Anna Purna curry and naan set (photo by Sarah Hiscock)

by Sarah Hiscock

As you rock up to Bingo Akasaka station, a five-minute train ride from central Fukuyama on the JR Sanyô line, walk up to the main road and glance down in both directions, I would forgive you for thinking that it is not a very exciting place.

But wait, what’s that smell!? Your nostrils, led by the tantalizing, spicy aromas meandering towards you from a nearby restaurant, guide you across the main road and uphill slightly for 300 metres. And there, on your left, is the beautifully lit and pillared “Anna Purna.”

Anna Purna is a top-notch, Nepalese-run Indian restaurant with a well-deserved reputation.  Most JETs who live in the Fukuyama area are more than familiar with its delightful ambience, flavorful curries, and consistent quality.  Instead, I am writing this article mainly for the benefit of others who visit the area, and might fancy a fantastic Indian meal to round off their day or kick-start their night.

As you enter the restaurant and walk through the ambient Indian sounds and tasteful décor, you begin to realise that a lot of thought went into creating an enjoyable experience alongside the food. You are greeted by a radiant lady; her subtly elegant sari glows gently in the light as she leads you to your seats. She presents the menus. For those lacking confidence in their nihongo skills, it is reassuring to see English menus close at hand. Anna Purna makes even the gaijin feel comfortable and welcome.

Anna Purna English menu

The menu has a large and varied selection: mutton, chicken, pork, and vegetable curries, naans, main and side salads, as well as an array of traditional Indian side dishes. For a curry meal, there are three combination options: you can choose between a curry and full-size rice, a curry and full-size naan, or a curry, half-size rice, and half-size naan.  And for those who want something more, there are several dinner sets, suitable for either individuals or for people sharing. A coloured photo sits alongside the detailed description of each dish, so you know exactly what to expect when you order. Finally, as is common in many Indian restaurants in Japan, you can select your spice level from a scale of 1 to 10. The scale ranges from the sweetly mild to the very hot!

But above all, Anna Purna remains popular because of the quality of their food. The restaurant opened way back in April 1996, and is still going strong. The two current chefs both had ten years experience as professionals in India, before starting at Anna Purna three and four years ago. The experience behind these chefs shows in the flavours of the food. They use ingredients picked for their quality and taste, and it’s clear that the food was not compromised for cheap ingredients. Anna Purna buys only fresh and local vegetables for their dishes.

Hailing from England – where one of our national dishes is Chicken Tikka Masala – I am prone to the odd Indian curry here and there. When I came to Japan, one of my worries was, “Will I be able to find a good Indian anywhere in Japan?” As both a foreigner and a vegetarian here, it is a great relief to see English menus and a wide array of food available to me. Of course, I always expect a variety of options when I go to Indian restaurants, but Anna Purna went far beyond my expectations. There are approximately seven different vegetable dishes; of the seven, around half are suitable for vegetarians. Ana Purna has relieved me of any worries I may have had.

Anna Purna restaurant and staff

My personal recommendation, albeit a vegetarian one, is the following course:

Begin with the Vegetable Samosa. The pastry-to-filling ratio is perfect; as you bite into it, your teeth meet a nice, thick but soft outside, followed by a melt in the mouth centre of flavoursome vegetables. The samosa is also accompanied by the most delicious chutney.

For the main, a curry dish, I tend to sacrifice the rice and go for the set with a large naan. The garlic and spinach naans are a must, but the butter, plain, and cheese naans are all mouthwateringly divine too.

My favorite curry is the “Aloo Baingan Dry.” It is a non-sauced curry with succulent aubergine and potatoes cooked to perfection, mixed with fresh ginger, onion, tomato and spices. The idea of a dry curry never previously appealed to me, but after tasting this dish, I have been converted. The texture of the perfectly cooked vegetables, mixed with the amazingly matched spices, make for a fantastic curry that you won’t want to end.

If you are looking for something richer, the ‘Paneer Makhanwala’ has a rich cream and butter sauce. It is mixed with egg, and pieces of gorgeous Indian cottage cheese.

To finish, you can choose from one of their many desserts, or simply a coffee, chai, tea, soft drink, or one of the alcoholic beverages they offer. And if you are more of a meat fan, there are many, many dishes to choose from – all bound to tickle your taste buds! Never have I had a meat-eating friend complain about their dish in Anna Purna.

There’s more I could write about the deliciousness of the food on offer here, but to really understand how I feel about this restaurant you really need to take a visit and experience it for yourselves!

by Emily Law

Thoughts on Happy Eating in Japan: An Introduction.

“Lunch?” repeats the JET alumnus, leaning forward and cocking his head. “Well, kyuushoku school lunch wasn’t too bad,” he relays, “It was balanced, at least.” A slow, sheepish grin spreads across his face and crinkles his eyes. “I mean, like… it was a lot healthier than my usual instant curry sauce on spaghetti dinner,” he shrugs.

“Grooooosssss,” we all shudder collectively. Everyone is thinking, “Nope, that won’t be me. I just survived an eight-month long application process; I’ve been hand picked by the Japanese government to take part in the development of young minds. And I’ll be earning a nice chunk of cash. I totally, totally have this. Cheap beer and cereal are a thing of the past.  Hell, I’m a JET. I can take care of myself.”

“Plus,” I add, with all the naïve disdain of a twenty-three year old, Chinese-Italian, bourgeois-bohemian San Francisco food snob, “it’s not like it’s hard to whip up a batch of tomato sauce.”

Within a few weeks of arriving to Japan, I came crashing down from my Garden of Eden. In the Garden, there was time, space, variety, and vitality; in real life, I had none of these things. There were no more pots of bubbling tomato sauce or loaves of homemade bread; now, I was living on pre-made onigiri and canned coffee. I felt beaten, body and soul.

