Parks and Preservation

Typically parks are simple places designed for the enjoyment of simple pleasures. They offer no more than a place to play and relax, and in doing so they are very generous. Other parks, such as amusement and water parks, try to offer more than simple pleasures. They claim to provide visitors with thrills and adventure. Though these are bold claims they are not completely unbelievable. Not nearly so unbelievable as the assertions made by a park I visited a few weeks ago.

It was an unbelievable park built upon a far fetched theory, claiming to be able to do something wholly improbable. The park is called The Site of Reversible Destiny. From above it looks like this: 

Closer up it looks like this:

It is a park, a piece of art and an architectural experiment based on the concept of reversing destiny. The concept of reversing destiny can be somewhat difficult to explain and even to harder to grasp, so instead of explaining it straight out I will explain how it unfolded to me.

I first heard of this place from Maggie who told me only the name and showed me a few photos. Both of us were very excited about the look of the place and the possibility that it would be conceptual art very much in line with our own thinking. Before going we spent some time discussing what Reversible Destiny might mean. 
We began our discussion with the idea of destiny. Was destiny something that lay at the end of a predetermined path, or was it points along said path? Was it both? What do people mean when they say things like: it was my destiny to come to such and such a place? Does achieving one's destiny in this way mean that everything that comes afterwards is not destined? Are destiny and freewill mutually exclusive ideas? And if they are, how can one have the power, the freewill, to choose their destiny, let alone reverse it?

Considering the contradictory ideas presented I came to the conclusion that in this case destiny must be the decisions a person makes in life that leads them along a path to points that they have, for better or worse, expected to arrive at. The Site of Reversible Destiny must then be a place where one is given the opportunity to go back and change these decisions. It must be a place that exists in a metaphysical space outside of time and space. Or the site is arranged in such a way that visitors are transported to such a metaphysical state where the past, or their perception of the past, can be altered, thus reversing their destiny. It seemed like a pretty big claim for a park to make, and it made me want to go all the more.

Upon arriving at the park we paid our entrance fee, a nominal seven dollars. Then I saw this sign, and I began to doubt the rather bold claim I had made on the park's behalf.

I began thinking the site might be geared to broader ideas of destiny rather than those more personal. That instead of allowing each visitor to reverse their own personal destiny it was speaking to a destiny all humans share. Given the phrase at the center of the poster I assumed the destiny the park sought to reverse was the inevitable conforming to societal norms that people face as they get older. Simply the Site of Reversible Destiny was a place where adults were encouraged, and allowed, to return to a childlike state of mind. That this place was designed in such a way that it did not cater to expectation and as a result visitors would be forced to interact with the environment with a sense of newness and awe. An outlook found most prominently in the minds of children. This idea spoke to me, it agreed with my own philosophical views and having no other information to dismantel this idea I explored the park with this in mind. It was incredibly fun.

The park is very suitable for this kind of thinking. It is a huge, adult sized playground. The complex contains several buildings with floor plans designed like mazes. The interiors were painted with over a dozen colors with no semblance of order or purpose. Each building had several entrances and exits, which visitors are encouraged to use all of. Not one building had a level floor which gave me the sense that I was in a circus fun house or having a psychedelic experience. Adding to this feeling are the ceilings, which are not an exact mirror of the floor, but are designed in exactly the same, disorienting maze-like way. 

The exterior portions of the park were much the same; no level surfaces, brightly and chaotically colored, with no sense of order to be found anywhere. Playing on this idea of disorder was a huge map painted over much of the park. This map was unlike most maps in that it was designed to disorientate. It was a map of several places; New York City, Berlin, Tokyo, Kuala Lampur, and each, I am pretty sure, less than accurate. 

The outer rim of the park was large, narrow, ascending path that led to a dead end. The path was so narrow that when we encountered visitors headed the opposite direction, we had to cram our bodies up against the wall to let them pass. Physical contact was inevitable. It was also hilarious because people, and Japanese people in particular, have a tendency to let that sort of thing become very embarrassing. 
The dead end was a crow's nest that overlooked the park, but was surrounded by such high walls that one could only struggle for the view provided. It seemed as if everything was designed as some kind of practical joke. As I was still in the mindset that the park was designed to make its visitors act like children, I thought this to be very clever. 

The center of the park was a valley surrounded by this high cliff like rim and the aforementioned map. It was mostly grassy, but also had sections that were paved, and others that were covered in a rubber mesh mat that I have encountered beneath sinks in restaurant kitchens. These mats were clearly there to provide traction for the visitors, and were the only safety precaution evident in the entire park. The park as a whole was a struggling podiatrist's wet dream, or a frail ankled individual's nightmare. 

