Passwords are today's keys

I’ve been thinking once again about how we go about identifying ourselves throughout the day. Or, to be more precise about it, how we go about authenticating our assertion of identity. For all the research and development that has gone into multi-factor identification, we seem to still be horribly reliant on username and password combinations in even critical systems. Much as I would like to pontificate on why we should change now, I know that the forces of inertia will keep things much as they are for the time being.

Which brings me to the point of this missive: password lockouts and other password management business. I was reading a very cogent article written by a friend of mine, Alec Muffett, on why “Three-Strikes” password security is not a very good idea, when it occurred to me how many best practices guides list this very control as “essential” in the world of corporate and government information security management policy.

I’d like to focus for a moment on just a couple of these points in the light of availability, because they’re on my mind:

• Minimum password complexity
• Account locking after a certain number of failed authentication attempts

Now, it’s worth recalling that one of the key precepts of computer systems is that the system should afford users a level of availability that is sufficient for the operating environment. However, I believe that these two bread-and-butter controls can so adversely affect availability as to be unusable in production environments.

Minimum password complexity stresses countering brute force attacks from password guessing and yet does not consider, in most cases, the limits of human memory. Who would want to try to even remember a random password? Instead, users write them down, which is a horrible breach of security in most settings.

While password techniques such as pronounceable passwords and passwords made up of natural language words strung together have been around for a while, the not-so-new innovation of using passphrases seems to be a superior alternative. In addition, recent experiences relating to modern web services show that graphical aids like “strength meters” and “password quality scores” can help users do the right thing without hitting them over the head with a stick.

Account locking is an invitation to denial of service attacks. Now, I feel pretty strongly about this, realizing of course that there are some operational environments where account locking is a must (such as in legacy systems where no brute force attack monitoring is possible).  However, in the general case account locking is a high cost operation that generates needless calls to software support centers. And from a technical perspective it is terrible, because modern authentication systems frequently use multiple authoritative databases against which to confirm credentials.  If the access credential data are, by dint of network architecture, stored in multiple locations, how is the system to keep an accurate track of how many times, and when, incorrect credentials were supplied?  Doing so would, in fact, fly in the face of the entire distributed nature of the system.

Which simply begs the question, why don’t we just move on to 2-factor authentication (2FA) everywhere?  It’s not a panacea, to be sure, but it’s a damn sight better than the state we’re in today.

I recommend you read Alec’s in-depth article on why many contemporary password management policies are flawed to the core.

A little bit about road use in Japan

In order to best understand the technical organization of the race, it’s important to know that, in Japan, bicycle races on public roads are not accounted for by the law.  And, Japanese law being extremely particular, anything not explicitly allowed is denied. While this kind of policy is good in my main profession, computer security, it is not so good in the world of bicycle racing.  Without the use of public roads, it is nearly impossible to run a professional calibre race.

So this may explain why road cycle races in Japan are almost exclusively run on circuits, or with small stretches of open road followed by circuits. While it may be anathema, from the point of view of a European cycling team director, for races to not have city center to city center races, Japanese race organizers are simply at the whim of the police, who reference the law, and therein lies the rub.

The race was organized into seven stages held across eight days:

• Stage 1: Osaka (Sakai city) – individual time trial – 2.65 km
  Daisen Park circuit course
• Stage 2: Nara – circuit race – 121.2 km
  Yamazoe-mura Nunome Dam circuit course
• Stage 3: Mino – circuit race – 160.7 km
  Kyu Imai-ke Jutaku to Yokogoshi to Mino Washi Paper Museum circuit course
• Stage 4: Minami-Shinshu – circuit race – 148.0 km
  Iida Station to Shimohisakata circuit course
• Stage 5: Mount Fuji – point to point (hill climb) – 11.4 km
  Climb to Mt Fuji Subashiriguchi 5th station
• Stage 6: Izu – circuit race – 97.6 km
  Japan Cycle Sports Center circuit course
• Stage 7: Tokyo – circuit race – 112.7 km
  Hibiya City to Ohi Wharf circuit course

Here we go!