It’s easy for new residents of Japan to suffer from a series of factors that de-value the quality of their sustenance and, by extension, their well-being.  There’s the small space: the lack of counter, the tiny electric stove, and everything so close that cooking becomes an exercise in avoiding bruises.  The unknown: grocery shopping is a harrowing experience, and if there’s variety, it’s in the twenty mysterious, indecipherable types of seaweed on the shelf.  And the time and energy: we want to be good foreigners, to share our talents and to absorb, sponge-like, everything around us, only to come home each evening and find that the fibers of our beings have been wrung to exhaustion. Good food supports a happy person, and Japan is a food paradise. But how to get there often eludes us.

This column is about getting a taste of that food paradise. It’s about getting there within the dizzying confines of space, language, culture, time, and fatigue. I’ve tried and learned a lot in my year since coming to Japan. I don’t have a set recipe for culinary happiness, although I will drop you a cake recipe here and there. I only have a thirst for information, a need to experiment, and a deep love for food.

There’s that, and a strong awareness that we are, after all, what we eat.  Because while I’m sure that the life of Mr. Instant Curry Spaghetti isn’t too bad, I bet he gets some mighty terrible stomachaches sometimes.

Thoughts on Happy Eating in Japan: One Tool Wonder, The Rice Cooker, Part I.

“”… the rice cooker can bring a kind of liberation for women,’” remarked Shabnam Rezaei, former resident of Tehran, Iran, to the New York Times.[1] Iranian culture, she tells us, requires that a woman be able to make a perfect, fluffy dish of rice. With its flawless execution, and a preset function, the Persian rice cooker enables women to turn out beautiful tahdig no matter what. But what these women really gain is time. They simply press a button, and walk away.

Whether a constantly traveling lecturer, a busy mother, or a kitchen-less student in Tokyo, the rice cooker, or suihanki in Japanese, frees up time, energy, and tedious dish washing. Rice cookers work on moisture sensors, and therefore won’t burn the food they’re cooking, enabling you to wander off worry-free. The machine will sing a little song when it senses the food is ready, and then switch into warming mode. Greg Beck, former CIR for Hiroshima-ken, stated simply, “It’ll finish when it knows it’s finished.”[2]

Greg’s remark comes to us mid-video, as he whizzes around his kitchen showing us how to make something “yaki-nikku-y” in his electric one-pot wonder. He can do this because it’s possible to cook almost anything successfully in a rice cooker, and often all together. Greg makes tender marinated meat, apples, and rice. I make chocolate cake.

But as those Persian women know, no matter what novelties it can whip up, the rice cooker turns out a knock-your-pants-off, perfect, basic bowl of grain.

The ratio for white rice is one-to-one. Rinse your rice, throw it in the non-stick rice cooker bowl, add water, hit “start.” Go catch up on your email overflow. Come back to effortless, steaming bliss.

Brown rice, or genmai, takes a ratio of one part rice, two parts water. If you don’t want to bother with measuring, stick your index or middle finger in the bowl until it rests on top of the rice. Add water to just past the first knuckle for white rice, and just past the second for brown.

Almost all food follows the principles above. Make it exactly as you normally would, just don’t put it on the stove (or in the oven). Today, though, is about basics: the way a rice cooker functions on the simplest terms; the basic benefits of a cooking tool that requires no attention; making the undeniable staple of a Japanese meal. Or for that matter, making the staple grain of any culture’s meal. I wax nostalgic over my rice cooker oatmeal and Southern corn grits.

You’ve probably made rice in your rice cooker dozens of times. Today is rice, but next week is beans, the week after, cake. So tonight, give that plastic gadget a new respect. It might just be the key to your liberation.

[2] Picker, Luc-Yan. “Video: Rice Cooker Cooking.” Wide Island View, March 16, 2011.

All that remains of the fishing village of Funakoshi (All photos by Estelle Hebert)

by Estelle Hebert

Estelle’s involvement in Tohoku began in July 2011 during a five-day post-tsunami volunteer trip. She ended up driving along the coast of Miyagi Prefecture one afternoon after meeting Chizu, survivor and full-time supporter of all volunteers across the prefecture. The long and winding road led her to the fishery village of Funakoshi, where she was amazed to see the fishermen continuing their business despite the entire village being in ruins. After listening to a few testimonies, observing the beautiful landscape, and witnessing the fishermen’s positive spirit and relentless efforts, she decided to hop on board and make use of her documentary media background to help share the story of Funakoshi with the world. She is currently working on a documentary film while running a fund raising campaign in support of the locals.

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ISHINOMAKI, Miyagi Prefecture — Tetsuo-san is standing next to his son’s gravestone in a small cemetery located up on a hill in Funakoshi, a small Japanese fishing village that was almost completely washed away by the tsunami last March 11. He fills up a bottle of water and places it next to the gravestone, before slightly glancing over to the left, where both his daughter-in-law and grandson were also buried. He takes a deep breath as tears form in the corner of his eyes. Speechless, he looks at what is left of his hometown: only a few standing houses amongst immense piles of rubble, along with a handful of restored boats. Personal belongings and mundane household items, which at one time filled homes, now lay scattered across the dusty landscape of this village.

Tetsuo-san

Tetsuo-san is a well-established middle-aged fisherman who rarely falls short of conversation. Dark-skinned from spending endless hours outdoors on a daily basis, his sincere smile quickly puts everyone at ease, regardless of language or cultural barriers. Dressed “fisherman-style” with a white towel wrapped around his head along with his navy blue loose pants and plaid white shirt, he loves to crack jokes every now and then and share his endless fishing stories. Although he has lost three family members in the tsunami that has forced him to move to another town located about a one-hour drive away, he has no desire to give up on both his fishing duties and the revival of his hometown. Along with his long-time friend and co-worker Nakasato-san, he is consistently trying to create opportunities that will bring a sense of normalcy to his community.