As we explored the inner area of the park we came across a door way leading into the side of the surrounding hill. 
No light shone from inside and I was immediately curious. We entered the door and, using the light from the outside world, were led down a corridor. The corridor extended far beyond the reach of natural light and we soon found ourselves immersed in total darkness. It was creepy, but we knew we were in a park so we assumed it was safe. The corridor got progressively narrower as we continued. Having no light to guide us, we used the walls. When the corridor came to an end we felt around the walls. We found that there was a very tight space that led further into the space. So we squeezed through it and found ourselves in yet another very dark and narrow corridor. We continued following these paths and turns until we ended up in a small room. It was a dead end. We stood in this space and let the details of our situation set in. 
It was dark, we were underground, alone, and potentially very lost. Despite these details neither Maggie or myself felt very afraid. We were creeped out and possibly a little anxious, but it was more like climbing to the apex of a roller coaster than having fallen down a well. It was the kind of fear that instils laughter rather than panic, so we laughed until it seemed the excitement had passed. Then we easily found our way back to the out of doors. Once again in sunlight we explored the remainder of the park. We were satisfied, the cold was setting in, and the valley was growing darker. We decided it was time to go. 
In the following days Maggie started doing more research into the park's history and creators. She had much to report, namely that my idea of what the park was all about was way off. I was right that the idea of destiny they were thinking about was a broadly applicable destiny. I was wrong, however, to think that this destiny was conforming to the norms of society.

The creators had no intention of creating a space where grown ups could regain some of their childhood spirit, nor should children maintain it. (At site of theirs in East Hampton children are prohibited and adults must sign a waiver.) The destiny they had in mind was death. What they had intended was to create a space that would literally keep people from dying, physically dying. I was more than baffled by this discovery. I was disheartened, and a little insulted at the audacity of such a claim. 

The people behind The Site of Reversible Destiny are an artist couple who go by the names Arakawa and Gins. They have designed homes and parks around the world with the idea that specific architectural design, specifically non-functional design, can prevent death. Their idea is that by creating spaces that 'cradle tentativeness' they can fend of mortality. The point of 'cradling tentativeness' is so that the occupant will never be able to settle or get comfortable, ideas this couple associates with aging and dying. 
Though the Site of Reversible Destiny was wholly enjoyable the idea that death can, and should, be prevented is totally absurd and disparagingly arrogant.  
Little to my surprise it was not just this couple's ideas that were steeped in arrogance, but also what they had to say for, and about, themselves. Here are a few quotes from an article in the New York Times that illustrate their baffling sense of self-importance.

The interior of a house designed by Arakawa and Gins.

“After this, Gehry, Rem Koolhaas — boring,” Ms. Gins said.

“We should win a Nobel Prize for this,” Arakawa said. Asked if her husband was serious, Ms. Gins replied, “Of course he is.”

“It’s immoral that people have to die,” Ms. Gins explained.

“They ought to build hospitals like this,” she said.

“If Neil Armstrong were here, he would say, ‘This is even better!’ ”

Furthering the absurdity of their claim is the fact that Arakawa died in 2010, he was 73. Gins refused to tell the press the cause of Arakawa's death. Her only comment was, 'this mortality thing is bad news'. 

Death, in my opinion, is like rain. It makes our mood somber, it keeps us from playing outside, and it makes us want to sleep the day through. It is a natural process that often gets in the way of what we might otherwise have planned, but it also allows for growth, cleansing, and renewed outlook. It is not something that can be planned for nor can it be avoided. I think it is said best in the Hagakure, 'There is something to be learned from a rainstorm. When meeting with a sudden shower you try not to get wet and run quickly along the road. By doing such things as passing under the eaves of houses you still get wet. When you are resolved from the beginning you will not be perplexed, though you will still get the same soaking. This understanding extends to all.'

Parks and Education

Despite reputation, a park can be the site of both recreation and education. Last weekend Maggie and I attended a small festival in honor of the blossoming of the plum trees. Japan is perhaps best known for its cherry blossoms, but lets be realistic, it is home to many kinds of fruit trees all of which bloom at some time or another. However, in the case of the plum trees that time did not correspond with the scheduled date of the plum blossom festival. This was merely a detail and everybody did their best to overlook it and have a good time anyway. 

The festivities included  some great people watching, entertainment and food. The highlights of the people watching was a child crying and walking blindly head first into a slide, a stroller filled with cats and dogs, and parade of guys playing flutes with baskets on their heads. One of these guys approached us and tried to put his basket on Maggie's head. 

The entertainment was provided by an elderly gentleman who seemed to be something like a very traditional Japanese clown. I say clown, but only for lack of a better word. The man was catering his show to children, but he had no make up, nor the silly demeanor of a clown. However his act did involve spinning tops, dancing monkeys and some kind of magic, or trickery, which I am still not so sure. 

The food was sold from tents that lined the pathways leading into the park. They sold a small variety of goods; fried octopus, fish shaped donuts, ramen, and rice crispy squares. The fried octopus looked strange as ever, the fish shaped donuts, fortunately, did not taste like fish, and the ramen looked like it would give a person with even the strongest bowels a quick and relentless case of diarrhea so we stayed away from it. 
The best looking snack at the festival was also the most exciting, mystifying and educational. Now I realize that there is nothing particularly mystifying about rice crispy squares, but when they are sold next to a large canon looking machine that explodes every twenty minutes they can be. We were attracted to the stand when we first heard a loud exploding noise and saw a cloud of smoke rise in the distance. We approached the scene quickly to investigate. What we found were three people working very nonchalantly behind a typical fare style tent. In front of the tent was a large griddle and various stacks of puffed rice snacks. To the right of the tent was the canon like machine. The eldest worker, and clearly the boss stood behind the canon drinking sake and smoking cigarettes. He wore a white glove on his left hand and I noticed that the pinky of his glove stuck up in such a way that suggested the glove was empty there. With the amount of sake he was drinking I thought he had lost the pink to the canon machine, but thinking   about it later the guy was probably Yakuza, or dishonored Yakuza as loss of a pinky finger is a sign of having dishonored the Yakuza. 

