Last weekend was a three-day holiday, so we decided to get away in our Will Cypha and put its new tires to the test. Tristy's parents-in-law run a minshuku B&B on the west coast of Japan's rugged Fukui province, less than 200 km away from us, so we decided to make a trip out there. Unfortunately, it turned out that the crab (and therefore tourist) season had just ended (the season for fishing crab off the local coast runs Nov-Feb) and the minshuku was closed for business, but by coincidence Tristy was planning to go up the same weekend and twisted her mother-in-law's arm to let us come, too.
YK was very excited. He'd never been to Fukui and was salivating at the thought of all the fresh seafood which would undoubtedly come his way.
He wasn't disappointed. Our hosts were incredibly generous, preparing a huge feast the night we arrived of sashimi (crab, buri, squid, sweet shrimp), mounds of large and small cooked crab (male and female), as well as grilled sole, pickled fish and fish roe. One of the chief families in Echizen Town, they all (from great-grandmother, to cousins, nephews and uncles) play some kind of role in the seafood industry. Some are fishermen, others are fish packers and processors, supplying sashimi and cooked seafood to their regulars, supermarkets and restaurants in the prefecture and even setting up shop across in Shandong, China, with a fish-processing unit that sends seafood back to consumers in Japan. The family business has been running thirty years or more and is clearly a way of life. As with so many successful family-run enterprises, however, the question of succession has arisen.
Tristy's parents-in-law have three children, the eldest of whom is Tristy's husband, but none seem interested in taking on the business. This question seems to weigh on the minds of the family elders in a fishing town where tradition is not taken lightly. There's even a rule which says that properties built on reclaimed land can only be owned by second sons (because first sons inherit).
Echizen Town is a working crab town, a narrow strip of densely-packed wood and brick houses, restaurants and ryokan sandwiched between the billowing ocean and the cedar-covered mountains, with the occasional concrete onsen and the Crab Museum, built for the tourists.
Echizen City, not too far away, is a conglomerate of small towns which came together to reinforce the Echizen brand, famous for yaki (pottery), washi (paper) and knives, as well as crab. The Washi no Sato-dori ('a promenade symbolizing Imadate-cho's traditional washi-making industry'), built relatively recently, features a typical-looking washi-maker's house where professionals still produce hand-made paper for sale and a 'Papyrus Kan' where children can have a go at making their own paper. In the fading light of a stormy day, it encapsulated all that is lovely about the Japanese aesthetic. Rain dripped from wooden eaves, gravel glistened, and the last washi-maker respectfully pulled the heavy, sliding wooden doors closed and hurried up the path with a nod, her apron flapping. Tristy is a tad cynical and would no doubt laugh and call me sentimental. She dismisses such stuff as tourist nonsense. But I liked it.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Saturday, March 13, 2010
How do I ignore my MIL?
By far the most interesting discussion this week on the 'Married in Japan' (Yahoo! group) postings has been on the subject of the Japanese MIL (mother-in-law). Started by a young mum who is being driven potty by her live-in in-laws, her rant has generated dozens of posts, offering sympathy, commiseration and advice from deep in the trenches.
It seems Japanese MILs share certain characteristics, chief among them being an unwillingness to accept non-Japanese ways of caring for baby and an obsession with gaijin hygiene, or lack thereof. More than one DIL mentioned how she'd been instructed by her MIL not to wash her underwear with the family's laundry, or had been relegated to being the last person in the house to use the o-furo bath water each night.
The bath struck a chord with me. Not that I live with MIL or have been asked to reuse the bath water of someone else. But I remember the first time I went for a bath with my MIL at the onsen, it scandalized my mother and sisters back in England. How could I possibly have appeared naked in front of my MIL??? I had taken a giant step beyond the pail of civilized behaviour, from which they have yet to recover. Of course I insisted that in Japan it was common as anything to bath with your relatives and that no-one stared at anyone else's bodies, but they didn't believe that. It did take something to overcome my ingrained shyness and expose myself like that, but it was either bite on the bullet or forego the pleasure of the onsen and I figured the sooner I got used to it, the better. Ironically it was the first and only time my MIL suggested we use the onsen together. So maybe she felt as uncomfortable as I did, after all?