It’s an extremely hot summer day and Nakasato-san wipes the sweat off his forehead. He unloads a mini truck filled with bags of fresh sea urchins in an empty parking lot in Ishinomaki city where over a hundred locals have lined up for hours in the hot summer sun to make a purchase. This marks the first local fish market selling event since the tsunami hit and within 20 minutes, all the sea urchins have sold out. Many customers are left empty-handed and decide to patiently wait for some of the fishermen to drive back to Funakoshi to get a second batch out of the sea. Ever since the tsunami last March, the fishermen have not been able to afford a proper vehicle that would allow them to transport a large amount of fish to the city, causing a lot of traveling back and forth. Meanwhile, Nakasato-san explains that without any fridge to store their fish, the ocean water has become their storage space. Just the day before, he had spent a few hours in Funakoshi putting buckets of sea urchins into the water, a few hundred meters away from shore. And after advertising the selling of urchins in a weekly flyer that was delivered door-to-door that same day, he was both surprised and relieved to see that so many people had showed up.

In his mid-fifties, Nakasato-san delivers an insane amount of energy wherever he is present, showing off his dynamic personality. His clear blue eyes set him apart from most Japanese, and he cannot help but grin whenever he is in public. He is an experienced fisherman who once worked on a long distance tuna fishing boat, making stops at many of the main ports across the globe. Years ago, before settling in Funakoshi, he also spent time training many Americans on board ships in the Seattle area. Luckily, his residence is located farther up the main road higher than sea level and survived the tsunami. However, he was still forced to evacuate to a temporary home in Tougezaki, a village nearby, due to a high risk of landslide that could potentially crush his home.

Moving Forward

Despite being low on much-needed resources, both Tetsuo-san and Nakasato-san along with a few other fishermen have chosen to move forward, finding new ways of continuing local business. They have also stretched their ambitious efforts, developing a plan with the assistance of a Japanese volunteer organization for the rebuilding of their village, a dream they hope will soon become a reality. It’s not as easy as it seems, however, when you really take the time to put things into perspective…

Nakasato-san with a volunteer from the Peace Boat organization

Because the tsunami destroyed over 400km of coastline and displaced over 300,000 people in the country, government support and funding for the rebuilding of Funakoshi may take a long time given the endless number of destroyed villages in the area also seeking approval for reconstruction. And on top of dealing with an aging population whereby many are considering permanently leaving smaller hamlets such as Funakoshi for larger cities such as Ishinomaki, the reconstruction plan itself is quite extensive. The plan proposes to cut off a chunk of land from one of the surrounding mountains where houses would be built well-above sea level in order to avoid any future disaster. A labor intensive proposition, the plan would drain an already diminished supply of professional contractors across the prefecture. 

In the meantime, Funakoshi seems to be the only completely washed away village in the area where reconstruction activities are happening and being documented. Several volunteer organizations, such as Peace Boat and It’s Not Just Mud, are providing as much assistance as they can in order to promote sustainable development. And as the fishermen continue to fish, a group of women have set up a small workshop room on the third floor of the only school located in the village where they scrape and hand-paint hundreds of different stone slates found amongst piles of rubble. These stone slates are actually renowned in the area, and they are being used to make necklaces, key chains, and tiles that are then sold to help raise funds to support the reconstruction of the village. Locals are hoping that ongoing activities like these will help pressure their local government to approve the plan.

Life Goes On

It’s impossible for anyone to even imagine what it must be like for these individuals to step outside their home every day only to be surrounded by destruction. Recovery is slow, not only in Funakoshi, but all along the coast as the few houses that remain are left abandoned amongst mountains of trash. The damage is beyond comprehensible, and witnessing it with your very own eyes leaves you with no words. Yet the most fascinating thing about this tragedy is the way that the locals have managed to pull themselves up and continue their life journey. For some, including Tetsuo-san and Nakasato-san, it’s difficult to see the light at the end of the tunnel given the little visible progress in the past six months, but their persistent efforts are a reflection of their positive energy and spirit. An energy and spirit which is responsible for bringing everyone closer to achieving their shared dream — to be able to return home to a normal life.

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If you wish to support the community of Funakoshi, an online fund raising campaign will be up online by the end of October. The goal is to fund raise a minimum of $5,000 by December 31, 2011, for the purchase of basic fishing tools for the fishermen of Funakoshi including a refrigerator for storing purposes. Follow Estelle for updates at: www.indiegogo.com/Brighter-Than-Tomorrow

If you wish to volunteer in the Ishinomaki area, please contact Jamie, leader of the volunteer organization It’s Not Just Mud: www.itsnotjustmud.com

Stacked-rock cairns at Angkor Wat (all photos by Tsuyoshi Sahara)

by Meghan Hahn

In August Meghan ventured to Cambodia overland, along with Tsuyoshi Sahara, crossing the border from Thailand. The following is a photo journal of a few segments of the trip.

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Tsuyoshi had attempted the infamous border crossing from Bangkok to Cambodia years before the new road had been paved. At that time, pick-up trucks were the de rigueur mode of transportation. Ten years, however, was apparently sufficient enough time for Beyoncé to supply us with an upgrade: we would be traveling in stylish (and air-conditioned) mini-vans on a newly paved road all the way to Siem Reap, the Cambodian city guarding the ancient archaeological site of Angkor.

My expectations before coming to Cambodia were centered on its monuments, Angkor Wat chief among them. I envisioned myself lost amidst the ruins, hacking at vines and negotiating acrobatic leaps across jagged crevices, the embodiment of a Lara Croft or an Indiana Jones. Discord then suddenly swoops down upon these daydreams in the form of our new tuk-tuk driver: Batman.