Becoming more interested in what he was doing than his pinky finger I started to pay attention to his actions. I wanted to know what the canon was for, and, as I was sure it would be awesome, I started shooting some video. It took about twenty minutes of standing around shooting video to finally figure what exactly was going on, for the sake of convenience I have edited it down to about three.

Parks and Determination

There is a river that runs through Gifu, along the side of this river runs a track where people, well, run. Along the eastern edge of this track is a smaller track where people rollerblade, play tennis and skateboard. It is a very scenic area of the track as the opposite shore butts up against a small lush mountain that is topped with a castle. As I was skating there one afternoon a Japanese man carrying stilts approached me. The stilts were not the kind a person would wear to tower over a crowd, at most they elevated their user a foot in the air. Like those pictured here, but of a more modern design.

The man asked if I could take a picture of him standing on the stilts with the castle in the background. He tells me that he wants to put the picture on facebook. He hands me his Iphone to take the picture and I see he has it set to his facebook page. I tell him that I don't think I can take the picture straight from facebook. That we will have to use the camera on the phone and he can upload it later. He seems a little confused by this so I show him the camera application on the phone. He nods happily and then tells me that we will have to take the picture quickly because he is not very good on the stilts yet. I tell him its no problem, take my position and frame up the shot.
He counts down to three, hops up onto the stilts and I hit the shutter. It doesn't work.

The delay on the Iphone camera is just a little longer than he can stay on the stilts. I tell him to try again and this time I hit the shutter just before he gets on the stilts. By the count of three he is on the stilts and the camera is in action. We get the shot, and in the timeless space of a photograph he is quite the stilt walker.  I show him the photo for his approval. He thanks me and wanders off. I get back to skateboarding.

About fifteen minutes later he returns and strikes up a conversation. He asks the usual questions; what am I doing in Japan, how long have I been here, why did I come. I chat with him happily. After a few more questions he tells me that he wants to travel to America in May or June. He wants to go to LA and from LA he wants to walk, on stilts, to Las Vegas. From LA to Las Vegas is three hundred miles. I tell him that I am quite impressed with his ambitions. He tells me he plans to practice the stilts everyday until the trip. I tell him he will have to. I then ask what kind of a record he will make of the journey. I tell him it seems like good fodder for a documentary or photo series. He tells me that he will document it all on facebook; using his Iphone on the trip he will post moments of the trip as they occur. I tell him I think this is a brilliant idea and that given the right networking he could become an international celebrity. He asks if I would be his friend on facebook and, in eager anticipation of his journey, I told him I would. He logged onto facebook, through his Iphone, and sent me a friend request.

After this he went back to wondering around and I went back to skateboarding, all the while I thought about his plan. In between tricks I would look at him in the distance, and not once did I see him practicing his stilt walking. When I got home I got on facebook and accepted his friend request. I was curious about the guy so I went to his page and started snooping. I learned that he was as new to facebook as he was to stilt walking. He had joined the network a little more than a month ago and I was his eleventh friend. I laughed at the gall of this guy. His dream was dependent on learning two things that he had only just begin to use. Yet despite everything he had going against his success I had confidence in him. He might not have been much of a stilt walker, or a very savvy social networker, but damn if he wasn't determined. 

Parks and Exhibition

In my mind the best public facility is a clean, free and accessible bathroom. Second to a clean bathroom I really appreciate a good city park. Living in Japan is then an exceptionally fortunate situation as public parks are abound and each is equipped with public toilets. The toilets are invariably clean as they are of the Japanese variety, which means they are basically holes in the ground. A hole in the ground, to a westerner, may not seem like the ideal place to poop, but because no physical contact is made with the toilet, they are far more sanitary than the western chair style toilet. My appreciation for a clean bathroom is one based in necessity, not frequent use. My appreciation for parks is the opposite a result of frequent use rather than necessity. Much of my life, I am lucky to say, has been spent in parks.

The majority of time I have spent in parks has been to skateboard, at skateparks. I also love a good swing set, jungle gym and any slide that seems particularly dangerous. Though parks that contain these kinds of things are typically catering to young children this has never stopped me from enjoying their facilities. Then there are parks, or aspects of parks, that cater to the general population, young and old. These parks contain basketball courts, fitness stations, and in Germany, ping pong tables. There are bio-parks for nature enthusiasts, zoo-parks for captivity enthusiasts, and, in Albuquerque, bum parks for drinking/sleeping enthusiasts. In Japan every park, despite its intended purpose or design, is a place people go to exhibit their enthusiasm for what ever it is they are enthused about.

To make a very broad generality, the Japanese are an incredibly focused people. In America we are proud of choice and this may lead us to be easily distracted. But, to quote on oft worshiped king, we want, no feel we deserve, to 'have it our way' regardless of the effects this has on our attention spans and decision making skills. We like to think of ourselves as renaissance people able to take on a handful of hobbies and express ourselves accurately with each. However in my own experience I have noticed that when presented with so many options I get lost. I become adrift in an ocean of possibilities and rather than pursuing my various interests I spend an obscene amount of time deliberating over which interest to pursue.

