Who knew? I thought we were going to visit their daughter but that was way off, as my interpretation of what is said usually is. We drove to a small town called Mori, which was very much like an American small town. [The US Army Corps of Engineers were enlisted by the Japanese government to carve settlements out of Hokkaido wilderness in the late 1800s...just a thought...] On the way, we stopped and ate ramen. Yum!
We stopped at Murayama Clock Store and went into the house attached to it. These Murayamas were more relatives of host dad. There was another old woman, 2 slightly less old women, and one man. All except the old woman were about host mom's age. (Murayama is the name of my host family.) They seemed more excited about me than the skanky ones we visited last night. One of the women was annoying the crap out of my by poking me and grabbing me whenever she wanted my attention. Everyone except me and the really old one were wearing black dresses and suits. I was wearing a cheerfully bright yellow shirt and my usual light colored cargo pants. I was beginning to think something was up.
We all drove about a block to a Shinto temple which was really beautiful and peaceful. We walked through some winding corridors to a room in the back with a shrine and many shelves with boxes wrapped in brightly patterned fabrics. They gave me a stool and told me to sit. After a while, a priest came in wearing a burgundy kimono with green sash. They placed one of the boxes in the shrine and the priest lit a candle and some incense. They all sat on the floor and held a string of beads in their hands rather like a rosary. The priest began chanting in front of the shrine. For nearly an hour he'd chant and periodically hit a big black bowl with a stick. The bowl would resonate for a long time. It sounded something like this: Aaaaaaaaaa Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuu uuu uuu Ooooooooooooo oo oo oo BONG Uuuuuuuuuuuuu uu uu Oooooooooooo oo Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa BONG......... etc, etc. Somewhere in the middle, I noticed that it didn't sound like Japanese at all. It sounded like Chinese. Then it sounded like Japanese again.
During the show, people whispered and even left and came back. I got the feeling that not many people do this sort of thing anymore and the ones that still do don't really want to.
After he finished singing, the priest told a very long story about Okinawa and America. I don't really know what it was about. He seemed very nice.
When that was done, they opened the box and that was when I realized just what the hell we'd been doing. There were ashes and bits of bones inside! We'd been at what I assume was a funeral or "sending" of some kind. After some difficulty, the priest opened a trap door in the floor of the shrine and they poured the box's contents into the hole. It was a bin full of dead people's ashes. They were taking turns pushing the ashes down a chute with a piece of wood and host dad wouldn't do it when it was his turn. I think host mom said it was their first time doing this as well as mine. The other family members didn't seem to have any problem playing in the ashes and I certainly wouldn't have. I didn't think it was appropriate for me to do any of the stuff they did, as I had no idea how it worked and wasn't a family member.
There was a lot of incense burned and host dad didn't like it. The smoke was becoming rather thick and making it hard to breathe. I think it was bothering his eyes.
Afterwards, we had tea and cookies with the priest and his wife and son, who also appeared to be a priest. There were many baby toys around, but I didn't see a baby. The priest's living quarters were attached to the temple and seemed very comfortable and nice. They contrasted sharply with their surroundings, as the temple and its parts were traditional and rather dark and cold and their home was quite modern and clean and bright.
We left and went back to the clock people's house. They exchanged gifts and we came home. On the way, we stopped at some kind of factory which made many different horrible food products from something called "kombu". I still don't know what kombu is, but never drink hot kombu tea. It's like drinking hot sea water and it's yellow. At this store-thing, there is a small factory behind glass where they give daily demonstrations of how they make their various crap. We'd just missed the last one of the day. [It's a "health" drink made by fermenting ordinary black tea and white sugar with a naturally occurring colony of yeasts and bacteria. A google search for "kombucha" will tell you more.]
Then we came home and my host parents presented me with one of the gifts they'd gotten from the other Murayamas. It was a large blue scarf for wrapping boxy things. Japanese people often wrap things like gifts in large squares of fabric. If this one hadn't come with instructions, I'd never have known what it was. I'd have thought it something to wear.
Now I'm doing homework. Bleh. Today was pretty good for a Sunday. Weekends are usually pretty bad. 3 more to go.
Wow, what a surprisingly good day. Someone gave us steak today so we had it for dinner. It wasn't very good because steak sucks in general. Fortunately, there was that yummy pork and potato stuff left over from yesterday and other stuff to eat. Hiroshi went to his room early because he'd been away all weekend and was tired. I always sit at the table after everyone's finished so I can talk to them. "Them" is usually Hiroshi and host mom because host dad always heads for the tv asap after eating. It was just me and host mom this time. Communication seems to be getting easier as we learn more about each other. I learned that before I came, she never cooked meat before. I also learned that they knew hardly anything about America before my arrival. This surprised me because I thought that people all over the world knew about American culture. It all started when I asked what the black things in the water carraffe were. They keep a tall narrow pitcher of water in the refrigerator and it has black "things" in it. Yesterday at the Wal-Mart-y store, she was looking at a display of them deciding which to buy. I discovered from the packaging that they were pieces of charred bamboo and they sound like pottery when they bump against one another. Well tonight I asked her what they were for. She got really excited and talked a lot about plain tap water, bottled water, filtered water, and bamboo water. She even showed me an "alkalyzer" which she didn't use because she didn't know how. It was new in the box. It had 5 different settings, 3 for low, med and high, 1 for cooking, and 1 for taking medicine. So the bamboo things turn plain water into "mineral water". According to her, Japanese people are very particular about the kinds of water they use and where. For instance, for bathing, they use different water from cooking, which is different from drinking. Of course, I didn't completely understand her explanation, but I did get that much out of it. She was proud that Japanese people could make cheap mineral water when most people buy it in bottles. I can't really tell the difference. It doesn't taste like bottled water. It tastes like tap water. I didn't tell her that. But I did say that to us (Americans) water is water. She thought that was funny.
She showed me stuff she grew in her little garden and talked about not having enough time to do stuff she likes. I mentioned that I'd noticed that there aren't a lot of non-perishables or instant-gratification items at Japanese grocery stores, like frozen food or canned goods. She said it's because there are so many women at home cooking. I talked about how most American women work and aren't as willing as Japanese women to put forth the effort required to cook meals and clean up afterwards. I'm certainly not. She said that when she got married, she couldn't make anything and they had yakisoba almost every night. Then she learned how to do tempura and curry rice and one or two other things and they had nearly a week's worth of variety. There was an old woman living nearby, so she'd ask her how to make stuff. It certainly paid off. Her cooking is really good. I can't believe she never cooked meat before. The stuff she's been giving me sure is good. And.....
(Insert fanfare and drum roll here) She gave me a POCARI SWEAT kit!!!! It is just a pitcher and 5 packets of mix, but still!!! I'm so happy!! I looked in about 4 different stores and didn't find any and I'm GOING to take some more home if it's the last thing I do. She said depending on the store you go to, you may have to buy them individually, or you might can find a packet of 5.
So that was my weird day. After my conversation with host mom, I thought that I'd been a little selfish for not wanting to talk much and staying in my room and stuff. After all, they have me because they want to learn about me and my country. I knew all this before, but speaking is so difficult. I can't express what I want to say and always say things wrong. It seems as though I have nothing to say, but in fact, I do. How to say it is quite another matter indeed. Anyway, I decided that when I got back to the states that I would send them photos of my family (since I didn't bring any) and maybe a small gift. If I bought them something here, in their own country, would that be special? I'm not sure, but I want to say it wouldn't.