The Story of Seikosha i.e. the "House of Exquisite Workmanship"

19th century swinging clock

I spend a substantial amount of time studying maps and seeking out scenic sights for us to visit on our weekends so it was a pleasant surprise when, without any fanfare, the Seiko Museum showed up on my radar one day. Better still, it turned out to be almost in our back yard. I was startled that Seiko had established their museum in a nearby, nondescript neighbourhood in Sumida ward but whatever the reason was for their decision, it was positive for us, as it meant that we were only a thirty-minute bicycle ride from its doors.

The Seiko Museum has an impressive collection of early timepieces. Some of the pieces had interesting forms (see the 16th century English sun dial to the left), others were beautifully crafted (see the early 19th century pocket-timepiece to the right), or served as a teaching tool (see early 17th century model of Shumi-sen below, the sacred mountain for Buddhists which they believed at the time to be the figurative centre of the universe). Additionally, there were a number of very large upright clocks from various countries and even a model replica of the Big Ben inner workings.

The museum allows photography of all of its exhibits except for this one model (the photograph below left is one of a postcard I bought from the gift shop), I had never seen one before and it piqued my curiosity. I was told it was used to defend the Buddhist belief of geocentrism after the emergence of the new Copernican theory led to attempts to discredit this belief, and by proxy, the Buddhism way of thinking as a whole. A little research later and I unearthed the fact that Shumi-sen is alternatively known as Sumeru (Mount Meru) and is a sacred mountain in Hindhu and Jain cosmology also. Can you see the hourglass shape on top of the table which represents the mountain?

I liked how the museum built on the development of time-keeping devices throughout the ages to place its own products in historical context. The first wristwatch, called the "Laurel" was produced in Japan in 1913 but the Seiko story began considerably earlier than that. It is a fabulous story of hard work and persistance by a man with a remarkable character.

Kintaro Hattori was born in Kyobashi, Tokyo (which is near Ginza) in 1860 and was apprenticed out at the tender age of eleven. He spotted a niche in the market and established his first shop for selling and repairing clocks when he was 21 years old. He first began buying imported clocks from the foreign trading houses in Yokohama before he went on to open his own clock and watch factory.

It took fifteen years before his watch line of business turned a profit but he was determined to produce accurate and high-quality watches and did not give up. The introduction of automated machinery (see right) in 1910 helped move him out of the red and his foresight to stockpile materials prior to World War One consolidated his position when shortages hampered his rivals' activities.

When I found out that the Ginza Wako building (see picture upper left) was completed by my engineer-husband's company in 1932, I felt thrilled to have a semi-personal connection with Hattori's success. I also like one of his mottos, "No hurry or rest". He seemed to have balance on his mind in all things. I started to understand my husband's appreciation of the product and to appreciate anew my own watch, which I received from him when I was a newly-wed and we were still living in Nagoya.

I saw this newspaper advertisement (on the left) from 1938.

The museum also had a section devoted to its sport timers and participation in various Olympics starting from the 1964 Tokyo Games. Seiko watches have also had the honour of being worn by astronauts and James Bond.

And lastly, not that I am a Bond girl, but I quite liked this watch from the sixties (see below).

 

I notice that I neglected to take any photographs of the inner workings of the watches, and I completely overlooked the world's first solar GPS watch released last year. I have been quite negligent - if you would like to know anything about the mechanical side of clocks, the best I can do is suggest you ask my husband. He is the true fan in our family. Here is one more photo of the most current watch that caught my eye. Does that mean I am stuck in the nineties? No never, I prefer to think it is a classic watch, it's a Seiko after all.

