More Hakone Open-Air Museum

In the middle of the park there's a stained glass tower decorated with flat shiny sculptures. This one reminded me of something. I think Whitney Strieber might have used it for the cover of his alien abduction book. And I just spent fifteen minutes researching that, time that would have been better spent finishing my Christmas projects.

The most eye-catching statue

Before cell phones, we held shells to our ears

Hard to get a good shot of The Hand of God

Lots of Henry Moore scuptures

This was my favorite sculpture

This is the other side of my favorite sculpture

The Hakone Open-Air Museum: Public Art Tickles My Fancy

A cable car was a welcome relief after we dangled from a steel cable all the way up the mountain and halfway down the back side. The colorful maple leaves were a bonus, a feast for the eyes, and I was not about to complain that we were about a week too late to see them in their full splendor.

The cable car line ends where the Hakone Tozan Train begins so we hopped aboard and rode it to the next station which is just a hop, skip, and a jump from the Hakone Open-Air Museum, definitely one of Japan's best kept secrets.

Now I'll shut up and show you some of the wonderful statues we saw while strolling around the vast park setting.

Yes, the "hair" is living plants.

Inside, I learned a LOT about Picasso.

We had fun watching the 12-and-under crowd exploring this two-story high maze. It's a lot like the mazes at McDonald's playgrounds but bigger and cleaner. And I know what I'm talking about because I spent one of the worst quarter hours of my life chasing a four-year old through a McDonald's maze back in the day.

More statues tomorrow while I try to get a grip on the pictures I took at Matsuzaki's house today.

An Art Deco Fairy Tale: The Teien Museum nee Asaka Family Residence

Once upon a time, in 1910 in other words, there was a prince named Yasuhiko Asaka who married the eighth daughter of Emperor Meiji. Her name was Princess Nobuko. The emperor granted them 33,000 square meters of imperial land in Shirokanedai in 1921. Not the most timely of wedding gifts, but nevertheless surely much appreciated.

The prince went off to France to study military affairs in 1922 and was forced to extend his stay when he was involved in a car accident the following spring. His devoted wife rushed to Paris to nurse him back to health. It was a long convalescence that just happened to coincide with the golden age of art deco in France. The prince felt well enough to attend the Art Deco Exposition in Paris on July 9, 1925 with Princess Nobuko at his side. Alas, his boss must have seen their picture in the newspaper as they were called back to Japan before the end of the year.

They decided to build a house incorporating the best of the art deco styles on their land in Shirokanedai.  The house was completed in 1933.  Sadly, Princess Nobuko passed away that November but the house continued to serve as the Asaka Family residence until the end of World War II.  Prince Yasuhiko renounced his membership in the imperial family when the new constitution was adopted.  (This was the constitution that cut married princesses out of the imperial family.  Most people call it a constitution, but I think of it as "MacArthur's Misogyny".  One wonders if this was his response to being spurned by a princess or two.)

Ishii-san at Asaka Residence

Once the Asaka Family vacated the premises, the house was put to various uses. Sometimes it was the official residence of the prime minister or foreign minister, and it was once used as the state guesthouse. Half of a century after its completion, on October 1, 1983, it became the Teien (Garden) Museum. The museum's concept proposed a new form of art appreciation, where art and the space in which the art is displayed complement each other.

Ishii-san and I skipped the exhibit -- Glasses Admired by the Russian Tsars -- and toured the garden instead but I hope to return for the Art Deco exhibit this October.  

The garden itself is no great shakes by Japanese garden standards but the vast lawn is sprinkled with a half dozen or more interesting and whimsical sculptures.

I did not see a single lotus plant.  That was something of a relief.

Chairs are scattered around the vast lawn behind the house.

Ishii-san is always such a good sport!

A lovely Japanese-style garden takes up about a third of the space

Cafe Kanetanaka at the entrance to the museum grounds serves small portion lunches, priced accordingly, meaning you can easily rationalize ordering dessert from both quantity and cost perspectives. I, of course, can easily rationalize ordering dessert from any perspective.

Tokyo National Museum: Why Did I Wait So Long?