In Japan it seems that everybody has one hobby and they give into it completely. They spend every moment of free time, which in such a work-centric society is never much, pursuing this one specific interest. It may have something to do with their samurai ancestors. It is written in the Hagakure, a famous samurai manual of sorts, 'It is bad when one thing becomes two. One should not look for anything else in the way of the samurai. It is the same for anything else that is called a way. If one understands things in this manner, he should be able to hear about all ways and be more in accord with his own'. Of course it may also have nothing whatsoever to do with this, or it may be a result of the subconscious resonance of such thinking. I can't really say with any certainty. Whatever the reason is, the result is that most are incredibly good at what they do. Whether  or not it is necessary, whatever it is they do, they do it in public parks.

As a skateboarder I cannot skate in the privacy of my own home, I must go out in public, a park or otherwise, to find space enough skate. The same is also true for runners, jugglers, bikers, etc; many of which I have seen practiced in parks in Japan. It is not however the case for all hobbies, for example hip-hop dancing and fashion modeling. Yet the hobby I have seen both in public parks.
Hip-hop, or B-Boy dancing, is definitely the more popular of the two. It is also  one of the goofiest and most endearing things I have ever witnessed. A single teenager, or maybe a group of two or three, each wearing headphones. With no regard for the world around them, they get down. As a cultural reference I offer the scene in Napoleon Dynamite, wherein Napoleon is dancing in front of the mirror in his bedroom. Now imagine that Napoleon is a Japanese b-boy and his bedroom is a city park. If this reference doesn't help, watch this video of some kids I saw getting down in Nagoya.

hide and seek

I walked past the park by my apartment the other day and saw something that caught me dumbfounded. A child was crouching in the bushes, another behind a tree trunk, a third held himself up behind a small wooden sign. One kid leaned his face into a flagpole and covered his eyes. This scene was at first surreal and I could find no possible motives for the actions of these children. Then the boy leaning against the flagpole shouted something, uncovered his eyes and began to survey the park. It occurred to me then what I was seeing. The explanation was so simple I could have kicked myself for the previous moments of mental struggle. They were playing hide and seek. The realization came at a most appropriate time as I had just come from the shopping mall.

Unlike the what I saw in the park shopping malls do not fill me with playful wonderment. They do not make me long for the carefree days of my childhood. Rather they remind me of the few things I hate about getting older.

For the most part I do like the process of aging. I like that I have a command and familiarity of my body. I enjoy responsibility and I am glad I have experiences to draw on as I try to juggle my responsibilities. I like shaving and I like knowing more than teenagers. I don't however like the fact being an adult means I have to adhere to the idea that life is not a game. I try very hard most days to reject such thinking.

In order to do this I try to think about my daily duties in terms of games rather than chores. When I clean the kitchen I try to stack the dishes in different and progressively more precarious ways. In sweeping the floor I imagine a game of shuffleboard. Squeegeeing windows and mirrors is a game and bliss all unto itself. Shopping is like playing hide and seek with the universe. The universe hides the things that I need and I go out and try to find them.

If the game is hide and seek, then these days I am the seeker and cultural discrepancies are the hiders. Japan has proven to be a suitable arena for this game because everything is new and particularly fun, even if it is relatively easy. Just like in hide and seek, it is always more fun if that which is sought after can find a really good hiding place. It is more fun for the hider and the seeker. Shopping malls reject this way of thinking entirely.

Shopping malls are like doing a crossword puzzle with the answers printed upside down next to the puzzle. They make the game so easy that it is hardly a game at all. It is for this reason that I don't often go shopping malls.

However shopping malls do not require that you shop, so that day I had chosen the shopping mall to play cultural hide and seek. I discovered that this shopping mall was not totally unlike the upscale shopping malls in America. It was neatly laid out and labeled.

There was a food court 

and several clothing stores that I would never find myself eating or shopping in. There was an arcade and there were people shopping.

I did, however, notice a few obvious differences. The arcade for instance is not like those that struggle to survive in America. 

The arcade in this particular mall bustles and strives. It is takes up about half of a floor 

and has easily two hundred video games. It also has a bowling alley and a carousel. It has a scale model German village. The village was distinctly German not just from the architecture but from all of the shop signs and billboards. You can pay 100 yen to control one of many trains that run through and around it.

The arcade is also home to several high-tech photo booths that make me question the ideas being imparted on the Japanese youth of today.

The mall also contains a full scale grocery store. It is like any other grocery store I have been to since my arrival. It has a large produce section with even larger prices. Yes the rumors are true, cantaloupe in Japan can run upwards of fifty bucks. Next to the grocery store, but not inside of it, was another surprising addition to the shopping mall conglomeration, a liquor store. Beyond the liquor store were two things I didn't expect to see in a shopping mall, especially in close vicinity to one another; a place for mothers to nurse their babies and a smoking section.

My favorite difference is one that took me by surprise, or rather it nearly scared my bowels loose. I was walking through the mall trying to take in all of the little details and as usual was lost in thought. (This happens a lot to me, just today I was thinking so hard about my experience being panhandled by a middle aged business man that I walked into a tree branch and nearly lost an eye). I passed the edge of a department store when I almost ran into a little kid. Actually I only thought it was a little kid but when I turned back to apologize I realized it was a mannequin. It was then that I almost shat my pants. I would like to describe what I saw in words. Words, I am afraid, will fall short of the sight that lay before me, so I lay it before you.  