As usual, the first step of a bicycle race often seems to be the hardest: organizing meeting, checking riders’ licenses and arranging for transportation. There are no inscription problems and the managers’ meeting also goes smoothly. Once we conclude this, we pick up our car and head back to the hotel for dinner and some rest before tomorrow’s beginning stage.

This year Subaru is the car sponsor and the cars that all the commissaires get are really nice, each with a decent sunroof and plenty of room in the back to set up for the race.

Comm 2 gets the turbocharger, but really I think that comm 3 should get it, simply because he ends up having to do so much running back and forth during the race. My only complaint about the car is that, like so many cars, it is difficult to see the trip odometer when seated behind the driver. It would have been very handy to have a GPS unit on the front dashboard with kms ridden displayed.

Historical spots

One thing I can say about races in Japan is that you’re bound to have stages that start or end at historical spots. And even if you simply end in a city center, there will be an interesting night spot to go once the refereeing duties are completed for the day.

The second stage, at Nara, was no exception. The city of Nara itself is quite important in Japanese history, as it is one of the ancient capitals of the country. However, the Nara stage has for many years started in front of the Todai-ji Temple, which is a UN World Heritage site and contains the largest wooden building in the world.

Nara, and Todai-ji in particular, is one of my favorite places, and it was simply wonderful to have a chance to see a stage start from this famous location. (In addition, I had never dreamed of actually driving all the way to the Todai-ji temple. Usually you have a nice long walk, as the roads are all closed to traffic.  But not today: our race starts from here!)

Children in police uniform prepare to talk about bicycle safety at Todai-ji before Stage 2

Mount Fuji

Probably the most interesting stage on the race this year was the hill climb of Mount Fuji. The stage was unusual simply because it was so short (only 11.4 km) and so steep. Normally courses like this might be used for a time trial — as it has been in the past — but this year they decided to make the stage a mass start race. Though I was skeptical at first, the stage did turn out quite well: amazingly there were no reports of riders hanging on to cars, yet all the riders made the time cut (if barely).

However, the day before the stage, I was a bit worried, because the entire course was in a fog bank (click on the 1-minute video above). I thought that it might be dicey for the referees or even the team managers to watch what was going on during the ascent. However, on race day the weather was simply splendid all the way from start to finish.

Hot tea above the clouds

On the course inspection day, once we passed through the fog bank and made it to the top of the ascent, we stopped for a while at the Mt Fuji fifth station to drink some hot tea and enjoy the view. It was spectacular: on one side was an unobstructed view of Mt Fuji and on the other we looked down upon the cloud tops.

As for the Mt Fuji stage itself, I was quite happy with how it turned out. The refereeing team did a very good job dealing with the barrage during the climb.  Of course, the reason for barrage on this kind of ascent has nothing to do with gapping riders from the slipstream (after all, there was only about 100 meters of flat for the whole stage). Instead, it’s about avoiding vehicle congestion and keeping tabs on weaker riders who might be tempted to get a hand in making the climb. Much of the course consisted of switchbacks, but we repositioned the timeboards (only one was really needed) to help in the observations, and the moto-commissaires operated in more of a leap-frog mode, since the steepness prevented their safely moving slowly on many sections of the climb.

Stage 5 - Mt Fuji

The climb up Fuji-san was difficult for all of the riders, but of course those who came from mountainous parts of the world had the winning advantage: an Italian and two Kazakh riders took the top three spots on the stage classification.  Riders from the club and university teams who participated had more difficulty, but did complete the stage successfully.

In retrospect, an extremely difficult climbing stage like Mt Fuji completely negates the need for having a prologue or individual time trial at the beginning of the race. Aside from determining the order of the team cars for the first mass start race, the small time gaps that came from Stage 1′s ITT ended up having no bearing on the final race outcome.

This is one stage where I still would have preferred an individual time trial, simply to put more emphasis on the man-versus-nature aspect of racing.  But I must admit that it was fun to watch it unroll as a mass start event.