Holy Cambodia, Batman! Driver Kosal Reng

“If you’re happy, I’m happy,” so reads Mr. Kosal Reng’s homemade business card, which he passes to us in delight. The card advertises his services as the Batman driver of Siem Reap. Kosal is dressed in black jeans and a grey cotton t-shirt. His thick black glasses serve as his superhero mask, a strange incarnation of the Dark Knight. The familiar bat signal is emblazoned across the dark black interior seating of Kosal’s tuk-tuk as well as his motorcycle helmet in bright golden paint. Kosal will be driving us around in his Batmobile. We are in competent hands.

Beng Mealea Brothers

Before embarking on this trip, Tsuyoshi and I had discussed what places were must-sees on our itinerary; Beng Mealea was among them. Reading various travel guides, we came across several farther-afield excursion ideas. While not only being billed as an “Indiana Jones-like” travel experience, Beng Mealea also lays claim to being the partial inspiration for Miyazaki Hayao’s first official Studio Ghibli animation, ‘Laputa.” Both having grown up with fantasies of traveling the world over, a stop at this monument was an easy sell for us both.

A 70 km ride of highway lies between the city of Siem Reap and our ultimate destination. Along this road we encounter the housing of everyday Cambodian people. Many young children wave and greet us from the roadside, while their dogs lazily sleep by their sides. One shot, in particular, is still emblazoned in my mind. What I presume to be three siblings are traveling together. The sisters are operating the moped up front, while they pull their brother seated on his maroon bicycle with a Khmer cloth scarf.

Sibling gadgetry on the road to Beng Mealea

Built in the identical style as that of Angkor Wat, Beng Mealea, smaller in structure, is argued to have been the blueprint for Cambodia’s most famous site. Absent here are the hordes of tourists seen at Angkor Wat and replaced instead with a quiet, untouched setting where roots of giant trees grow from the remnants of the once magnificent Khmer outpost. The temple has been almost completely swallowed by the enveloping wildlife of the surrounding jungle. Time and Mother Nature have been less kind to this site than to its younger and much more famous relation, but it’s precisely this wild and untamed quality that give Beng Mealea its charm. Immediately after we arrive at the site, I begin to soak in the surrounding atmosphere, primed for exploration.

A naga serpent guards Beng Mealea, Angkor Temples’ best kept secret.

Beng Mealea is Khmer for ‘Lotus pond,’ which I learn from my new Cambodian guide, Pirit. Pirit is 13 years old and has the swagger and confidence of someone in his mid to late twenties. My companion has been swept away by Chaka, Pirit’s partner in crime, so I am now left alone to make my own discoveries. I ask Pirit whether he and Chaka attend school. He explains that they go to classes in the mornings and then spend their afternoons here, practicing the phrases they have picked up in different languages on the tourists.

Pirit coaxes me through the rubble of Beng Mealea.

I longed to freely traipse and climb among the ruins, and this was my chance to do so with reckless abandon. Pirit points the way as I negotiate the piled mounds of mossy rocks and combat the jungle vines. Leading me on a whirlwind tour of the temple, Pirit allows me to experience the thrill of possible danger as he takes me on a “shortcut” atop the temple’s roof. Leather sandals are not the safest of footwear for the mossy carpeting below my feat. Relying on the reconnoitering skills of my guide, I trek on and manage to keep my balance, making it back to the temple’s entrance in one piece.

Chaka negotiates the remains of a Beng Mealea rooftop

Faces of Angkor Wat

The drive to the most renowned monuments of Angkor are about 5km from the city of Siem Reap, and we are enjoying the bumps and flashes of colorful bicycles and motorcycles as we zip along the highway. We turn off towards the entrance to the park and ride down the path under a roof of tall trees. Gradually to our right, the grand outline of Angkor Wat begins to make its appearance. The moat surrounding the structure is massive, much larger than the small pool I had created in my imagination.

A  lion statue safeguards Angkor Wat from across an expansive moat.

Advancing towards the main entrance, we are met with our first glance of the many naga statues which line the structure. The multiple snake-like heads of the naga stare back at us with ferocity. We take our pictures and respectfully move on. In addition to the naga, the structure is dotted with the dancing figures of the female apsaras and the strong, yet good-natured greetings of the devata. I stop to photograph and examine some of the devata in more particular detail. Something about these faces chiseled in stone is striking. Their enigmatic smiles are somehow familiar. At that moment, a flicker of electric blue streaks past and a young Cambodian boy darts in out of the interior colonnades, collecting the abandoned plastic bottles of the tourists from the trash cans. The many children who have camped out around the world heritage site have learned quickly the art of survival and now form a symbiotic relationship with the tourist complex. Their faces speak volumes and quickly become the new subjects for the camera.

A Cambodian boy collects abandoned plastic water bottles at Angkor Wat

Architecturally, Angkor Wat crowns the achievements of the Khmer empire. A walk through the temple quickly confirms that there is indeed no boundary to human creativity and imagination. But with the capacity to imagine rich interiors and roaming hallways, there also lurks within the corridors of the mind a latent creativity for cruelty, a cruelty famously unleashed upon the land of Cambodia in the form of gruesomely imagined torture and extended political upheaval. And yet despite this history, everywhere I look are the constant smiling faces of the Cambodian people. While the exalted site of Angkor Wat might have drawn me to travel to this country, it is ultimately the faces of the people that remain fixed in my mind. I take a last look before leaving Angkor Wat and observe that the enigmatic smiles carved in stone mirror those of the modern day Cambodians. An unmatched smile unbroken throughout history and so much grief; it is a lesson in resilience.

A Cambodian boy pauses for a photograph at Angkor.

Beyond the Bayon

Returning to the Batmobile, we move on towards the Buddhist shrine of Bayon. Bayon sits at the very center of what was the ancient capital city of Angkor Thom. The only monument in the Angkor complex dedicated solely to the Buddha, the site is now maintained and well cared for by the Japanese Government team for the Safeguarding of Angkor (JSA).