Ultimately the shopping mall proved a good destination for the experience I desired. However in terms of shopping, malls are like playing hide and seek in an open field. They are kids who got allowances without having to mow the yard. They are dudes that get fit at the gym then struggle to pour concrete. They are the prefabricated rips on the jeans of people who fret when they tear their pants. Shopping malls are adults worn down by daily life who prefer convenience and conformity to experience and character. They are safe, warm, well lit and, if used for their intended purpose, they are very little fun.

The Sea and the Boat

Winter is the slowest season. In attempt to conserve energy animals move slowly across frozen landscapes or huddle deep in burrows asleep and unmoving. The human animal, due to the inconsiderate nature of the modern world, is not always allowed the luxury of such a slow pace. For the human the slowness of winter comes with the passing of time. February, though the shortest of months, is also the slowest. It strikes in the middle of this grey and sluggish season. Like days pass on a ship in the middle of a cross-atlantic voyage February comes as no surprise and shows no signs of relief. What February may lack in days it makes up for in dread and stillness.

It is winter in Gifu. As a result I find that much of my time is being spent indoors. Being stuck inside in a foreign country is almost the same as being stuck inside in your hometown. It is almost the same but it is also a lot better because when the weather lets up enough to let you out the world outside is twice as exciting. Exciting because it is not the room you have come to spend all of your time in and exciting because it is not the place you have spent your life.

I have learned from my days inside that all I need to satisfy my sense of adventure is to go outside. That the only thing that separates me from a strange new world is a door. I realize that depending on your perspective this could be true for anyone in any context, however it is a feeling much more accesible in a place so obviously different and new.

I often think of the scene in Pulp Fiction when Vincent tells Jules that the difference between America and Europe are the 'little things'; that the big differences are found in subtle details. Certainly there are subtle differences between America and Japan, details that parallel the observations Vincent had. For instance in Japan they don't call it a Big Mac, they call it a Grand Canyon Burger and it comes topped with a fried egg and teriyaki sauce (later this month the release of the Las Vegas burger is scheduled).

If one can only see the differences in the subtle details I am afraid they are trying too hard.

The differences are obvious and abound. Cars drive on the opposite side of the road, everything is written in kana and kanji, nobody speaks English and everybody is Japanese. Soup is eaten with chopsticks and egg is typically served raw. There are shrines and temples around every corner and smoking is still allowed in bars and restaurants. People hold umbrellas while they ride their bikes. Beer and hot coffee in a can can be bought in vending machines on any street. There are so many differences that anytime the weather lets up enough for me to escape my tiny apartment I am overwhelmed and overjoyed. I don't even have to think about what to do, I simply start walking and before I know it I am having an experience I couldn't have planned for or dreamed of.

A few days ago I woke up to yet another dark grey sky. I spent the morning eating breakfast slowly and perusing the internet. My hips began to ache. The lack of chairs in my apartment means I spend most of my time sitting on floor. As a person accustomed to chairs this ache can quickly become pain. I stood and opened the curtains to remind myself why I was sitting on the floor reading banal facebook posts. To my surprise and relief I couldn't find any reason. The sky was clear and the sun shone proudly, proving to the wet sidewalks who was boss. 

I gave a quick thumbs up to the sun, put on my boots and hit the street.

Outside the air was cold and the wind fierce, but the sun shone and it was dry. I continued on my way. I walked aimlessly, as I do on walks like this. I walk aimlessly because I have nothing to aim at. I haven't money to go shopping, I haven't destinations I feel I must see. I came to Japan to be in Japan and experience it for what it had to offer. I find the best way to do this is to simply immerse myself in it and let it offer to me what it will.

What it had to offer that day was long, winding residential streets. I found great pleasure in looking at architecture that is uncommon to me and that was only vaguely self similar. I had the feeling that I could pass a thousand houses and find a sense of newness in each one, so I did. Details that stick out to me now; tiled exterior walls, bonsai gardens, wilted prickly pear cactus. One of my favorite sites that day was the side of two story apartment building that faced a vacant lot. The lot was obviously not always vacant as the wall was stained with the silhouette of a pitched roof and wall. I wondered how it came to be vacant. If the house that was no longer there because it had been torn down or if it had gotten restless and left for greener pastures. Snow began to fall fall through the sunny air and I continued walking, hoping to find greener pastures myself. I imagined a me shaped stain stuck to the side of such a building

The landscape of Gifu is such that where there is development it is very flat. Where the development ends there are hills and even mountains. It is not predictable as to when the development will end and the hills will begin. I turned a corner and was presented with a choice between a hill or more developed flatland. Having seen much of the developed option I decided to investigate the hill. I crossed a muddy field via its snow covered edges and found a cobbled path that led up the hill into the woods. Signs and benches indicated that I had found a public park. It was unlike the parks that I am used to in the states and I was content to muddy my boots in exploration. I followed the path about half way up the hill until I came to a lookout point. There was a small picnic shelter and an incredible view of the snow covered city. There was also an old man doing yoga on a bench. He was either oblivious to my presence or was ignoring it in hopes that I wouldn't disrupt him. Either way I felt the urge to back away slowly and quietly. I was only half way up the hill anyway and figured I would find another vista that I could enjoy without being a nuisance. I quietly backed away from the man and headed up another path.