The commissaires and officials

Just as Japan is divided in culture by region, so is Japan cycling. But the Tour of Japan brings people from all over the country together to pull off the largest annual cycle race in the country. Many of the people on the results team come from the Tour de Hokkaido, which is the second-largest UCI race in Japan, held in the fall.  Of course, a number of people came from the Kanto (Tokyo) area.  The antidoping inspector came from a university situated far north of Tokyo, and I came from the Kansai area of Osaka in western Japan. Together I think we made a very effective team, allowing the race to come off well both in the eyes of the teams and of the spectators.

Officials at Dinner

Taiko drummers at Izu

Japan Cycle Sports Center at Izu

The Tour of Japan was fun!

Kurt wearing a farmer's hat on Mt Fuji

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

However, in the process, I found the table of characters that they were using to generate the upside down characters, and this is really kind of interesting. Anyone with rudimentary programming skills should be able to implement this, or you could just type the characters in by hand if you prefer.

function flip() {
	var result = flipString(document.f.original.value);
	document.f.flipped.value = result;
}

function flipString(aString) {
	aString = aString.toLowerCase();
	var last = aString.length - 1;
	var result = "";
	for (var i = last; i >= 0; --i) {
		result += flipChar(aString.charAt(i))
	}
	return result;
}

function flipChar(c) {
	if (c == 'a') {
		return '\u0250'
	}
	else if (c == 'b') {
		return 'q'
	}
	else if (c == 'c') {
		return '\u0254'
	}
	else if (c == 'd') {
		return 'p'
	}
	else if (c == 'e') {
		return '\u01DD'
	}
	else if (c == 'f') {
		return '\u025F'
	}
	else if (c == 'g') {
		return 'b'
	}
	else if (c == 'h') {
		return '\u0265'
	}
	else if (c == 'i') {
		return '\u0131'//'\u0131\u0323'
	}
	else if (c == 'j') {
		return 'ɾ'
	}
	else if (c == 'k') {
		return '\u029E'
	}
	else if (c == 'l') {
		return '\u05DF'
	}
	else if (c == 'm') {
		return '\u026F'
	}
	else if (c == 'n') {
		return 'u'
	}
	else if (c == 'o') {
		return 'o'
	}
	else if (c == 'p') {
		return 'd'
	}
	else if (c == 'q') {
		return 'b'
	}
	else if (c == 'r') {
		return '\u0279'
	}
	else if (c == 's') {
		return 's'
	}
	else if (c == 't') {
		return '\u0287'
	}
	else if (c == 'u') {
		return 'n'
	}
	else if (c == 'v') {
		return '\u028C'
	}
	else if (c == 'w') {
		return '\u028D'
	}
	else if (c == 'x') {
		return 'x'
	}
	else if (c == 'y') {
		return '\u028E'
	}
	else if (c == 'z') {
		return 'z'
	}
	else if (c == '[') {
		return ']'
	}
	else if (c == ']') {
		return '['
	}
	else if (c == '(') {
		return ')'
	}
	else if (c == ')') {
		return '('
	}
	else if (c == '{') {
		return '}'
	}
	else if (c == '}') {
		return '{'
	}
	else if (c == '?') {
		return '\u00BF'
	}
	else if (c == '\u00BF') {
		return '?'
	}
	else if (c == '!') {
		return '\u00A1'
	}
	else if (c == "\'") {
		return ','
	}
	else if (c == ',') {
		return "\'"
	}
	return c;
}

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.

In the Japanese martial arts tradition, students of each of the various schools typically hold a special training session called “kangeiko” (寒稽古 in Japanese), which means “mid-winter training.”

No one is certain of the exact origin of the kangeiko, but the tradition appears to have started in the middle of the Edo period, sometime in the Hōreki era (1751~1764), as a way to improve the general health of the adherents to each particular martial arts school.

Though particular to Japanese arts, the tradition of kangeiko has spread worldwide with the global popularity in the martial arts, and now kangeiko training can be found everywhere, from Tokyo to Paris to Chicago to Sydney. Because it’s cold almost everywhere in Japan after the turn of the year, stories of people training in pretty cold conditions are commonplace. Kangeiko is more than just a training session: it’s an opportunity for reflection, for starting afresh in the new year and for bonding with others, all in a setting steeped in tradition.

