Let me tell you why I suck as a person.
My brother Chris is on his way to Japan. He will arrive at Osaka Itami International Airport at 8:15 PM on Saturday – in 18 hours. I won’t be there to pick him up, because I accidentally promised a couple of students I would have drinks with them. I am actually unable to cancel those plans.
“Greg, are you serious?”
Arashiyama, Kyoto
“The weather is so great!”
“Are you trolling us right now?”
“The foliage is so beautiful!”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Pumpkin flavored beer! Football! The leaves!”
“You say you’re from Boston…”
I’ve heard enough. I’ve been called crazy, tasteless, stupid, depressed, and I’ve been questioned on my authenticity as a New Englander. I get it, I have few allies on this one. But though I am an island, I know it is the promised land. You’re all wrong on this.
I hate Fall, and you all should too.
I apologize to my millions of faithful readers. My site is undergoing some ongoing (and sluggish) renovation and thus I’ve been unable to update it. But there’s no shortage of interesting experiences to report. Last weekend I took an overnight bus to the stunning city of Nagasaki.
Known for centuries as Japan’s Catholic refuge, to this day Nagasaki is sprawling with seaside churches, set against lush mountainous backdrops that look more like South America than the Orient.
Long reigns the Gion Matsuri (literally Gion Festival), a celebration in Kyoto, Japan since 869 A.D. That’s no typo – this tradition has been celebrated annually for 1200 years. Originally founded as a sacred ritual to pray away famine, death, disease and disaster, Japan’s oldest and greatest celebration has morphed from one oppressed religion to another. Today it is a kind of open party, complete with a parade, huge floats, public drinking, carnival games, and food stalls, across the entire city. It is the pride of this archipelago nation, a celebration fit to rival Chinese New Year, or Mardi Gras in New Orleans. Keyword: fit.
Hoko Shrine: The Gion Matsuri, on a side street.
Some of the ancient festival’s parade floats, parked throughout the Gion district in the days before the festival, tower 100 feet above the street. A few even have a dozen men on board, participating in ancient, graceful and mysterious rituals of singing and drum-tapping. The lore of these rituals continues to this day.
Streets in Osaka.
Japanese friends are hard to make. Since coming to this transilient country I have befriended quite a few Americans and some British and Irish people. That’s mostly it. In such a dense and developed nation, far fewer speak English than possibly anywhere I’ve ever been.
The culture is also hard to penetrate: most Japanese are shy, indirect, and not very socially brave. Americans are therefore seen as intimidatingly cool. Moreover, Japan suppresses individualism and glorifies conformity. They even have a saying to this effect: The nail that sticks up gets hammered down.
Then there are those great exceptions on which ride the waves of history.