Signs and benches indicated that I had found a public park. It was unlike the parks that I am used to in the states and I was content to muddy my boots in exploration. I followed the path about half way up the hill until I came to a lookout point. There was a small picnic shelter and an incredible view of the snow covered city. There was also an old man doing yoga on a bench. He was either oblivious to my presence or was ignoring it in hopes that I wouldn't disrupt him. Either way I felt the urge to back away slowly and quietly. I was only half way up the hill anyway and figured I would find another vista that I could enjoy without being a nuisance. I quietly backed away from the man and headed up another path.

This path led up a steeper incline into tall trees. The wet soles of my boots slipped on the wet cobble steps. I walked slowly. The trees grew thicker and my hopes of finding another place to view the city were replaced by a desire to explore the woods. I kept climbing feeling more elated with each step.

As the hill got steeper the path became a series of switchbacks. My view of what to come, appropriately, was very limited. My excitement to see what was waiting for me increased, but still my feet found little traction on the wet ground and I was forced to walk slowly. This was not to my dismay as it gave me a chance to soak in my surroundings. They were so different than where I had been only twenty minutes before. A line from a poem crept into my thoughts, 'how different from the sea is the boat'. It was such a nice turn of phrase and despite the context of the poem it seemed appropriate. I repeated it aloud, 'how different from the sea is the boat'.

I turned two more switch backs before I caught a glimpse of something through the trees. It was the pitch of a roof patched with snow. I thought maybe it was another picnic shelter like the one I had passed a little earlier so I continued in its direction. It was not a picnic shelter, but rather a small shrine, abandoned and boarded up.
I stood looking up at the shrine from the bottom of a steep staircase. I wondered how it was a shrine came to be abandoned. If it was just too inconvenient to visit regularly or if it was in honor of something that nobody believed in any longer. I imagined a future where all churches and wal-marts were boarded up because the belief in their usefulness had dissipated from society. It seemed a bright future to me despite the macabre feeling of the shrine I was looking at. From the shrine there led a path down the other side of the hill. Not being one to like backtracking I chose this as my way down. I made it only a few steps before I was forced to stop walking and simply look on in awe. Down below the path I saw a small cemetery and surrounding it were tall pine and bamboo trees. The sun broke through the canopy above and wind pushed snow down and around the tree trunks. I would say that it was beautiful, but this seems like too simple a description, so instead I suggest you just see for yourself.
I stood and watched this subtle spectacle until the cold found its way into my bones. I followed the path down and out of the woods. Back on the street I found the sun fighting a losing battle against a mean gang of clouds and the wind throwing around some pretty nasty words. It seemed that the only thing quick about winter was the speed in which it reminds us of its presence. I bought a hot can of coffee from a vending machine, and used it to warm my hands and belly as I made the walk back home.

At home I was, as always, confronted by the front door. It was the same door it always is, but I was glad to see it. My numb fingers fumbled with my keys as I unlocked and opened it. They cracked a little as I turned the handle. How different from the sea is the boat I thought as I removed my shoes and entered the apartment, and how different from the boat is the sea. Small and confining she is a sea worthy vessel. Cold and indifferent she is a vessel worthy sea.

Remembering and Remembrance

When I was a baby, I am told, that it was not uncommon for me to strip myself of my clothes, and run unaccompanied down the street to the local pool. Taking advantage of my lack of height I would run, unseen, beneath the turnstile, towards the pool and jump into the deep end. Invariably the life guards would fish me out, wrap me in a towel and call my parents. Throughout my formative years, and to little avail, my parents have tried to expunge this tendency from me. In recent years they have become more accepting, and even supportive, of this desire to dive headlong into situations that I am not entirely prepared for. 

When I was nineteen I attempted to move to Mexico. I had saved up little money and left my home and job in Albuquerque. The plan was to first stop in the Gila Valley in southern New Mexico to visit a friend, and from there continue south. I did not, however, continue south. 

Instead I came to the harsh realization that, due to my lack of preparation and planning, I was not going to be able to continue south. Having made such a stink about doing that, I felt I couldn't return to my home in Albuquerque either. I was, figuratively, naked and floundering in the deep end. Literally I was cold and alone in the woods with very little I could do for myself. 

I was in desperate need of a life line. I called my sister and explained to her my situation and desperation. She suggested I stay with my dad in Iowa for a time, until I got back on my feet. I accepted that what she had said had merit and that I had few other options to choose from. So with little enthusiasm I made arrangements to move back home. My brother kindly drove a few long hours to the Gila, picked me up, and drove me back to Albuquerque. After a few days, of trying their patience, my brother and sister wished me well and put me on a bus to Iowa.
 I was a very unhappy nineteen year old, debilitated by self pity and unaware that life is subject to improve, if allowed. I had lost faith in myself, causing my courage to dive into uncharted waters to disappear. It was in Iowa with this mindset that I spent the few months preceding my second trip to Japan.

My first trip to Japan was as a young child, maybe eight or nine years old. The impetus for travel was my brother Seth, who at the time was teaching English on a small island called Oki. In the interim of my trips Seth had continued to live primarily in Japan, with short bouts in San Diego, California and Florence, Italy. Deciding his place was in Japan he had returned, married a Japanese woman, Hisako, and had a child, Tofu. It was shortly before Tofu was born that I boarded the bus to Iowa.

