A friend of mine has recently pointed out that I have failed to do the traditional welcome to country in my blog. Therefore I wish now to pay my respects to the traditional owners of the Rosewood district in which I was raised – the Armstrong and the Harding families.  

These pioneers moved here from Devon around 1840. They were primarily responsible for turning the Rosewood Scrub, as it was then called (a useless tangle of a wide range of plants) into productive farmland. Instead of dense bush and native wildlife, under their stewardship it became just 3 species to manage- lucern, pigs, and dairy cattle. (There had been some other peoples there earlier, who it seems, had been steadfastly ignoring the notion of terra nullis for 30,000 years and paid not a penny to the Crown!)

In this part of the world it was the Austrians not the Australians  who owned quite a stretch of Central Europe until they proved themselves to be quite defatigable (I love words where the opposite with a prefix or suffix are the most commonly used. Many of my friends are quite ruth and defatigable) . From Napoleon onwards they managed to be on the losing side of a number of wars including both world wars, and each time having the real estate savagely trimmed. Although things have been quite stable since the 1950’s if Austria gets in another stoush with anyone, even little Slovenia, I suspect there wouldn’t be anything left of the of the country outside, perhaps, Vienna.

Enough of the history lesson. – I’d best let you go Farquar.   It’s -5 ° outside. Time to don the woolies and go exploring.

Ps 

Our German friends have arrived, so i suspect we may be kept just a little busy!

One of the enduring joys of travel is seeing English being taken to places she has never been.

   
Drastic indeed

  Floppy indeed

   
I couldn’t resist the ENGLISH MILK TEA BREND.  It really was a well made cuppa! 

  It was actually a shoe shop.

  
Don’t know how the name will go with Aussie lads. However sex sells the world over – there is no sign of a car in any of their ads.

 
Don’t ever kick burning tyres.

Just a bit sad really in a country with such a rich cultural heritage.

    
‘The Big Issue’ is the same in Japan

 
The Fruit Tables and Vegetables at both of the highest quality.

   
No idea what this means

 
Nat and Mitch are living proof of this philosophy.

  
And the message is ‘ Sorry, you can only get white bread in Japan’

This morning I went to Tsukiji, the main fish market in Tokyo. It is to be moved onto a reclaimed island later this year and totally modernised, so I am glad that I saw it before the move. On the way to the market was a small shrine I knew about – it contains the ashes of 50 to 60 thousand people.

On the night of 9th March 1945 General Curtis LeMay, sent a fleet 339 of B29s to firebomb Tokyo. The first few planes started bombing from the fish market and went West. The next flight bombed from North to South. Everybody else just aimed at the burning cross. This was the first trial run for napalm and for cluster bombs. It was incredibly successful –the deadliest bombing raid in history.. Somewhere between 125,000 and 200,000 people died, a million were made homeless and more than 50% of Tokyo’s industry was totally destroyed. The raid was so successful they decided to leave a few towns unscathed so that the effects of a new weapon that was in development could be more easily measured. Hiroshima was on this particular list.

The fish market you ask? When I die if I find the Tsukiji fish market on one side and the Mercato Centrale on my other, I will know I’m in heaven. (If I find someone doing a stir fry like Myrl, and Rosewood’s Johnny Cassimatis deep frying my fish, I will know haven’t made it to the Pearly Gates). I did have sushi without standing in line for hours, I did see the tuna, but really I was happy to just, wander, and see, and hear and smell.

I can’t help but wonder what Ted would have made of it all?

We have visited two schools in the last two days. A number of things strike me immediately when comparing our two systems.

The Japanese school day for teachers goes from 8:30 to 7:30, although most stay longer. In addition they work Saturdays ‘til 1:30. All sporting teams and clubs come in on a Sunday, and almost every teacher has a sporting them or a club. As a reward they get two weeks holiday in the long break, and 4 days in the two shorter breaks. Like Australian teachers, they work shorter official hours and have more holidays than those working in business. The teacher who was our guide at the government school picks up his daughter from child care at 7:30 drops her home – then goes back to work. Slacker. No wonder the birth rate in Japan has plummeted.

The lessons are all chalk and talk. Nobody dares rearrange desks from the straight rows. The students are not allowed to ask questions, they simply write notes or fall asleep. The English class is small – 35, most classes have around 40 in the state system. They have very few problems with difficult behaviours – everyone’s too tired I guess.

The school we visited today greeted us with a tea ceremony – very special. I may have made just a few tea ceremony faux pas. Although Linda was the guest of honour, I managed to sit in the place she was meant to sit. If I tried to kneel as the Japanese kneel someone in the room would have been hit by an exploding patella, so I was actually doing them a favour by flopping on my bum.. And how was I to know the rule about talking? They were polite enough to nod when I said that I had mistakenly thought it was the ’74 Gatton Tea Ceremony, rather than the 16th Century Kyoto form.