Smiling statues of Bayon

Bayon’s most striking feature is the many colossal heads that crown its towers. With a strikingly similar countenance to that of the Buddhist King Jayavarman VII, the busts undoubtedly were modeled after the face of the man at the head of the public works program responsible for the temple’s construction. After meeting face to face with the temple’s guardians, I walk alone around the structure and admire the bas-reliefs lining its outer walls. Depicting scenes of daily Angkorian life, my mind wanders as I imagine myself an ancient Khmer come for food in the city marketplace. Amidst my solitary reveries, groups of children scuttle across the complex, creating photo opportunities for the tourists in their wake. As they animate the rubble of the past with their exuberance, their giggles are absorbed as whispers by the giant ears of the inscrutable stone faces that surround us.

A Cambodian boy darts through the colonnades of Bayon.

Late afternoon approaches and we leave Bayon behind for a perch from which to view the impending sunset. We journey up a sizable hill to its top towards the temple of Phnom Bakheng, passing a line of lumbering elephants costumed as tourist chariots. Cradled among the craggy rocks, we wait while the small group of sightseers begins to multiply. Many of the tourists hail from Japan and France. I recall the thrill of being able to understand some of the Japanese girls’ conversation at my back, a small linguistic triumph. My bones begin to absorb the hardness of the rock below me, as we begin our long, slow descent into the pale glow of sunset. Finally, the sun approaches her final arc towards the horizon before being swallowed by the line of the earth.

Cambodian sunset

Carefully we climb down the steep face of the temple wall and then snake our path down the dirt trail towards the bottom of the hill. We touch down, slightly lighter, a part of us spirited away on the back of the sun.

Descending Phnom Bakheng

LINKS:

• Save time and trouble by obtaining a Cambodia e-visa online before you leave.
• Need a driver while In Siem Reap? Send up a bat signal and give Kosal Reng a try: Tel (855) 92 510 715/ e-mail: kosal.reng@gmail.com
• Learn more about Beng Mealea

Yoshimizu Garden (all photos by Harriet Swan)

by Harriet Swann

On the third and fourth of June each year, Akiota Town (where I live) holds a Frog Festival in Kake. A couple of weeks before I’d heard about this event, the rice fields next to where I lived had been invaded by an army of frogs, so many and so loud that my family could hear them on Skype! The town logo is also a frog, so it seemed to make sense that – of course - there would also be a Frog Festival.

About a five minute walk from the town centre is Yoshimizu Garden, which was first built as a mountain getaway in 1781. A shrine was added in 1783, and it was remodelled again in 1803. The garden was then declared a wildlife reserve in 1953 because it is a natural habitat for the Moria Tree Frog. I found out that the Frog Festival is actually held in honor of this special type of frog.

Apparently, at night, four males gather around one female on a tree branch over the pond and together they form a bubble-like egg sac, which contains about three hundred eggs. After a week or so, the eggs begin to drop off the branches into the pond. Two months later the baby frogs crawl out and into the trees.

Moria tree frogs laying eggs

The garden is only open to the public for the first two weekends in June, and the second weekend in November. So, in June we went hunting for the little green frogs. My spotting skills were pretty rubbish, and it took a while to find any frogs, but a helpful guide pointed some out to me with his stick. They were beautiful: bright green and perfectly disguised in their surroundings. The garden itself is lush and beautiful, with a tea house that sits and looks out over the pond. The trees stretch up and up, shadowing the pond. It’s tranquil and serene. It must have been a perfect mountain getaway in the 1800s, and remains one even now.

In addition to the Yoshimizu Garden opening up, there are also many other festival events. There is a male “frog band,” which performs a range of songs (including AKB48) while dressed as frogs. Many of my students danced and sung. Some famous l0cal kagura groups performed. There were also many stalls selling delicious food and interesting souvenirs.

The live ”frog band” at the Frog Festival

I would definitely recommend people visit the garden in November to see the autumn foliage, or next year to try spot some tree frogs for yourself!

Graffity’s new “Ninja Burrito” (all photos by Dan Moeller)

by Dan Moeller

I’ve had my share of Spanish/Mexican food in Japan. From Hiroshima’s Cusco Café and Tinto’s Restaurant to the do-it-yourself ingredients sold at Jupiter to the Visitor’s Day at the Iwakuni Airbase (which I went to solely to taste the delights of the on-base Taco Bell).

Cusco Café – Italian, Peruvian, Spanish and Mexican food – has a fair selection of dishes and nice staff, but is dimly lit and the one time I went my wife left with a stomachache. Tinto’s Restaurant (with Italian and Spanish fare) has an awesome and cheap lunch menu with all-you-can-eat soup and salad, and a handful of foreign beers as well. Jupiter is a great little supermarket for foreign eats with flat-bread tortillas, an assortment of beans and real cheeses, Mexican spices and sauces, and burrito/taco kits. As for the Iwakuni Taco Bell, the only day a year it’s open to the public, the menu is chopped down to one assembly line boxed-lunch with a burrito, small nachos, small churros and a drink for $7.50 – for me, it was quite a blemish on the shining image of Taco Bell.

So, searching far and wide, I’ve yet to find Spanish/Mexican cuisine that can top Hiroshima’s Graffity with their delicious Mexican and American dishes. What’s so special? The atmosphere, the drinks, the friendly staff with intriguing shirts, an arsenal of chow that will knock your socks off, and a location right under Hondori. As the legend goes – or my understanding of the employees’ Japanese at least - the younger brother of the family fell in love with Spanish cuisine while living abroad in San Francisco and was inspired to open up a restaurant in Japan in order to share this new-found delight with the masses.