A dreadlock discovered.

Upon arrival in Iowa I was a complete and total wreck; an absolute pessimist and a perpetual pain in the ass. I had given in to uncertainty and neglect. Uncertainty of my actions and neglect of my mental and physical health. I lived in never ending gloom and allowed my hair to grow long, greasy, and tangled. It was my habit then to wear the patience down of anyone in my proximity. It seemed to continue in this way would alienate me completely from the world and those who cared for me. I could have cared less, the better for everybody to just leave me alone. Thankfully, however, my dad felt differently and had the means to help. 

Early on a cold March morning my dad woke me with an abrupt shake and an announcement. He said, "Tickets to Japan are four hundred dollars round trip. Get your hair cut and promise to wear your pants around your waist while we are there and I will buy you one". Without a second thought I agreed to his terms. He left me laying in bed and I tried to return to sleep. Sleep being, at this point, my only escape from the world I felt so poorly about. 

Yet I couldn't get back to sleep that morning, and I didn't feel so poorly about the world. I thought it was the excitement of international travel that was keeping me up, but it turned out to be much more than this. I wasn't just shaken awake that morning, I was shaken from a deep and muddy slump. It wasn't just the idea of travel, but the thought that somebody, namely my dad, had enough conviction in me and the world to propose such an extreme reintroduction. 

In agreeing to my dad's terms I had unconsciously sparked something in myself I had all but forgotten. It was that spark I had felt as a child, the spark that caused me to strip and head for the swimming pool. The spark that told me not to worry, not to think too hard. It was the impulse to do for the sake of experience and it was being reinforced by my father, a person I trusted and trusted not to understand such impulses. I cut my hair, bought a belt and in a few quick weeks my dad and I were on a plane to Japan. 

I remember this trip much like I remember dreams, with little control. As with dreams, when I do try to exert control the memories become vaguer and less tangible. They simply slip away. One memory I have from this trip, however, that remains clear is something Seth told me. He said, "I some times feel that if I can't remember something it means it isn't important, so I don't worry about forgetting and later, if and when, I remember something I have forgotten it means it is significant in that moment". 

Rather than detailed memories I came home with a changed perspective and a few souvenirs. I had gained perspective that was very much in emulation of Seth's. An outlook that gave credence to optimism, bravery, and an overall enjoyment of life. This new, or renewed, way of seeing the world came as a great relief. It taught me that the best I can do with experiences and memories is allow them to come to me enjoy them for as long as they last. I didn't know how well this lesson would serve me. 
Less than a year later, tragedy struck. Seth had died. 

At the time, and still, it is an incredibly painful shock to my family and those that had known Seth. Seth was by all accounts an amazing human being and his passing came entirely too soon. However tragedy is worth nothing if it can not be used to improve the lives of those so affected, and as it was with Seth's passing. My immediate family, my parents, brothers, and sisters were faced with a reality that has only brought us closer together. 

Each of us have been taught the preciousness of life and the importance of living that life while the chance is there. It is impossible to say what exactly Seth has taught us, or what exactly it was that set him apart from other people. I believe it has something to do with his rejection of the idea that fear is debilitating. 

In terms of his artwork Seth approached this by developing his shortcomings rather than his inherent skills. In life he did this by roaming the streets of Tokyo naked as a means of overcome his fear of embarrassment. Anytime he was halted by fear he forced himself to find a way to overcome that fear. Anything that stood in his way he would attempt to jump over or break through. It was his desire to live and understand life that caused him to dismiss convention at all costs; specifically the cost of comfort. Seth's rejection of fear led to courage; a courage that is rare and contagious. A courage that allowed him to explore  himself unabashedly and encouraged others to do the same.  

"I want to explore my own mind until I find something
so hidden that it shocks even me"
-seth fisher
A Beautiful Mind

I am now in Japan for the third time and, though indirectly, it has everything to do with Seth. In September my girlfriend, Maggie, accepted a job teaching English in Japan. As chance would have it the job has her living in Gifu City, only a few train stops from Nagoya, the city Seth last lived in, and Seto where Hisako and Tofu currently live. These convenient coincidences and a series of strange and unpredictable events furthered my reasons and means of traveling to Japan. I bought a plane ticket with the return trip leaving three months from the day I arrived. I had spent most of my money on the ticket and still have no jobs lined up. I am, once again a happy naked toddler floundering in the deep end of life.

The day I arrived was a week ago last Saturday. Being in no real hurry to see the country, Maggie and I spent the weekend settling into our apartment. On Monday we had errands to run in Nagoya. The intent of our trip was solely practical. Maggie had to work early the next day, and as we have at least three months ahead of us, were not concerned with rushing to see the sites. The plan was simply to run our errands, get a quick bite to eat, then return to Gifu at a reasonable hour. The evening turned out to entail much more than this.

Our errands led us to Fashion Avenue, a bright and expensive stretch in downtown Nagoya. Nagoya is something of a fashion center and Fashion Avenue feels like a posh, Japanese, version of Times Square. The kind of place that makes you wonder how people can afford to live the way they do. A place with shops that emphasize their high prices by their lack of inventory. 

Where stores do better when left nameless. 

Where Goodwill doesn't mean second hand or second rate.

