Japan Lite: Latest Columns

By Amy Chavez

Have you ever wondered why Japanese people live so long? What is it that makes them keep on keepin' on? Some people think it's the healthy Japanese diet, but I know differently. I've lived among the old people on this island long enough to know their secret. The secret to longevity is rajio taiso.

Some people translate rajio taiso as "morning exercises" but really it would be more accurate to call it morning stretches. Rajio taiso has been broadcast over NHK radio since 1928. So any morning at 6:30 if you tune your radio to NHK, you'll hear a male voice belting out the rajio taiso instructions. You can be sure that people all over Japan will be gathered around their radios doing just as the man says.

Rajio taiso increases longevity not because it stretches your muscles but because it stretches out your life.

You see, rajio taiso is always done in the morning. NHK has its radio broadcast at 6:30 a.m., company employees may do it just before work starts at 8 or 9 o'clock and schools may do it before the start of a sports festival. There is a good re ason for this timing.

While you're sleeping, your body shrinks. This shrinkage is what may cause you to feel stiff in the mornings. If you're prone to sleeping in the fetal position, it's even worse because your body is actively trying to scrunch up back to its roots. Those bent-over old ladies you see walking around in Japan have obviously not been doing rajio taiso. They are dangerously close to going back to where they came from.

I've always been an early riser. Rise, however, didn't always mean get up. I would sit up in bed, drink my coffee and look out at the sea. After the caffeine kicked in, I'd get up. And that was only because the coffee I drank was so strong, it induced movement.

But lately I've been getting up in order to attend rajio taiso with the islanders and I can tell you that after a while, you get addicted. I need that rajio taiso fix every morning now. Next thing you know, I'll be wearing white gloves and a hat on 40 degree days.

Our rajio taiso session starts outside the B&G while the guy inside the portable radio leads us.

There is lots of reaching up to the sky on tippy toes, an attempt to reverse any of that overnight shrinking. Reach up, up, stretch out that life! This is followed by reaching down to the ground, to the ants, possibly even the termites, to lengthen your back.

When you're young, you stretch because it's something everyone does before sports. When you get older, you stretch because it feels good. You get back in touch with your joints and revisit the muscles that still hope for sporting activities rather than working ones. Those once supple muscles feel more like old rope now, and the knots need to be untied. Tug, tug, ahhhhhh!

I was surprised to find out that rajio taiso has two parts. Only the real fanatics do the second part, another several minutes with lots of "hallelujahs" where you toss your head back and throw your arms open as if you were giving God a big hug.

There's also a part where you flap your arms like a bird, then stretch to one side. Then you flap and stretch to the other side: Flap, flap, stretch, stretch, flap, flap, stretch, stretch. I can hear the birds laughing at us.

We may be an eyesore to nature but the birds won't be laughing for long. Have you ever wondered what happens to them when they get old?

Birds, like all animals, go through an aging process. Yet you don't see older birds with canes to prop up their wings, and you never see birds on the ground having just expired from old age. That's because most birds die from predators before they get a chance to age.

So the dumb birds may be laughing at us but the smart ones will be joining us . . . to stretch out their lives a bit longer. Flap, flap, stretch, stretch, flap, flap, stretch, stretch.

"America's finest news source" is the slogan of The Onion, a satirical newspaper in the U.S that pokes fun at current events. I think a newspaper like this would go over well in Japan too. Here are some top stories I could imagine:

Japan now requires passports for birds

In an attempt to track foreign crime as well as new viruses, Japan's Immigration Bureau now requires passports for all bird migrating through Japan.

In response to bird calls of discrimination, the bureau denies it is targeting birds specifically. "We're considering tracking all animals entering this country, not just birds." With the recent outbreak of swine flu, the bureau is now considering hoof-printing pigs, with a possibility of issuing IC-chip cards.

"Birds, who tend to travel in flocks, are especially conducive to passing on viruses, according to the Japan's Ministry of Health Labor and Welfare. The government is encouraging all indigenous birds to remain in Japan this winter and to refrain from flying further south than the Okinawan border. If they must fly outside of Japan, they should wear masks. "We realize that passerine birds don't spread avian flu. This is just a precautionary measure," said a ministry official who asked to remain anonymous.

Rainy season pushes to qualify as Japan's fifth season, demands apology

A seasonal rain front swept through Okinawa in late May, marking the beginning of Japan's rainy season. The seasonal rain front, however, took time to make an official visit to the weather station on Ishigaki Island in Okinawa on behalf of the rainy season to demand status as Japan's fifth season.