The Graffity family

This Mexican diner (as it is labeled) is run by a tight family of four that are willing to open up to customers (without becoming too chatty). The scenery is full of large and small cacti, old skateboards, an old Coke machine, and limitless American memorabilia. There are couches and blankets if you want to get cozy, booths for larger crowds, and bar seats for anyone. With such a good menu, some might be surprised to find out that Graffity is also a bar. In fact, the selection of drinks might make you think it’s a bar first and a restaurant second. There are seven different Mexican beers (along with five Japanese and four American beers), different kinds of tequila spanning into the ‘teens, a ton of cocktails, whiskey, brandy, and soft drinks.

Dan recommends trying the “Mud Pie” for dessert

As for the menu itself, I could write another article on the subject, but I think I’ll just suggest trying the Santa Fe Burrito, the beef enchiladas, and (for dessert) the Mud Pie. Graffity definitely has some great desserts, but considering I enjoy stuffing myself with their Mexican goodness, it took me more than a few visits to actually make it to the desert page. Paired with chili dogs, steak, and pepperoni, the American portion of the restaurant is definitely visible in the root beer floats and banana splits. And, if you’re afraid of growing tired of a kitsch and cookie-cutter cuisine, you might be relieved to know Graffity is always experimenting with their cuisine and adding new dishes.

“Fan-Blown Yattai Curtains”
Photo taken by Jonathan Fisher.

This photo was taken on August 17th, 2008 in Kure.

• To see a larger version, click on the picture above.

• The Feature Photo section showcases photos by JETs that represent the best that Hiroshima has to offer. If you would like to submit a photo, please send an email to wideislandview (at) gmail (dot) comand tell us why you think your photo should be chosen.

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In book 3 of the JET Language Course there is a dialogue on the International Festival (国際フェア). Kim Sonho – a favorite language workbook character and close friend to Nancy Nagai – provides some photos from last year’s festival. He describes how all the JETs in the area gather for the International Festival. They introduce their country, cook traditional food, put on folk costumes, and take pictures with the area residents. At this point, I begin thinking “いいな!” An interesting foreign cultural event like that would be impossible on my small island; me being the only JET, and, as for foreign cultures, this place is relatively homogeneous.

I stare at Sonho’s black and white photographs of various ethnic costumes and feel a revitalization of my anthropological background. There’s a kimono, a Korean chima chogori, what looks like a Dutch dress, something possibly Chinese, and another unidentifiable dress. (Don’t mistake my ignorance for disinterest, on the contrary…)

Hailing from the U.S. of A. – my mottled ancestry tracing back to five European countries – I wonder what I would wear to such an event. When I try to think of traditional American clothing the only things that come to mind are jeans, a t-shirt, and a baseball hat. Other than that, I feel like I wouldn’t be representing America as a collective whole. American jeans have only become popular in the last 60 years, and nearly every country in the world knows and wears jeans. So, can jeans be considered traditionally American? Probably not. Moreover, they are plain, not festive, and don’t represent anything but current casual or working styles in America.

Very representative of America, but not very traditional (all photos courtesy WikiCommons)

A lot of Americans wear basketball shoes, too, but does that represent America? The same goes for Uggs, Northface, Gap, Aeropostale, and anything from Wal-mart or anything NASCAR. I bet a lot of Americans sport the Snuggie (blanket/shirt infomercial extraordinaire) in the safety of their own homes as well, but I’m not sure any of those represent “America.”

Another problem which I’m sure you’ve picked up on is that none of these popular clothing items sound “traditional.” Granted, America is a snot-nosed toddler compared to the historical giants of the world. China has written documents tracing back at least three thousand years; that just blows us out of the water. Although the U.S. has been scrapping with our global parents, relatives, and neighbors for over 200 years we still haven’t pieced together any semblance of “traditional clothing.” Oh, we have old clothes, but what we don’t have is a nation proud of those moth-eaten relics.

America actually has a lot of historical clothing. Civil War fatigues are honorable to certain groups, but most Americans share my current mind frame: “Who would follow such a specific section of American history so closely? Don’t they have a life?” (the word otaku comes to mind). Besides, I heard the dirtier and oilier the Civil War fatigues get, the more realistic they seem. I don’t want any part of that. Have you seen the Family Guy episode To Love and Die in Dixiewhere small-town southerners participate in a Civil War reenactment? It wouldn’t be too much of a leap to say Family Guy represents a good portion of America, especially when they make it tradition to make fun of our past.

A Civil War reenactment

So, old war clothes are out of the question. We also have some European vestiges like knickerbockers and Puritan attire, but they’re not “American”; they only temporarily represented our fashion sense. Hmm…America was once ruled by tribes of Native Americans and their traditional clothing is beautiful! But we can’t use moccasins and beaded deer skins to represent America, especially considering the shameful things we did to these early inhabitants. So, where does this leave us?

Chief Little Crow; very festive, but, again, not representative of America

As a nation, the U.S. tends to compartmentalize each fashion to its respective era. Anything old is out of style and thus embarrassing to wear (granted, fashion designers love to recycle). When the 1960s ended, we threw away our Austin Powers clothes. When the 70s ended, we threw out our Saturday Night Fever get-ups. When the 80s ended, we stopped wearing neon fitness wear and Thriller jackets, and stopped emulating Madonna. When the 90s ended, we realized The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air and Zack Morris didn’t represent us anymore. If we conjure up an MC Hammer costume in this day and age, it’s pretty obvious we’re attending either a Halloween party or an 80s party.

I wore a hakama to my wedding celebration dinner in Japan and, although I don’t exactly have an authoritative voice on the goings-on in Japan, it seemed quite normal – even impressive for a foreigner. Granted, I’m sure some younger Japanese may dread wearing zori to the local festival, or may think wearing a kimono to a wedding is boring or out-dated, but could you imagine a normal American getting married looking like a pilgrim or a Civil War general? Could you imagine a large section of Japan cynically ridiculing people that master the craft of tying a kimono or those that perfect the application of geisha makeup?