Even in households where DIL and MIL get along, it seems things can turn quickly sour after the arrival of a baby. MIL wants to wrap baby in layers and layers in spite of the heat, MIL wants to use kimono-style onesies, MIL is suspicious that those boobs can produce enough good milk for baby. One post counselled patience in the face of extreme provocation. The correct response to unwelcome advice, downright criticism or blatant wrong-headedness was a calm and collected 'Wakarimashita. I understand.' If only I could have taken that sensible advice on board!
As far as me and MIL go, the score is 1-1. I made her cry once, and she made he bawl once. I made her cry when I blew up at her for doing my washing (am I wrong to believe I should have the right to wash my own undies?). She made me cry when I came back from a weekend trip to find she'd cut chibbi-chan some very short bangs. My child looked like someone else. I erupted into a major tantrum, making chibbi-chan cry too, and refused to eat dinner or have anything to do with my in-laws or YK (who had been present at the time of the calamity) that night.
After that debacle, I decided I would show more restraint. I would accept that I was now part of MIL's family and that meant that homeland security on certain boundaries would occasionally be breached. Likewise, I don't think MIL will attempt another hairdressing adventure in the near future. These days she buys chibbi-chan mountains of hair grips and bands to keep her hair from poking in her eyes as the bangs grow out. I know it bothers them, but I'm Mum!
It seems Japanese MILs share certain characteristics, chief among them being an unwillingness to accept non-Japanese ways of caring for baby and an obsession with gaijin hygiene, or lack thereof. More than one DIL mentioned how she'd been instructed by her MIL not to wash her underwear with the family's laundry, or had been relegated to being the last person in the house to use the o-furo bath water each night.
The bath struck a chord with me. Not that I live with MIL or have been asked to reuse the bath water of someone else. But I remember the first time I went for a bath with my MIL at the onsen, it scandalized my mother and sisters back in England. How could I possibly have appeared naked in front of my MIL??? I had taken a giant step beyond the pail of civilized behaviour, from which they have yet to recover. Of course I insisted that in Japan it was common as anything to bath with your relatives and that no-one stared at anyone else's bodies, but they didn't believe that. It did take something to overcome my ingrained shyness and expose myself like that, but it was either bite on the bullet or forego the pleasure of the onsen and I figured the sooner I got used to it, the better. Ironically it was the first and only time my MIL suggested we use the onsen together. So maybe she felt as uncomfortable as I did, after all?
Even in households where DIL and MIL get along, it seems things can turn quickly sour after the arrival of a baby. MIL wants to wrap baby in layers and layers in spite of the heat, MIL wants to use kimono-style onesies, MIL is suspicious that those boobs can produce enough good milk for baby. One post counselled patience in the face of extreme provocation. The correct response to unwelcome advice, downright criticism or blatant wrong-headedness was a calm and collected 'Wakarimashita. I understand.' If only I could have taken that sensible advice on board!
As far as me and MIL go, the score is 1-1. I made her cry once, and she made he bawl once. I made her cry when I blew up at her for doing my washing (am I wrong to believe I should have the right to wash my own undies?). She made me cry when I came back from a weekend trip to find she'd cut chibbi-chan some very short bangs. My child looked like someone else. I erupted into a major tantrum, making chibbi-chan cry too, and refused to eat dinner or have anything to do with my in-laws or YK (who had been present at the time of the calamity) that night.
After that debacle, I decided I would show more restraint. I would accept that I was now part of MIL's family and that meant that homeland security on certain boundaries would occasionally be breached. Likewise, I don't think MIL will attempt another hairdressing adventure in the near future. These days she buys chibbi-chan mountains of hair grips and bands to keep her hair from poking in her eyes as the bangs grow out. I know it bothers them, but I'm Mum!
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
I've found a guru!