Shodokan aikido honbu in Osaka follows the same pattern, and is presently holding its 2010 kangeiko training session in the Showacho district of Osaka in the headquarters dojo each morning this week (2010-01-18~23), Monday through Saturday, from 6:30~7:30, plus one summation session on Sunday in the afternoon.

On Monday and Tuesday, Tetsuro Nariyama, shihan of Shodokan Aikido, discussed the tekubi waza (wrist techniques) focusing on kote hineri (wrist folding) techniques and applications on Monday morning and kote gaeshi (supinating wrist lock) techniques and applications on Tuesday morning.

To be honest, no matter how many times I try them, I find the kote gaeshi techniques and applications to be difficult to perform, even with minimal competency. But, I guess if I could do it all well, there’d be little need for training! I’m looking forward to tomorrow’s lesson!

Before 2009 came to its sudden halt, I went along with a group of aikidoka and friends to hike Nijouzan (Mt. Nijo), which is situated in Nara prefecture overlooking Osaka to its northwest and Nara city to its northeast.

Our sojourn started by assembling at 8:30 AM at the Kintetsu Abenobashi station, and from there we set out to a small train station not far from our starting point, which is where we met up with friends of Nanami who joined us for the rest of the journey. I should note that I also brought along Zack Kaplan, a foreign exchange student from the United States who studies at Ritsumeikan University in Kyoto. I know from playing Go in the United States and am fortunate enough that his studies bring him close to Osaka for a year!

Rob Hori was a little delayed getting to the rally point in Osaka, so we linked up with him shortly after we arrived in Nara prefecture, just before we went to visit Harubi Temple, which is also where our hiking trek up the mountain began. We departed the temple at 10, just on schedule — and there, slowly but surely, began the ascent!

By noon, I think everyone was huffing and puffing enough from the climb, so we stopped for lunch, and were treated to a fantastic view of Nara to the northeast.  From our lunch stop, we continued to the summit (517 metres in altitude), then descended a bit and reascended to the public park (474 metres) at which a monument to the historic ruins once found on the site was erected.  It’s a beautiful sun-dial, the points of which represent both the cardinal directions and the signs of the Chinese zodiac.  I am a bit partial to the rabbit, since it’s my Chinese zodiac sign.

Although the hard part of our trek was done, we still needed to descend to the base of the other side of the mountain, and it was pretty steep in parts.  However, we were able to take a moment to see the remains of an ancient temple carved into the side of a stone face.  Next to the main religious monument was a carved-out grotto, which Nanami took to be her own for a little while.

At the end, we all got a nice reward, because we were all able to go to the Taishi Onsen and soak our weary bodies for a couple of hours before heading back to Osaka. It was a most excellent way to spend the day!

Sensei tied my belt, but jeez did he ever tie the knot tight! I can hardly budge it.

Finally. After a year on the sidelines, I’ve finally returned to aikido!

This morning, I decided to go to the afternoon 2 pm aikido session at Shodokan honbu, hoping for a small class size. Almost a year ago to the day, I broke a finger (the proximal phalanx of the left pinky, to be precise) during a routine warm-up exercise.  At doctor’s orders, I laid off any exercise that might aggravate the injury — and fingers take a long time to heal.  But then, weeks turned to months, and eventually months turned into just short of a year.

Now, roughly a year later, I feel as if I have forgotten all of the aikido I ever knew. I even forgot how to properly tie my belt! I’m pretty rusty on the warm-up routine, too, even though it’s perhaps the most standard part of each training session.

Restarting sport is always harder than keeping going: that part I remember.  Now, carrying quite some more weight than at this time last year, I feel as if I have the grace of a brick and the flexibility of a piece of rotted wood.  But, no matter; if I stick with it, it’ll get better. And the people are very much fun — that part I had somehow forgotten!

Art credit: chigu2nahito

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.