A surprising amount of culture has been preserved and remains respectable in Japan. This pride in culture and ethnicity is prevalent in many other cultures as well. As for the U.S., we have a very young country which is very fast to drop any sort of burdensome cultural ties. Our pride lies within the here and now. The past is something only to be recalled for nostalgia, history lessons, or funny parties. It is a presence that generally slows us down and, with each passing year, needs to be shed like a fox’s winter coat. I’m not ashamed that we don’t have a homogeneous culture like Japan. I’m not upset that we don’t have traditional American attire to wear to the International Festival, but it leaves a little to be desired, doesn’t it?

by Michael Bacon

As Groucho Marx himself once said, “Hello,” and welcome to the grand opening of the brand-new-old-curiosity-shop that is Flickerbook. If you are looking for up to the minute reviews of the latest slick Hollywood money-makers, then I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place. But, if you are happy to meander aimlessly with me along the cluttered aisles of cinematic history, I may have a few curios to show you.

Flickerbook was born of my recent habit of watching, across a number of days, a sequence of films loosely connected by theme. In this regular write up I’ll be sharing with you my thoughts on what I watched, plus a smattering of whatever esoteric trivia recommends itself.  To kick things off this first instalment will be devoted to all things “beta.”

The second letter of the alphabet revisited

Tell me, dear friend, do you weep at the sight of the ghastly visitors not-of-this-Earth? And do you howl at the vile machinations of monsters from beyond the grave? Do you wet yourself when giant, mutated crabs deliver poorly written dialogue in bad French accents?

B-movies are fun, and not just because they’re funny. Aside from how truly bad some of them are, they also make a welcome break from mainstream cinema. B-movies are often forced to depart from Hollywood-dictated convention by their limited means. When they’re original, they’re a breath of fresh air; when they’re not, they’re often so over the top they border on pastiche – and if it worked for the A-Team why not for the silver screen?

This month’s line-up draws heavily from that staple of the low budget studios, horror. I’ll be kicking things off with the main features, before a few snapshots of the other flicks I watched this time.

Attack of the Crab Monsters

Something cardboard this way comes…

The plot of Attack of the Crab Monsters is the usual residue left behind after mixing up all the other monster films of the era and boiling off the originality. Naturally, this dependence on cliché is one of the film’s greatest strengths. By setting the story on an irradiated Pacific island where crabs have mutated into intelligent monsters the filmmakers neatly sidestep the need to credibly establish or develop any new conventions for the audience to get accustomed to, thus freeing them to take a headlong run at some brilliantly counter-intuitive leaps of logic.

The cast of characters holds few surprises. After the science expedition which preceded them duly disappears, the usual suspects roll up on the mystery island to investigate. Mandatory inclusions in the team are as follows: one all-American man of science, two phoney “European” profs, and a clutch of red-shirts to get bumped off one by one. Another mandatory is Martha, whose critical contribution to the story is that she has breasts. Backing up this role call of clichés comes the only vaguely well-known actor in the film, Russell Johnson (of Gilligan’s island), playing the everyman radio technician accompanying the scientists to the island. If his plot pigeonhole slot isn’t obvious at first it will be by the end.

During the course of the story it is revealed that giant, carnivorous crabs are eating people and absorbing their brains – not to mention gradually destroying the island on which the team are now trapped. The scientists must investigate; or stare pertly and vacantly into space while the men do the thinking, depending on whom we are talking about.

As far as the acting goes, it often doesn’t. Leading the action are Dr. Macho, Dr. Chest, and the guy who came to fix the radio. The trio compete to see who can do the best impression of a creaky wooden marionette until they are soundly trounced by the titular Crab Monster, which actually is one. Indeed, the most engaging of the nine American characters featured in the film is sadly killed within the first ten minutes (I mean of course the queerly poetic naval pilot, not the decapitated sailor). Fortunately, the uncharismatic posturing of the leads is upstaged by the antics of the far more watchable faux-European duo. Aside from the delightful battiness of their accents, the pair’s tendency to overcook all of their silly lines actually ends up lending the film some camp credibility.

The Euro-profs’ performances represent only one aspect of the film’s theatricality. The much lauded director, Roger “King of the B-movies” Corman, makes heavy use of theatrical convention by asking his audience to accept all of his characters’ bizarre pronouncements as fact, regardless of the evidence of our eyes. So when a chasm mysteriously opens up in the island, the calamitous event is revealed not by special effects but by cutting to a medium-long shot of a cliff-top and having one of the characters say words to the effect of, “Well, this wasn’t here yesterday!”

Indeed, at times Crab Monsters seems a lot like an exercise in seeing how much the audience is willing to take on faith. At various points we’re expected to believe that: there aren’t any birds, plants or bacteria whatsoever on the island; guns can talk; a ten foot wide crab can sneak up on a man in broad daylight without the aid of cover; and ,of course, that the reason said crabs are bullet-proof is because (naturally) they are made of liquid.

Believe it or not, this list does not include all of the film’s most hilarious pronouncements, most of which come in a fantastic twenty minute segment halfway through, when the team really gets to grips with the “theory” behind mutant crabs. I would hazard a guess that the institution which issued these bogus scientists and their diplomas is the same play school at which the papier-mâché crab monsters were assembled. The scriptwriter’s blasé towards science is a real highlight, and extends beyond the demented logic of the scientists’ conclusions to some impressive omissions. In the space of one scene the Scooby Gang electrocute a “leg” which is quite clearly a claw, while the alleged marine biologist, Martha, notes that the mutants look physically identical to sand crabs despite the fact that they have massive, lidded, disk-shaped eyes leering outwards from their shells (real crabs, dear Wide Island Viewer, do not).

But this is just what’s so enjoyable about the film; when it comes to the willing suspension of disbelief, it asks a lot of its audience. However, the fact is that Crab Monsters never once allows you to believe, and instead jumps around screaming “I am a film! This isn’t really real” at the top of its voice from start to finish.