'Tristy' (not her real name) has been in Japan since high school - an uninterrupted fifteen years plus - and considers herself more at home in Japan that Iowa, where she has few surviving relatives. She is a fluent Japanese speaker, has Japanese GPS and is on the PTA at her son's kindergarten.
It was Tristy who warned me to get my act together and find a kindergarten for chibbi-chan before it was too late, and that I should expect to have to hand-sew a smock and bento box bag to sufficiently demonstrate mother love. 'And make sure the food you put in the bento looks nice,' she said deliberately. 'Because if other moms happen to be around doing PTA activities and see a kid with a bad bento, they might not let their kids come to playdates with your kid, because obviously the mother doesn't care enough and the home might be dirty.'
Tristy is acting as my unofficial mentor, guide and all-round guru on Japan wifedom. It helps that we have a few things in common - we're both married to Japanese men (I found her through the Yahoo! groups 'Married in Japan'), we both have young children and we both care about organic food.
One rainy day, to take advantage of the 'rainy day' prices (10% discount), Tristy drove us to the Farmer's Market on the other side of town where we browsed meat, vegetables and fruit which were organic in all but labelling (nothing is in English - Tristy translated the hand-written Japanese).
She explained that here, 'organic' is like a patented brand which farmers have to pay to use, so many don't bother. We found free-range eggs, free-range growth-hormone-free pork and pesticide-free root vegetables, tomatoes, strawberries and tangerines all grown here.
Organic milk is still proving elusive. Tristy gets hers from a home-delivery company called Radish Boya each week, along with a selection of seasonal organic vegetables. The only problem is that sometimes she gets a whole bunch of something she doesn't recognize which turns out to be for a garnish. But they always include a recipe so you know how to cook it. In Japanese, of course.
For now, I think I'll keep looking. I want to check out what Tristy's borrowed Japanese guidebook notes is the 'largest organic supermarket in Japan.' Once again, Tristy is smoothing my way for me. She's just sold me her old Will Cypher.
It was Tristy who warned me to get my act together and find a kindergarten for chibbi-chan before it was too late, and that I should expect to have to hand-sew a smock and bento box bag to sufficiently demonstrate mother love. 'And make sure the food you put in the bento looks nice,' she said deliberately. 'Because if other moms happen to be around doing PTA activities and see a kid with a bad bento, they might not let their kids come to playdates with your kid, because obviously the mother doesn't care enough and the home might be dirty.'
Tristy is acting as my unofficial mentor, guide and all-round guru on Japan wifedom. It helps that we have a few things in common - we're both married to Japanese men (I found her through the Yahoo! groups 'Married in Japan'), we both have young children and we both care about organic food.
One rainy day, to take advantage of the 'rainy day' prices (10% discount), Tristy drove us to the Farmer's Market on the other side of town where we browsed meat, vegetables and fruit which were organic in all but labelling (nothing is in English - Tristy translated the hand-written Japanese).
She explained that here, 'organic' is like a patented brand which farmers have to pay to use, so many don't bother. We found free-range eggs, free-range growth-hormone-free pork and pesticide-free root vegetables, tomatoes, strawberries and tangerines all grown here.
Organic milk is still proving elusive. Tristy gets hers from a home-delivery company called Radish Boya each week, along with a selection of seasonal organic vegetables. The only problem is that sometimes she gets a whole bunch of something she doesn't recognize which turns out to be for a garnish. But they always include a recipe so you know how to cook it. In Japanese, of course.
For now, I think I'll keep looking. I want to check out what Tristy's borrowed Japanese guidebook notes is the 'largest organic supermarket in Japan.' Once again, Tristy is smoothing my way for me. She's just sold me her old Will Cypher.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
We're back!
Apologies for my absence the past few weeks. I took chibbi-chan to Beijing for the Chinese New Year and it seems the Chinese authorities take a dim view of blogger.com (and youtube.com too for that matter) so I was unable to post from there. But here I am, back again in Japan and looking forward to resume posting very soon.
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