th century, our economic success has relied on the availability of outside models from which to choose. Our model for social security took inspiration from Bismarck’s Germany, state planning from the Soviet Union, public works from the Tennessee Valley Authority, automobile assembly and manufacturing from Ford. Much of Japanese innovation has involved perfecting what others have created. Sony is famous for its Walkman, but it didn’t invent the tape recorder. Japan’s rise to economic greatness was basically a game of catch-up with the advanced West.

So what happened once we caught up? Over the past two decades, the answer has largely been paralysis. Japan’s ability to imitate outside models was mistaken for progress. But if progress is defined by pursuing a vision of a desirable future, then the Japanese never progressed. What we had was a concept of order and placement, which is essentially stasis.

In the West, on the other hand, the idea of progress rests on establishing individual autonomy and liberty. In Japan, bureaucratic rule offered security and predictability — in exchange for personal freedom. The problem is that our current political leaders can’t keep their side of the bargain. Employment security can no longer be guaranteed. The national pension and health plans seem to be insolvent in the long run. People feel both insecure and unfree.

Signs of despair are everywhere. Japan has one of the highest suicide rates among rich countries. There may be as many as one million “hikikomori,” from teenagers to those in their 40s, who shut themselves in their rooms for years on end. Then there are all those “parasite singles” — or unmarried adults living with their parents. But by far our most serious problem is a declining and aging population. Given present trends, total population will likely decline from around 130 million to under 90 million in 50 years or so. By that same time, 40 percent of Japanese could be over 65.

If we want to survive as a nation, we must shed our deeply rooted resistance to immigration. Contrary to widespread prejudices in favor of keeping Japan “pure,” we desperately need to dilute our blood. Our aging nation will need millions of university-educated middle-class immigrants with high productivity, people who will put down roots and raise families, whose pride and success will be the affirmation of new Japanese values.

Japan desperately needs change, and this will require risk. Risk-taking is not common among the bureaucratically controlled. You won’t find many signs on Japanese beaches saying, “Swim at your own risk. No lifeguard on duty.” If that sign were to appear, many Japanese would likely ask the authorities to tell them if it is safe to swim. This same risk aversion translates into protectionism and insularity. The ministry of agriculture, for example, wants to increase self-sufficiency in food. There is not nearly enough critical thinking and dissent in the Japanese news media.

Still, the idea that the Japanese are afraid of risk has no basis in history, for better or for worse. Remember Pearl Harbor? In fact, Japan’s passiveness today is in large measure a calculated and reasonable reaction to its behavior during the Second World War. But today, this emphasis on safety and security is long past its sell-by date.

We have run out of outside models to imitate. We must start from scratch, embracing an idea of progress that is based on innovation, ambition and dynamism. Doing so will take risk — and extraordinary leadership. But the alternative is to continue stumbling down a path of decline.

Masaru Tamamoto is a senior fellow at the World Policy Institute.

I’d visited the park on several occasions before, but forgot how massive the park is—over 1.07 million square meters—and how majestic the castle appears, particularly when seen under a clear night sky. The best view was saved for last, as a crescent moon rose over the castle just as we were about to leave the park (see photo, right).

During the cherry blossom season each spring, Osaka Castle Park fills up with people celebrating the arrival of the new spring. However, on this evening it was nearly empty, save for the odd jogger or tourist.  Under the klieg lights and in the cool December air, the castle’s imposing size was quite an impressive sight.

Getting to the Ryūjin spa town was half of the fun of the experience.  Situated well into the mountains, the simplest way for us to reach the ryokan was via a combination of train (Japan Rail) and bus (Ryūjin bus).

First we rode the Super Kuroshio limited express train along the coastline from Tennōji station to Kii-Tanabe station, which takes just short of 2 hours. Then we purchased tickets for the Ryūjin bus to the onsen town at the counter just outside the station. About 15 minutes later, we boarded the bus at the adjacent bus stand (labeled in Japanese and English) and rode it until reaching our destination stop, which was a mere two minutes’ walk to the ryokan. The 1-1/2 hour bus ride into the beautiful mountains that separate Kii-Tanabe from the famous Mount Kōya was breathtaking. The vistas into the canyons were stunning, even in the months of winter.  I can only speculate how pretty it must be during the spring or autumn.

Upon reaching the final stop, we walked the short distance to the Kamigoten ryokan. The inn, built in 1657, is deceptively simple on the outside.  But moments after seeing the polished wood floors upon entering, one realizes the real beauty and splendor of the building. It’s easy to miss the reception room upon entering if the staff take you directly to your room, but it’s worth stopping to see the polished tables and the original scrolls that dot the wall in this room. Unlike a hotel, the rooms are named instead of numbered; alas, I did not remember to ask what was the naming convention for the rooms.

The Japanese-style guest rooms are beautiful in their simplicity, with immaculate tatami mats as well as a manicured tokonoma that included a rather large caligraphic scroll as well as a kadō flower arrangement.

We settled in for the evening and were told that dinner and breakfast would both be served in the room. We changed into the yukata and uwagi provided by the ryokan, which we wore for the remainder of our stay.

Before dinner, I unpacked a small 13×13 Go board that I’d brought along for the trip and set it up in the drawing room of our quarters, which overlooked a small, crystal-clear mountain stream that passes through this onsen town. The enjoyable game of Go that my brother and I played while relaxing was followed by more such games during the course of our stay. We both have a lot to learn about the game, but playing in such a rarefied atmosphere really enhanced the game, regardless of our level of ability.