We finished our errands and headed away from Fashion Avenue with due haste. The streets were getting crowded, the night was getting cold, and hunger was creeping in. We left the bright lights and Maggie led me to a part of town where we could find cheaper eats called Osu. She assured me that this area would be more to my liking.

Osu is a semi outdoor shopping district; consisting of long covered corridors lined with shops and restaurants. A place with graffiti scrawled on walls and skateboards on the sidewalks. It was definitely more to my liking.  As we got close I was overcome with the sense that I knew this place. That this was where I had spent much of my time during my last visit. I expressed this to Maggie and she asked what I remembered. 

I explained that my memories were vague and that the only clear memory I had was a record shop. I remembered the shop because I had copied its slogan on to a piece of paper that Seth then wrote onto a hat. I had purchased this hat in what I was realizing was Osu.

Years ago I had worn the hat for years. Then I lost it was passed from friend to friend and I lost track of it. A few months ago while visiting Iowa the hat was returned to me. Despite having recently reclaimed the hat, I only vaguely remembered what was written on it. Something like, "we are covered with ideal society, I don't find myself. I find music...".  
We passed a record shop and Maggie asked if this was the one I had been to before. I told her it wasn't but it caused me to remember the name; Banana Records. Maggie said that there was a Banana Records in Gifu and this assured my memory was serving me well. We walked less then a hundred yards before we found it.

Standing in front of Banana Records I was overcome with memories I had thought long lost. As I looked around the littlest details began to spark the most vivid recollections. Excited, I took Maggie by the hand and asked her to follow me. We took off like detectives hot on a case. 

We turned a corner off the street into a covered corridor. I wasn't sure if I was guessing or remembering, but regardless I led the way with confidence. As we passed along shops and restaurants another detail came to mind; wedding gowns. I remembered clearly a store in a corridor much like the one we were in that sold second hand wedding gowns. Within moments we were confronted by a shop with a rack of wedding gowns in front. I still can't say if it was the same one, but it didn't seem to matter.

This memory led me to another; one of snake oils and vitality drinks sold in a vending machine. A few steps further we passed one, but I was sure that this was not the same machine. No less enchanted we continued on down memory lane. I pulled Maggie down one corridor and through another until we came to the end of a third. 

As we walked out from the bright florescent lights into the dark night we saw a large red and black temple. I knew that I had seen this temple. 

I looked to the left and sure enough there was the vending machine, still stocked with snake oils.  Around the corner from the vending machine was an unlit alley way. I pulled at Maggie's hand.

We walked down the alley until I saw a small cafe that I was sure I had been to. Past the cafe was a large street and to the right an even larger street. I knew I knew this street. We walked up to the larger street and a hundred meters down I saw a pedestrian bridge that went up and over the street. I had been on this bridge too.

We crossed the pedestrian bridge as I rambled to Maggie the memories that were exploding like fireworks in my head. I described the neighborhood that Seth had lived in. How it was an industrial flower district and many of the buildings were lined with garage doors that would open in the morning, revealing thousands of flowers. goose in the air. My actions were being dictated by instinct, and though I knew I was looking for something specifically, I couldn't say just what. 
I looked at the sidewalk across from where we stood and had a  clear vision of falling off of my skateboard. I remembered how Hisako had turned white and how I had told Seth to tell her to relax. Seth had told me that it wasn't so simple. That being her guest in the country anything that befell me, any injury I endured, even of my own doing, she would take  responsibility for. 

Then I saw it and I knew that this is where the path ended. We stopped in front of a modest apartment building. Nondescript in everyday except the ground level and  familiarity. 

On the ground floor was a small cafe, a stairwell, and a beauty salon. Every part of me, despite my complete lack of evidence, told me that this is where I had stayed. This was Seth's building. 

We looked around at the various signs posted on the building trying to discern which was an address. Thankfully Maggie has learned to read katakana and hiragana and was able to make an educated guess. She pointed to a sign and said this was probably the name of the building. I quickly scribbled it down to the best of my ability. For a few minutes we stood and I stared at the building. I tried to conjure up any other memories but was at a loss. Or, rather, I had found enough and knew I would have to be content to process this series of events. Maggie and I then found a restaurant and took the train home to Gifu. There Maggie translated the characters, I had scribbled, to romaji and I emailed our findings to Hisako who confirmed that this was indeed the place. 

Monday marks the sixth anniversary of Seth's passing. It seems like it was both a life time ago and only yesterday that I was an unpleasant teenager in desperate need of Seth's particular brand of quizzical and considerate wisdom. That in the years that have since passed I have not been with out my eldest brother, but rather I have been imbibed with his positivity. I have learned from Seth, and am reminded by his passing, that we cannot know what is to come, but this is not reason to resist it. Rather it is more than enough reason to be excited by our ignorance. It is by acknowledging ignorance that allows education to take place. The map can only get bigger if you are willing to go beyond the charted territory.
My family commemorates January 30th as Flowering Nose Day in loving memory of Seth and we invite all those who wish to embrace this day to please do so. Celebrating Flowering Nose Day can mean any number of things. I urge you to use your imagination. The more ways a thing can be done, the more ways it should be done. Celebrate diversity and seek it out. Celebrate enthusiasm and reveal in it. Celebrate kindness and embrace it. Celebrate fear and overcome it. Celebrate life and, for everybody's sake, live it. 

Seth Fisher
July 22, 1972-January 30, 2006
www.floweringnose.com