The Yokosuka Officer Spouse Club organized a trip to Tokyo National Museum in Ueno Park the other day. There were eight or nine of us and we split up once we entered the museum so I did not have to feel guilty about lollygagging in some galleries and breezing through others.

Ancient artifacts never fail to arrest me.  How is it that thousands of years before Christ walked on earth people in South America, Egypt, China, and Japan fashioned tools and shaped statues and developed burial rituals that resemble each other so much?  Dr. T has noticed the similarities as well and that makes me feel more confident about my observations.

My pace quickens once I enter the main building (there are four or five buildings in total).  The swords and samurai armor and pottery look an awful lot like the swords, samurai armor, and pottery the Ancient Mariner, College Boy, and I have seen in museums throughout Japan.  Then I turn a corner and enter the Kuroda Gallery.

Kuroda Seiki is the pseudonym adopted by Kuroda Kiyoteru, a Japanese artist who trained in France in the late nineteenth century.  Kuroda went to France to study law when he was 20 but decided to be a painter instead.  When he returned to Japan ten years later, he brought Western techniques with him and shocked the Japanese art world with his penchant for nude models.   

"A Maiko Girl" 1893

Kuroda had lived one-third of his life outside Japan by the time he began painting Japanese subjects. The critics said Kuroda seemed to be looking at his countrymen through the eyes of a foreigner. Maybe that's why his art appeals to me.

Other than "A Maiko Girl", the gallery walls are lined with studies for "Talk on Ancient Romance". As I study his sketches of a young girl in a kimono leaning on a man's shoulder, I notice she is wearing an elaborate kimono in one picture and a much plainer kimono in the next. This is like looking at pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. I can hardly wait to reach the end of the gallery where I expect to see how all these pieces came together in what must be an enormous masterpiece. But I force myself to inch along and I learn a few things about composition in the process.

"Talk on Ancient Romance" was commissioned by the Sumitomo family and completed in 1896. The Sumitomo family is to Japan what the Rockefeller, Carnegie, and Astor families were to the United States in the late nineteenth century. They were, and still are, industrialists and bankers.

When I eventually reach the end of the gallery I learn that "Talk on Ancient Romance" did not survive World War II. The Sumitomo villa in which it was displayed was bombed. The ensuing fire destroyed the villa's contents.

War is so devastating. How long will it take us to figure this out?

The Peko-chan Museum: Need I Say More?

Shinagawa-san flagged me down as I was leaving a recent JAW function. "Do you know Ginza?" I nodded. "There is a Peko-chan Museum for her 60th anniversary. But it will close in two more weeks so you must hurry!"  That evening the address of the museum arrived in my in-box. 

And that is how it came to pass that the Ancient Mariner and I set off for Tokyo on a balmy autumn Saturday.

"Maybe I should have thought to bring the address of the museum," one of us inadvertently blurted out just after nodding pleasantly to the security guard at the Navy base exit.

"What? You didn't bring the address?!? You know I hate to wander aimlessly!"

"Yes, but we won't be 'wandering aimlessly'. We have a goal. The Peko-chan Museum is our goal.  Therefore, the word 'aimlessly' does not apply in this case."

By the time we reached Tokyo he had sweetened up and was speaking to me again. We made a beeline to the Fujiya Ginza Shop where I hoped to obtain directions to the museum. But I was reluctant to approach a salesclerk empty-handed and, gosh, the shelves were overflowing with all sorts of Peko-chan 60th Anniversary products. "Merry Christmas! Go for it," directed Santa Claus.

The museum was only three blocks from the shop. The salesclerk handed us a map along with an enormous bag filled with about fifty pounds of Peko-chan 60th Anniversary products. Santa sighed with relief when he got his hands on that map.

(I did not say, "I told you the word 'aimlessly' does not apply in this case." Some things just go without saying, especially when someone is lugging about fifty pounds of stuff you hope will appear under the tree tagged with your name come Christmas morning.)

The museum was free and the line was short when we arrived. An elevator whisked us to the gallery on the eighth floor and then we walked down to the children's play area on the seventh floor and, finally, the gift shop on the sixth floor.