Dinner arrived precisely on schedule, and I must say that it was nothing short of exceptional. The menu was:

• Boiled wasabi and soy sauce
• Itadori (Japanese knotweed) with sesame sauce
• Chestnut, ume (a pickled apricot-type fruit often translated as plum), cucumber with butterbur and miso sauce
• Sesame tofu
• Lightly grilled deer meat with tataki sauce
• Shiitake mushrooms, royal fern, carrot, bamboo shoots, pea pods (mangetout), kabocha squash (Japanese pumpkin)
• Amago trout and Ayu (Sweetfish)
• Hitomi manju (bun of rice covered with a mix of minced chicken and potatoes)
• Vegetable tempura (eggplant, kabocha squash, pea pods, shiitake mushrooms, and king trumpet mushroom)
• Wild boar nabe (“hot pot” stew)
• Devil’s tongue (arum root) jelly with sweet vinegar
• Fruit jelly with mango sauce and strawberry sauce, both locally produced

After dinner (and a slight pause for digestion), we retired to the onsen and soaked in the mineral-laden waters for nearly an hour. By the time we finished, we were so relaxed that I’m surprised we had the energy to make it back to the room!

(sleep… Zzzzz…)

In the morning, we woke up bright and early at about 10 minutes before 6 AM. You see, the ryokan has both indoor and outdoor onsen.  There are separate indoor onsen for men and women, but there is only one outdoor bath, which is intended for use by families or individuals on a one-at-a-time basis, with a 20-minute time limit.  Therefore, we woke up early in order to be the first to enter the outdoor onsen, thereby avoiding waiting in line in the cold.

Alas, we were not the first ones there: by 6:05, when we arrived, someone was already in the outdoor onsen and had locked the entry gate.  However, by around 6:20 it had been vacated again and we were therefore able to spend our 20 minutes in the stone bath that directly overlooked the stream.  By now it was starting to get slightly light outside, and the view was spectacular.  The fresh mountain air blowing on one’s face while submerged in a pool of quite hot spring water is something not to be missed.

After the onsen, we returned to the room and rested.  But eventually the clock turned to 9 AM; we knew it was time to pack our bags, check out and take a ride on the Ryujin bus back to Kii-Tanabe train station for the onward trip home to Osaka. I will always treasure this, my first ryokan experience, and hope to return again, for it was an amazing time.

Because only my mother knew of my impending arrival, the fact that I had crossed the Pacific came as something of a shock to my dear brother.  I wish I’d had a camera to photograph his face when he realized I was in town! He and I will be returning together to Japan next week, as he will be taking a reciprocal vacation there to see the sights of Asia.

Reflection. The trip home gave me some time to reflect on the outgoing year.  It’s been one of the most interesting twelve months in memory, full of milestones: leaving Skype, moving to Asia, becoming a full-time student again — all while watching the economy crumble. Though I’ve had my ups and downs along the way, I must say that this year has been a really wonderful one.  I’ve made some great new friends and rekindled old contacts.  Despite the world financial situation, I truly think that the horizons are broad and bright.

Of course, the most prominent element of this year has been studying Japanese at the Osaka YMCA Gakuin. I’ve been exceptionally fortunate to have so many kind and bright classmates. For instance, Mei Yu (photo, right) was in my elementary Japanese class from April through September 2008, and is now in one of the intermediate classes that parallels my own.  She helped me make it through our elementary class by providing really amazing encouragement to me and others in the class.

Language learning. Our instructors have been there for us all along the way.  Some are more “there for us” than others, but as a cadre I think that they are very much focused on the students. There are palpable differences between the pedagogy, or strategies of instruction, practiced in Asia and that used in the United States.  Post WW-II education styles in Europe and America have trended heavily toward the use of level-of-learning objectives and outcomes-based instruction review. Yet, my experience in learning Japanese is that the instruction method often borders upon rote learning (though I must stress that the instructional style is not entirely of this form).

For example, students may be directly influenced by their perception of success in learning and levels of expectancy–with realistically high helping to build confidence, and low (or unrealistically high) expectations helping to build incompetence. Bernat & Gvozdenko, “Beliefs about Language Learning”

Quite disappointing to me has been the lack of meaningful feedback from the instructors about one’s learning progress.  Am I shooting too high? How can I learn more effectively? These questions have been asked but largely left unanswered. I have felt, off and on, that the school’s instructors have little or no interest in whether the students succeed or fail, and that the instruction has been tailored to benefit those who already knew kanji (Chinese characters) or languages with grammar similar to Japanese, such as Korean.

When I enquired with our lead instructor about whether it would be wise for me continue in my current class or change to lower division one, I was told that she had an opinion but would not share it with me.  If I wanted to stay, I could stay; if I wanted to move, I could move.  While that afforded me ultimate latitude, I found it to be less than helpful. It took another hour of conference to get to a point where she would give me more helpful advice.  The verdict? My sights were set too high for the time available. Her advice turned out to be invaluable, but it was like pulling teeth to get to it.

All this said, I feel certain that my own lack of cultural awareness makes it very difficult to fit into the scheme that the Asian students more naturally follow.  If I take this as a learning experience and not as a “negative”, I will surely profit from it in the long run.

With all that in mind, I have my sights now squarely set on 2009, but with an eye on the past so I can hopefully avoid repeating my mistakes.