The Power of Ordinary People

Arriving at the above golden splendour was an unexpected delight during a visit to my homestay family in Saitama prefecture over the weekend. The Shodensan temple in the town of Menuma is hidden smack bang in the middle of farming land, and the surrounding flat fields with their cultivated rows of leeks (see picture on right) and nearby farmhouses looked way too quiet to have such an ornate temple sheltering in its midst. Otosan (my host father), who has resided all of his eighty-six years in a town less than twenty kilometres away, mentioned several times that this was his first time to visit the area. Part of the reason Shodensan temple has attracted little attention during Otosan's lifetime is because its gaudy, glittering facade only re-emerged in the twenty-first century. For many years, the intricate wooden carvings had been untended and time had chipped away the wooden surface, causing the paint to crack and flake. Their condition deteriorated to a perilous state when barely in the nick of time restoration efforts commenced. 

After seven years and 1.3 billion yen (which is more than 13 million in AUD), the overhaul was complete in 2011. The project was funded with money allocated by the government and with donations from the private sector. I can imagine there was a group of ardently concerned citizens who advocated for these repairs to be undertaken. Their hard work was rewarded as it was designated a kokuho (National Treasure) by the Japanese government the following year. This status is given to items with special historical or artistic significance and will ensure the temple is well-looked after in perpetuity (see here for more about). There is also a news article here which explains in more detail about the restoration processes.

That the temple was rescued through grass-roots efforts also seems quite appropriate as I discovered that the building of the temple had originally been sponsored piecemeal with contributions from the local people over a quarter of a century period from 1735 until its final completion in 1760. An earlier structure had been destroyed in a fire in 1670. And the actual site itself has been in use as a temple from an even earlier era as it was established by a military leader called Saito Sanemori in 1179. It is quite amazing to be in a place that has served a sacred function for more than eight hundred years.

When we drew near to the temple, there was a volunteer guide explaining the symbolism of the different carvings. The fine craftsmanship and detail of the carvings immediately stands out as worthy of high praise indeed. These works were conducted by artisans who may well have honed their skills first on the very famous temples of Nikko which are just a hop, skip and a jump away. I was finding it very interesting to look at artworks that convey a narrative (rare in Japanese temples) when the guide surprised me by referring to foreigners in her spiel. Apparently when she informs foreigners, "It's gold." they respond, "I want it!". I was the only foreigner in the crowd and I don't think she noticed me in the crowd. Not sure why she felt this was worth mentioning twice. My best conclusion is that she was proud to be the custodian of such precious objects and this is how she conveys its value. It was certainly weird to witness her recounting it to her fellow country people. 

I could not really follow her explantion and while I noticed she spent considerable time discussing some carvings of elephants, the significance did not really register until I was doing some Internet fact-checking later. This is when I read that the temple was founded by an escoteric Buddhist Shingon-sect and is dedicated to the guardian god Kangi Jizaiten who has a human body with an elephant head (although I did not see him in this form at Menuma, only the regular elephants).  "Oh, it's Ganesh" I exclaimed to myself. He is familiar to me from my time in Poona, India where I saw many representations of him. I never knew he was a cross-over god with a Japanese strand to his story. In India we had seen a giant Buddha statue in the Ellora Caves from the 12 century, and it was intriguing to now be in Japan and see where a Hindu god has been adopted into the local pantheon. 

This is what I like so much about history (and religion, too). How the separate strands overlap and combine in such disparate scenarios. How old customs and rituals reinvent themselves anew. And how our personal stories help us to make sense of our place in our surroundings.

135,800

That is the vast number of people, including the lucky two of us, who attended the first day of the 43rd Tokyo Motor Show. Inside the building the crowd thronged with revheads lugging their oversized cameras and tripods around. The massive crowd (and the girls) almost obscured the cars and turned getting a clear view into a test of both perserverance and endurance.

   

            

Having observed the Tokyo Motor Show on the news over the years, it was a great opportunity to experience what all the fuss is about. I was impressed by the tremendous number of vehicles on display simultaneously in one location; and if we were in the market for a new car this would be the place to be. Engineer husband was a little disappointed about the lack of innovation and felt that shift away from the tired, old four-wheel design is long overdue, but as anyone who knows me can attest, I am not into cars and I was unfazed by the lack of variety in the lineup.