At times, Crab Monsters is a little dry, most particularly the tired gender roles and inexplicable love triangle between the stars. Also frustrating are the moments when our heroes enter the “caves” for the umpteenth time and we are once again treated to a shot of the same obviously day-lit rock face we have seen for every other excursion below ground. But the film is also full of little moments that will make you smile (if, like me, you get a kick out of utter dross) and a few that will make you laugh out loud, and so I heartily recommend it to both lovers of the genre and the generally curious. Attack of the Crab Monsters is impossible to accept as anything other than camp cinema, but as a grown up, I find a little disbelief goes a long way.

Plan 9 from Outer Space

My friend, can your heart stand the shocking facts about grave robbers from outer space? Unless you are petrified into cardiac arrest at the sight of a tin plate hanging from a piece of string, the answer is almost certainly going to be “yes.” If you are to receive medical treatment as a result of watching Plan 9 from Outer Space, I’m willing to speculate it won’t be the result of a terror-induced heart failure. You’re much more likely to either a) rupture a lung laughing, or b) need glass shards removed when you try to turn the TV off with your face. Plan 9, of course, is the cinemaphiles’ fabled “worst film ever made.”

Plan 9 is certainly a very bad film, but what’s more is that it is bad with a very different sort of badness. Rather than the admittedly naff giant insects and lizards which stomped their way around the screens of most low budget 50s flicks, the even lower-budget “monsters” terrorising middle America in Plan 9 look like a couple on their way to an Addams family-themed costume party and, well…a fat, bald man wearing face glitter. Whilst the prospect of a fat, bald man in face glitter chasing me around a graveyard in real life scares the crap out of me far more than giant ants do, I’m afraid that on the big screen even styrofoam ants would make for more credible horror.

The acting, while occasionally the rich, glazed ham which typifies the form, is more often at the level of a high school play. The protagonist’s wife in particular, and the policemen investigating the grave robbers in general, are so bad it’s amazing even the B studios would have them. The script isn’t the self-indulgent poetising which marks the best lines in other “so-bad-they’re-good” features; it’s just poorly written. In other “crap classics” the badness is something which swells at moments into a visceral force which rushes from the screen and grabs you. In their own unholy way these films have exactly the qualities their directors intended them to have – intensity, drama, tension. The fact they have attained them in completely the wrong way just adds to our enjoyment. But Plan 9 fails to attain even this accolade; it isn’t just terrible, it’s rubbish.

It might seem from the argument I’ve put forward so far that I couldn’t possibly recommend Plan 9 from Outer Space. On the contrary, though, I wholeheartedly do. It is undoubtedly a film some will find very, very funny. I do, however, wish to issue a warning to all bad cinema fans who have yet to watch. Most bad films are entertaining because they have something in common with the popular films of their day. They emulate the idiosyncrasies and foibles that better-made films can get away with (and thus they cast a humorous light on the form), but Plan 9 is more a master class in what-not-to-do than a shamefaced copy or amusing near miss. It is, without a doubt, the worst made thing I’ve ever seen. That said, there are plenty of better films I’ve liked less.

Tremors

Nobody likes me, everybody hates me…

Tremors (like Star Wars, Back to the Future, or The Godfather) is the kind of film you will get told off for not having seen, but rather than turn video Nazi, I just want to list here the reasons why you should watch Tremors. Contrary to what some reviewers claim, it is arguably neither a B-movie nor a spoof. Tremors does, however, definitely have enough in common with the style to bear comparison, especially the giant underground worm monsters which terrorise a sleepy valley.

Naturally, the higher production values make Tremors far slicker than its B-movie cousins, but what separates it from them more than anything else is that Tremors is actually a really good film. There is great chemistry between the incredibly charismatic Fred Ward and Kevin Bacon, and this is arguably Bacon’s best comic performance before he settled into more serious roles. The script gives the duo and solid supporting cast ammunition to spare, so quotable banter becomes the film’s forte. It’s fast, exciting, funny, slick, and pretty.

First and foremost, though, Tremors is fun. Yes, it won’t change your life, and there are surely films which are funnier or more original, but while it may not be sublime, Tremors certainly is flawless. It doesn’t set a single foot wrong, and the worst thing I can criticize is that the stop-motion “snakeoids” are a tad dated. That’s a really minor gripe, though, so just watch it! And if you’ve seen it already, watch it again.

Lobster Man from Mars

He’s deader than a son of a bitch!

Unlike Tremors, Lobster Man from Mars is undeniably a B-movie spoof. Starring Steed from the Avengers and a bunch of other people you’ll think you recognise it’s an endearing (if flawed) pastiche, complete with a nonsensical script (see tagline above), budget effects, and a ridiculous plot. Lobster Man from Mars is, on occasions, very, very funny.

Unfortunately, these occasions are a little spread out; the haunted house section of the tale, in particular, falls quite flat. What’s more, a lot of the humour depends on the audience having a genuine enthusiasm for film. For example, Englishman Anthony Hickox’s character spends the whole film playing off the stereotyped Brits of Hollywood antiquity, but viewers unfamiliar with the type might not even be aware of the joke.

Lobster Man is a film for film lovers. I can’t say I would recommend it for casual viewers, but I will say that when it hits the target it’s bang on.

The Crawling Eye

Aye, aye!

In comparison to Crab Monsters, The Crawling Eye (alias The Trollenberg Terror) is rather successful as a low-budget horror. Yes, it is still cheap and cliché-laden, but everything from the script to the European accents are of a higher calibre. This ought to be hardly surprising as it’s a Hammer film, and the little British studio is famous for being among the best of B. Maybe it’s best for aficionados rather than general viewers, but I liked it nonetheless. I must confess this is actually the first Hammer film I’ve ever seen. It made me want to watch more.