Peko-chan had enormous ears and a papier-mache head when she was born in 1950.  That was our first surprise.


The 2010 Peko-chan (right) is the result of a team effort between Fujiya, the Takashimaya department store, and a school for budding fashion designers.

Peko and Poko resemble the Campbell Soup Kids in this picture (above) but it was the newspaper hat that caught my eye. Thanks to Curious George, my children and I spent a lot of time folding newspapers into hats in the late 1980s.

"Apparently you don't own the world's largest collection of Peko-chan stuff after all," remarked Santa as he deftly shifted the 50-pound bag to his left hand and his 35-pound camera to his right.

"Well, I definitely don't have one of those nifty jewelry boxes. We're going to have to hit a lot more shrine sales, Santa."

"And office products!" she squealed greedily.

"Do Japanese DVDs work in American DVD players?"

"Check out Sporty Kathy and Sport Deuce - um, I mean Peko and Poko."

"This little book makes me see red!"

"I see red, too. That's the background color, honey." Eye roll.

"Not just that. To think we were exporting Popeye and Olive Oyl to the delight of Japanese children in the late 1950s but not importing Peko-chan during my formative years irks me."

"Look on the bright side (for once). Now you will finally sign up for the University of Maryland Japanese class just so you can read this book."

"If I can get my hands on one of these ties, would you wear it?"

"Have I mentioned my interest in philately lately?"

"Mon Dieu!  There was a French Peko!  What a wuss.  I want to pull her hair."

We exited the gallery after taking about a hundred more pictures and shaking the hand of the talking Peko-chan.

In the children's playroom we spotted a Peko-chan made from Post-It Notes.

We added our sentiments above her right (your left) ear.

Santa reprised his "Merry Christmas! Go for it!" routine in the gift shop. He's really a jolly good fellow when he has a map in his pocket.

The Edo-Tokyo Museum

Our budding urban planner suggested we visit the Edo-Tokyo Museum and spend a morning gazing at dioramas, scale models, cutaway rooms, and hundreds of artifacts collected since the city of Edo (now Tokyo) was first conceived by Tokugawa Ieyasu 450 years ago.  What a great idea!

The museum is housed in a building modeled after ancient Japanese elevated grain storage houses.  I know this because I splurged on the English version of the museum guide just before we exited the museum four hours later.

Sashimono Woodworker

From the ticket booth on the third floor plaza, a vast open space, we rode an escalator directly to the permanent exhibition area on the sixth floor.  The exhibits continue on the fifth floor and the other floors are devoted to storage, restaurants, a gift shop, and library.

Kate lugs water from the river in the Edo era

Matt zips around Tokyo during the Meiji Era

The scale models alone are worth a return trip, but I'm going to spend some time studying that guide first.

Exploring Sumida City: Kate's Last Day in Japan

Most, and maybe all, train stations here have lockers of various sizes and corresponding prices where you can stash stuff you don't want to carry around all day. We gained at least an hour of exploring time Wednesday by stowing Kate's big suitcase in Akihabara rather than backpedaling to the hotel on the way to the airport.

Our destination, Ryogoku, is across the Sumida River, a quick two stops from Akihabara. Which station exit is nearest the Edo-Tokyo Museum? The lobby map tells us the museum is just beyond the National Sumo Stadium (Ryogoku Kokugikan).

We spot this statue (left) just outside the station's east exit. The trail is getting warmer. We see the museum off to our right.

It takes only a minute or two to walk to the museum which, as it turns out, is closed for the New Year's holiday, Dec 30 - Jan 1. It was open yesterday but not today. We feel stupid for not remembering that all museums in Japan close during the holiday period. Then we get over our disappointment by reminding ourselves where we are: Tokyo, where interesting sights and experiences lurk just around most every corner. We simply have to choose a direction and start walking.

We see a three-story pagoda over the treetops and gravitate toward it along a brick path. The path leads us to Yokoami-cho Koen. Koen is the Japanese word for park.

Tokyo -- I learned this three days later -- bought this land from the army in 1922. The city was working on turning it into a park when the Great Kanto Earthquake struck in 1923. The park's role as a memorial space was ordained when tens of thousands of disaster victims were brought here.