However, true to form, I did find the venue, the Tokyo Big Sight in Odaiba (i.e. the nickname for the Tokyo International Convention Center) itself to be quite fascinating. According to Wikipedia, this is where the wrestling, fencing and taekwando events will be held at the 2020 Olympic games and it will also serve as the main broadcasting centre and press centre. For those who would like a better sense of its locale, here is a Google Map.

From the outside, it has an imposing form which demands your attention, and from the inside, it is a maze of different levels (which again, demands attentiveness). I took the below photograph of the main entrance below as we were leaving. The stream of people leads to the entrance at the far right.

If you are a person who likes a map here is a building map. Our route for the day entailed us entering the building from the east wing (bottom left photograph) as we had ridden our bicycles and ended up here rather than at the main entry point. Research after the fact uncovered that this wing had been built by husband's company in 1996 with the opposite west wing being built by a different contractor. Once inside I lost all sense of direction and followed the flow of the crowd. After we saw the east wing exhibits, we walked through a connecting passage to the west wing and checked out more displays. To escape exit we ascended to the fourth floor (below right photograph) where there was a viewing platform and the surrounding buildings looked close enough to touch before we found the outside staircases and our way out.

Phew, relief to be outside again and surrounded by open space. Quite happy to hop on my bicycle and cycle home as the sun commenced its descent. Although it would be dark by the time we covered the 16 kilometres distance. Perhaps a car could be a good idea after all? No, I'm just kidding, you knew that, didn't you? I can't imagine when we will ever own a car again. In the meantime, we love our bicycles, especially on glorious autumn days like this one was, and are quite content to rely on pedal power to the nth.

Japan Folk Crafts Museum, Komaba, Tokyo

A sunny bright blue sky made my trek with a friend to Komaba to visit the Japan Folk Crafts Museum the other day very pleasant indeed. Autumn is the prescribed season for artistic viewing events in Japan precisely because of such wonderful days. And it was bliss to be outside in the sun's warm rays on an especially perfect day.

You can see the entrance to the museum in the photograph to the left. It was not simply what was inside these walls which had attracted me here. The museum was built in 1936 by Soetsu Yanagi who was closely involved in its design. Carpenters were brought from Tochigi to carry out the fine craftsmanship and once inside it was clear that a great, great deal of attention had been paid to every detail. The photo at the top right shows the benches placed in every room atop wooden floorboards and a customised display case in the background.

Our timing was also fortunate as the Yanagi residence (below left) across the road was open to the public. This home was delightfully quaint with its tatami-mat rooms and a book-lined library. The entrance floor was lined with stone (below right) which was beautiful albeit rather chilly. This is one museum which would make an ideal summer oasis. Despite the decidedly cool indoor temperatures, there were quite a few fellow attendees, all eager to pay homage on the second-last day of the exhibition.

The museum was displaying various items from the collection of Sori Yanagi, the son of Soetsu Yanagi. While the father was a philosopher who fostered an appreciation of the folk arts through the establishment of the museum, his son was an industrial designer, and later, the third curator of the museum. In my limited experience, it is rare for individual collectors to occupy prominent public positions in Japan and my eye had been caught by the title of the exhibition: "Eyes of Sori Yanagi". 

The items being presented had been compiled from his personal much-loved collection to give people a glimpse of the objects he had sought out during travels to Africa and West Asia and which had inspired him in his own works. The pamphlet prepared by the museum explained they had chosen not to add any explanation to the items in order for people to focus on the innate beauty of the objects. For devotees of Yanagi's designs there was probably no need for any elucidation but for myself, I was thankful I had briefly researched the man prior. Aside from his success as a designer, I was curious how his name, "Satoshi" morphed into his nickname "Sori". Did he apologise one too many times and end up with a new moniker perhaps? 

My search was unsuccessful and I put that mystery aside and instead concentrated upon pictures of his famous kettle (see here) which looked instantly familiar to me. His other revolutionary design was the butterfly stool (see here) which is now part of the MoMA collection in New York and available for only USD725. No doubt it would make someone a lovely Christmas gift.

