Day 5: Ohanami

Ohanami, literally "honorable flower viewing," the time when the whole city seems to drop everything and head to the park, was officially on Sunday but bad weather forecast for Sunday and beautiful weather on Saturday moved things up a day.

There are holidays in the US that have traditional characteristics, like watermelon and fireworks on the Fourth of July and turkey and family for Thanksgiving. Ohanami means sakura like snow, picnics and revelry in the park, and women of all ages in kimonos.

I was to meet up with some friends at the clock tower at Nishi Waseda campus to go to a park for ohanami together but none of us knew that there were two clock towers at Nishi Waseda campus, just out of sight of one another. In short, we missed each other and I was on my own. Just across the street was the Waseda Sakura Matsuri, or cherry blossom festival. A little boy was watching me as I got to the park and his parents got him to wave and say "hello" (in English!).

Sakura hung over the banks of a small river, and the walk along the river was full of all kinds of people. Paper lanterns and wishes or poems were hung like ribbons lined the way. The lantern in the picture reads "Waseda Sakura Matsuri."

I saw couples, families, large groups, small groups, people escorting the very elderly (who were in a full kimono or "Sunday-best" suit, even if they were in a wheel chair), roasted potato vendors, and everywhere people taking pictures.

I've heard ohanami described as watching it snow, but it's hard to realize how simultaneously appropriate and inadequate that description is until you have seen it for yourself.

I was torn between wanting to see everything and wanting to just sit in the sun dappled shade and watch the cherry blossoms waft like fragrant pink kisses in the breeze.

After an hour or so of walking along the river I went back to Nishi campus.

Back on campus I heard taiko drums in the distance. I followed the sound an found myself in the middle of a huge Waseda University student pep rally - in front of a second clock tower.

The plaza and all the surrounding spaces between buildings were full of school clubs and school circles of nearly any kind of interest or hobby one could think of. There were cheerleaders and football players, all kinds of sports equipment and band instruments, people handing out fliers to recruit new students, proud parents taking pictures of their new Waseda students, people, people and more people.

It was easy to tell the new students from everyone else. They all wore black business suits and a tie. The older students were a bit less formal. Some, like the Traditional Japanese Dance Club, were in beautiful silk kimonos. Others, like someone from the Monster Movie Club, were dressed as a giant dinosaur-thing ready to trounce Tokyo. There was even someone dressed as a large pink rabbit.

After a bit I figured I would try ohanami at a big park. I took the train to Shinjuku, but got my bearings mixed up walking through the labyrinthine underground mall trying to find the best exit. I ended up further south than I realized and totally missed the park I was hoping to visit. I walked and walked, and ended up at Yoyogi station. By that time the sun was going down and shop signs were coming on. I got to Shijuku station and found that all the people who were at the park for ohanami were also heading home. The station was packed. Literally.

It was an ordeal getting through the croud to the right ticket vending machine, reading the rate map and then getting back throught the croud to the gate. It seemed that while it was incredibly crouded, everything was orderly and moving at a constant pace. Except for where I was.

I realize I was a bit bigger than most everyone else and it would be difficult to see around me, but I never seemed to move as quickly as the person behind me wanted. If I was in their way, they would push. I mean they would shove me from behind - hard. It happened a few times. And because I was a bit taller than everyone else I could see that I was the only person in around me getting shoved like that. And it wasn't just the shoving. People were coming back from their parties in the park and they were smiling and talking. Until they saw me. More often than not, they would not only stop talking and smiling, but make a face like they saw something unpleasant.

I eventually made it home.

I met my downstairs neighbors. I introduced myself according to Japanese etiquette, but instead of introducing themselves in kind, I was scolded and warned to not have loud parties or play my music loud. They never even told me their name. I think we had been talking two or three minutes when they had a change of expression like they just realized they weren't talking to the person they thought they were.

It turns out the person who had my room prior to me used to play his music loud. Not deafening, but with the windows open everyone can hear it. The people downstairs used to come up and complain, once almost starting a fight. There were acts of vandalism - petty stuff like having the name on our mailbox defaced regularly. I guess foreigners all seem alike. It is not a pleasant feeling, but I can understand what many international students experience when they come to the US.

The people across the street will close their window or go inside (most windows in neighborhoods like this are frosted for privacy) when they see me at mine. I often get reproving looks from the older ladies like I'm some kind of savage out to steal their daughters.

Being a good neighbor always takes effort but I didn't expect such an uphill battle, especially in Japan, a country famous for politeness and hospitality. The next two or three days were really bad as I struggled out from under a huge load of culture shock.

One of my roommates has a Japanese girlfriend. They invited me to breakfast the next day and over some really good banana pancakes we talked about my experiences. They gave really good feedback, but just talking it out helped. After a bit I was able to realize that if I have only one day a week like this I really wouldn't have much to complain about.

My other roommate remarked that living in one country is a lot like living in any other. You get up in the morning, go to work and come home just like anywhere else. After a while you stop being all-the-time conscious of being in a foreign country. I've found that all the strangeness becomes everyday-strangeness, and a part of the rhythm and order of everyday life. Even so, every day there are reminders that I'm not native to this land.