We drift toward a monument designed by Kimio Tsuchiya called "Dwelling of Remembrance." This memorial to the victims of the Tokyo air raids of 1942-45 is also a monument to the pursuit of peace. A list of the victims of the firebombings was placed inside the monument when it was dedicated in March 2001. The flowers symbolize life. It is a restful place (as Matt and Katie illustrate here).

Lucky for us, a nearby plaque includes an English translation. "This monument was erected so that the memory of these air raids and their victims will not fade but live on to remind succeeding generations that today's peace and prosperity was built on the sacrifice of many precious lives. It embodies the profound hope that this peace will be everlasting."

The sandstone building just beyond "Dwelling of Remembrance" is the Tokyo-to Irei-do (Hall of Repose), built in 1930 to commemorate the victims of 1923's earthquake. The Hall was destroyed during World War II and rebuilt in 1951, at which time the original purpose was expanded to include the air raid victims. Since Irei-do is closed today, we'll have to schedule another visit to Yokoami-cho Koen. What flowers do you suppose they plant in the spring? I can hardly wait to find out.

On the other side of the park we find a memorial dedicated to the children who died during the air raids. I think about my Japanese friends, especially Kyoko and Misa who were alive during World War II. I wonder if they have visited this park and stood where I am now standing. A profound feeling of sadness of the lives-not-lived variety washes over me and distracts me momentarily from dwelling on Katie's impending departure. Tick, tock, tick, tock.

With public art so abundant in Tokyo, I almost overlooked the lovely gates at the park's entrance. Perhaps it's just me, but gates like this seem to be whispering, "Frank Lloyd Wright was here." Anything is possible.

Since one of us tends to get a bit, well, peevish when forced to retrace her steps, we headed back to the station by a different route. More public art awaited us on the near side of the Edo-Tokyo Museum: a towering statue of a man, a priest or monk perhaps, who is gripping a riding crop or some sort of wand in his right fist and letting his left hand serve as a landing pad for a bird. The man is standing on a tall pedestal that's balanced on the back of an enormous tortoise (left).

Have we discovered a Buddhist version of St. Francis of Assisi? Further research is warranted.

Perhaps I have just written my own epitaph.

Ramen Cuisine: An Exegesis

A picture? A thousand words? A picture? A thousand words?

I'm going with the picture(s).

If you want to know what I mean by "ramen cuisine", click on the title of today's post. That should take you to the Ramen Museum website. Assuming I set this up correctly, you will be viewing a page in English. Scroll down to the bottom of the page to see pictures of nine different varieties of ramen.

The instant noodle was invented in 1958. Or did I tell you that already?

Honto Comical

Gundam is a Japanese anime (cartoon show) that premiered in 1979. This summer a life-size replica was erected on the Tokyo waterfront to celebrate Gundam's 30th anniversary. According to Matt, our resident expert on contemporary Japanese culture, the month long display was so successful plans are now in the works to replicate Gigantor.

Most of our American friends here have been underwhelmed with a giant robot that just stands there and belches smoke every half hour. We are easier to please. There wasn't an admission fee, the park was lined with booths hawking festival food (the Japanese equivalent of county fair food), and, since Matt wanted a rare photo of all three of us, Mike and I had the chance to see our kid bow politely and engage an older Japanese man in conversation. In Japanese no less. Their exchange distracted me from my mission to try a potatornado - a spiral-cut potato fried on a skewer and available with and without powdered sugar - so I'll be frequenting festivals until I track down that booth.

The company that created Gundam, Bandai Entertainment, is also responsible for Super Sentai, the concept behind Power Rangers. Matt and I, also known as Billy and Kimberly, both have fond memories of the Power Rangers. While "researching" this post, we learned that there is a Bandai Museum in Mibu, Tochigi, about three hours northwest of Yokosuka by train. This has all the earmarks of another great mother-son adventure.

But first things first. Our Unaccompanied Baggage shipment has reached Japan and will be delivered to our house next Monday. Just thinking about being reunited with my computer is making me giddy. Matt and Mike feel the same way about a guitar and bicycle.