Japan has long refused to recognize the rainy season as an official season, although it arrives in Japan every year anytime from late May and stays until late July. Japan owns up to only four seasons: spring, summer, autumn and winter.

The seasonal rain front has accused Japan of discrimination, pointing out that the rainy season has long been observed as a real season in South-East Asian countries (although it is commonly called the "wet season"). The rainy season is calling for an apology from the Japan Meteorological Agency as well as swift action on a change of status.

Soil latest victim on endangered list

Soil is the latest to be added to Japan's Red List of endangered species. The Japanese Ministry of Land, Infrastructure and Transport denies it is at fault for continuing to pave over large swaths of soil throughout rural Japan.

While it is a known fact that paving over soil increases air temperatures, the ministry says it still feels it is doing the right thing. "We realize there is no need for more pavement in Japan, but we should be applauded for giving people jobs. Soil alone will not pay people's bills."

The ministry advised people concerned about the disappearing green spaces and grassy patches to appreciate Japan's paved areas more fully by utilizing them creatively. For example, frugal housewives can save on their propane gas bills by frying eggs on the pavement outside their homes.

Not all citizens feel the pavement is that bad, however. One housewife in Chiba says "I like the paved parks in my neighborhood because they are easier to maintain. No grass needs to be cut and no fallen leaves need to be gathered. I just make sure my children wear two layers of clothing when playing in concrete parks."

Hello Kitty forced to retire at 34

Hello Kitty, the iconic cat known to her fans as Kitty-chan, has been forced to retire by her parent company. The parent company said they feared Hello Kitty no longer fit the image they hoped to project, but were careful to avoid terms such as "Christmas cake" and "over the hill."

Kitty-chan's agent said she was working on a lawsuit that includes charges of breach of contract, age discrimination and sexual harassment. Kitty-chan was not available by telephone and the extended family refused all phone calls.

Kitty-chan is rumored to have given birth to her 10th litter last month. The father of the litter has yet to come forward. Her former boyfriend, heart-throb Dear Daniel, could not be reached for comment. Upon news of her forced retirement, some Kitty-chan fans canceled their orders of Hello Kitty cars, cellular phones and head stones.

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I point out to him my intentions today because I am a little embarrassed that I haven't cleaned my boat for a while. I am sure he has noticed the growth of seaweed attached to the bottom, peeking out from underneath as if a dozen fish were doing rhythmic gymnastics with green ribbons.

"You never use that boat," he said. "Why don't you get rid of it?"

"But of course we use it," I said, thinking he must be joking.

Rikimatsu-san is one of my favorite old guys on the island. He is 80 years old now and he gave me the fishing boat, the Fujimaru (named after his wife), five years ago. He taught me how to fish for mamakari, aji, ayu, sardines and tachiuo. He still has a fishing boat of his own, but he rarely uses it. His sight has gone bad and he can't hear very well anymore. But that's not why he doesn't go out fishing. His wife won't let him.

"You have so many boats that just sit around here," he complains.

He's partly right. It's a bit cold to use the boats in the winter, so we use the ferry. For three to four months of the year none of our boats get used.

"And that sailing boat," he says, gesturing to the docks where it is tied up among some derelict fishing boats.

"But we have sailing reservations every day till July!" I protest. The sailing season is a very busy time for us.

"And that fishing boat," he says, pointing to our bigger 6.3-meter boat.

"We just went to Awashima and back on that boat last weekend."

"You never use your boats. You ought to get rid of them," he says, waving his hand in disgust. He mounts his bicycle and rides away.

I was dismayed. For a few seconds anyway. Welcome to senility!

And the island seems to be going through quite a bout of it recently. Last autumn, one of the old people complained that the neighbor, a classical pianist, played her piano too loud. Another person brought up the fact that my neighbor's potted flower garden wasn't actually on her own property but was flowing over into a national park, so she should remove the garden. So, she did.

Everyone is getting older. And everyone is going crazy.

With Japan having one of the highest aging populations in the world, the Inland Sea islands are turning into the world's largest chain of old folks' homes. On our island of 664 people, most of whom are over 60 years old, the island doctor prescribes talking to the sea and convening with the tides for most ailments.