The girls who did the ceremony do this as sport on a Saturday. It is like a ballet, every movement precise and purposeful – designed to make the guest calm. To be truthful it is actually quite dissimilar to the Gatton Tea Ceremony in many ways. Some things just don’t travel, and perhaps tea ceremonies are one.

My love affair with Japanese food is beginning to wane as the desire for a huge piece of rump with mashed potatoes becomes ascendant. Tomorrow is another day of solo wandering for both of us – the fish market for me and perhaps fabric shops for Linda. That statement in itself is a testament to how safe this city feels, how diverse and interesting it is, and how easy it is to get around.  

I might even buy a tea set to start my own tea ceremony when I get back. How are you at kneeling before your Pappa-San and Mumma-San my children?

 Farley of the Sencha Ceremony

We had a frustrating evening trying unsuccessfully to light the cooktop to cook a stir fry, and ended up having edamame beans and sparkling wine for dinner. Our morning was even more concerning – just freezing cold water. Now I’m no expert in the Japanese written language, but I reckon the red tag on the gas meter for our apartment might just say, ‘We have just cut off your gas until you pay your bill Mr Timo-san, Yours faithfully, Tokyo Gas.’ The owner has promised us warm showers by tomorrow evening.

Despite the cold showers, I am in love with Japan. Tokyo is by far the cleanest, most polite and quietest big city I have ever visited.  The food we have eaten is ridiculously cheap and fantastic quality. You can pay $4000 per kg for some steaks, even more for choice tuna, but most food is very cheap Everything is BEAUTIFULLY presented if possible. The. Japanese themselves have immaculate manners, however this has caused me some concern.

As you know, I love Italy. The streets are mayhem, drivers sound their horn every time they change gears. They yell at each other and shake fists. Parking lines are suggestions, If your car ends up on a footpath, so be it. Arguments and insults are all part of being Italian

The people themselves will push forward to get the best tomatoes, the next ticket or the last bottle of wine. They party on the streets, talk louder and louder and leave crap everywhere when they finally go home.

Japan is order. They would NEVER insult anybody in public, however when insulted they are willing to wait 50 years for the outbreak of hostilities before putting you , your family, and all your descendents to the sword. There are no bins, because the people never eat on the street. They take their rubbish home, or recycle it. They stick left on escalators, and enjoy standing in a queue – the wait sweetens the treat. Cleanliness and order is everything.

I have always suspected that either Ted or Myrl were Italian, probably Myrl. I can see myself living like a pig in Florentine mud, the sheer pleasure of it all. But this holiday I have become concerned about the woman I love. Her need for cleanliness and order, her patience, her immaculate manners. She sticks left on escalators. And she always cleans up after herself.

I am sorry to have to break this news to my own two children via a blog post, but Natalie, Mitchell, I suspect your mother is part Japanese. There can be no other logical conclusion.

Japanese toilets are electronic, and have lots of buttons. You should never press them randomly and all at once just to see what happens. Especially if you can’t read Japanese.

I’ve learned my lesson, so there is no need to discuss it further.

The Imperial Palace

  
Today Linda had to go by herself to meet agents who specialise in foreign exchange students. Sadly that left me to explore the food and sights of Tokyo alone, which I forced myself to do because of my commitment to my reading public. This week the Imperial Palace is open to the public, so I went there to see how the Emperor lives.

I know little about Japanese history, but one period fascinates me. Today I saw the building where, on August 15 a recording of a speech by Emperor Hirohito was broadcast by radio announcing the unconditional surrender of the Japanese to end WW2.  

The broadcast was the first time most Japanese had heard the Emperors voice. It is estimated that fewer than 300 people outside the family had ever heard him speak – most Japanese viewed their Emperor as a living deity. Historians think that his family, his personal staff and the Japanese Cabinet were his total lifetime audience until that point. As if the shock of surrender was not enough, Hirohito had a squeaky, effeminate voice. Not exactly what you’d be expecting from a mighty living god who lords over the Samurai classes.

The Americans then did something wise as conquerors. General Douglas MacArthur moved into the imperial Palace and they didn’t execute anyone from the royal family as war criminals. MacArthur became the new Emperor, baseball became the new sport and hamburgers were on the menu. Unlike the Russians or the Germans the Americans were benign rulers. They neither raped nor pillaged as a general rule – today I saw an exhibition of priceless paintings from the Meiji period that remained in Japan rather than heading for the USA. Douglas MacArthur stayed as Japan’s major deity until Hello Kitty arrived and displaced him. (There is not a corn cob pipe to be seen anywhere now – but Hello Kitty shit is everywhere)

I loved today’s wanderings. My spoken Japanese has not improved (In fact the only phrase I know – “Where is the toilet?” proved quite useless, as the Japanese policeman was born in Coffs Harbour and lived in Australia until his parents went back to Japan when he was aged ten. Plus he didn’t know where the toilets were!) There is something incredibly peaceful about the setting I visited, again aesthetics take precedence over other considerations.  Plus I am a little more knowledgable about Japanese history and culture. In fact I might even buy a Hello Kitty t-shirt as a souvenir.