Japanese people often move back home to take care of their aging parents, but no one comes back to the islands. The elderly must fend for themselves. And most of them do it pretty well.

It has occurred to me that the islands may be a modern form of obasute-yama, the mountains of Japanese folklore where old people were taken to live out their dying days alone with nature. Perhaps the islands have become obasute-shima. But I think most old people would be happy to come here: fresh seafood every day, electric obaa-chan carts, cool sea breezes and beautiful sunsets.

Makes you want to age a little faster, doesn't it?

Perhaps we should take out the Shiraishi lighthouse and instead erect a Statue of Liberty: "Give me your tired, your poor, your retirees huddled in nursing homes. . ."

These people may be old, they may be crazy, but they'll never give up their island. This is the place that allows them to continue living on their own.

The other day an old woman wandered into the ferry port office. She had lost her way home. The ferry port manager called her by name, came out of his office to calm her down, then took her by the arm and walked her home.

I feel glad that these older people live on a small island where they can still get by on their own. Because even if they can't fend for themselves, there's always someone else who can fend for them.

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See a photo of Rikimatsu-san on Amy's Blog at:
http://dailymoooo.blogspot.com/2009/06/japan-lite-getting-lost-in-islands.html

By Amy Chavez

At 8:58 in the morning, I jump into my truck and head toward the beach, hoping I won't be late. On the way, a fisherman hails me. He jumps into the back of my truck.

We are headed to the beach for the umibiraki (opening of the sea) ceremony. Although the "opening of the sea" may evoke images of Moses parting the Red Sea, this ceremony is not quite what it sounds like. The ceremony is actually to open the beach, not the sea, and to make it safe for us land-dwellers to use.

This is not to say, however, that there isn't a lot of communing with the sea during the ceremony, which makes me think that perhaps the meaning of "opening of the sea" is more figurative; the sea is opening up to us and telling us how it really feels.

This heart-to-heart would come from the sea god, for whom even the fishermen have a ceremony to pray for their safety.

But the fishermen seem to have a year-round pact with the sea god whereas our security is only seasonal. It starts with the ceremony at the beginning of the summer and ends at the end of the summer Obon holiday, after which people no longer swim. At the end of each summer, perhaps the sea god says, "Enough! Every day all summer long I have watched you people swimming and have prevented untold numbers of drownings.

"I am tired of saving you! I'm taking the winter off!"

And thus, at the beginning of each summer, we must coax the sea god back into securing our safety for another season. After all, there are no lifeguards on our beach to do the job for him.

This is just one of two opening of the sea ceremonies on our island. The second one is at the beginning of July. After that ceremony, you're double safe!

But this first one, held in the springtime, is sponsored by the island's tourism association, of which I am a part, because we like to start using the sea earlier than the general public.

I was told it would be a smaller ceremony than the one in July but when the fisherman and I arrive at the beach, it is attended by exactly the same people who always attend the second one. There are 10 beach chairs set out for us, upon which sit the grocer, the ferry port manager, a few fishermen, two Japanese inn owners, the kayak rental guy, and a scuba diving instructor.

Carp fish banners from Golden Week are still flying above on a flagpole, while a sacrificial red snapper is laid out on a Shinto altar on ice. The fish is accompanied by romaine lettuce, bananas, konbu, rice, salt and a large bottle of sake. The centerpiece is the kagami mochi, a traditional ceremonial rice cake, sitting on a pedestal. Its smooth white beauty is stunningly offset by the azure sea.

I take a seat with the others behind the Buddhist priest (who doubles as a Shinto priest), who faces the sea with the altar in front of him.

He sits in a beach chair prominently displaying the "Coca-Cola" logo. Then he rubs his string of juzu prayer beads together, jingles his special staff and starts talking to the sea. He chants the hanya shingyo in a low voice before moving on to a few more chants — a well-versed medley of sutras. This is when I realize that the priest is much more than a priest. He is the sea whisperer.

As I sit there with the other islanders, most of them older than I, listening to the priest negotiate our safety with the sea god, it occurs to me that perhaps I should be studying for the priesthood. After all, who's going to be around to negotiate my safety when I get older?

The priest stands up and the ferry port manager rushes to his side to carry a large bottle of sake. They head toward the water's edge. There, the priest faces three different directions, chanting and pouring sake into the sea. The fish whisperer.

While I listen to the waves gently rush up onto the beach, a bush warbler chimes in from the mountain behind us. Springtime at last.