Moving around the galleries, I gazed intently at the items to find the connection between them and his designs, and felt like I had come up with an original design myself each time I felt I discerned a creative link. I felt snobbishly gratified that his textile collection included a number of  kantha (running stitch) quilts from India (maybe Bangladesh now) which were like the one I have. Also he had a fascination with African masks, some of which were massive. Quite different in scale from the kind of souvenirs I can fit into my suitcase when I travel. My friend and I surmised he would have shipped these home. With the museum just across the road from his home, he would have had plenty of storage space. Looking at these items it was quite amazing to think they had fed his creative juices and in turn, he was inspired to re-create their form anew. 

After contenting myself with a few postcards from the gift shop and several photographs from the footpath, we departed. I headed home feeling enriched from my short sojourn with Sori Yanagi. Although, if they had been selling bottles of whatever it was that Sori Yanagi imbibed with his meals, I may have been a little more extravagant with my purchases. Maybe travel was his magic elixir, but wouldn't it be something if we could just drink in new ideas with a tonic every day? (non-alcoholic, I mean, of course).

Autumn life cycling

Gunning our engines in front of our apartment block, we are on the verge of riding our bicycles to our local shopping centre for a very ordinary Sunday afternoon of shopping here. I thought perhaps I would like to browse for a new pair of gloves now that the weather has taken a turn for the cooler. The jackets shown in the photographs were not really essential when we set out as it was a warmish 15 degrees Celsius. The days are shortening however and when the sky begins to darken, which is around 4:45pm these days, a coat becomes much appreciated.

I try not to talk about our bikes when I am speaking English because then I slip up and use the same word when I am speaking with Japanese speakers and a "bike" in Japanese is a motorbike, and from there the conversation spirals into chaos and confusion. Of course, I could just use the Japanese word, "jitensha" but that somehow does not slide off the tongue as easily. 

Despite the slippery semantics, we do love our bicycles because they help us make trips to the shops without too much fuss. In fact, we discovered the existence of an impressively large shopping complex close to us (and our destination on Sunday) during one of our early reconnaissance missions. Without our bicycles, by foot it would take thirty minutes to walk there, or we would have to catch a not-so regular bus and as this would require advance planning, it would probably never happen. 

We have even ridden to the local golf driving range on them as we have a golf bag with shoulder straps. Only ever side-swiped an electricity pole once, thankfully managed to miss all living obstacles met along our path (so far). After living in places where moving around is difficult due to high levels of traffic, it has been a joy to regain our mobility independence. Tokyo is also a city of layers and viewing it from the street reveals much of its character.

We are not alone in being crazy about our machines as when I returned to Tokyo this year, I noticed many more bicycles on the footpaths compared to past periods when I have lived in Japan. After the Tohoku earthquake and tsunami in 2011, many people were scared and they switched to using bicycles for their personal transportation because these are a reliable form of transportion during emergencies. Due to the increase in the number and age of cyclists, there are even special bicycle accident insurance policies for elderly people available. Although in my opinion the more dangerous cyclists tend to be the younger women who ride against traffic i.e. in my way. I was advised that visualising them splattered with a paint-ball was one way to reduce any feelings of frustration, and I can report it is an effective ploy.

Leaving my bicycle unchained anywhere in public is also risky as theft is rife. There is something about the cycling world that lets loose an avalanche of unlawful acts by its inhabitants. This occurs in sharp contrast to most other spheres of society where rules are upheld as golden. The registration system for bicycles does not seem to deter certain elements. The police do sometimes check for proof of possession and when I gave away my older bicycle through freecycle earlier in the year, I had to draw up papers to transfer ownership to ensure the new owner would not encounter any problems. 

Our shopping centre (mall) was packed with masses of people who all had the same idea to escape inside from the gloomy overcast sky outdoors. The bustling crowds reminded us of the Glorietta mall in Makati city in the Philippines. Engineer husband's last project in Northern Luzon was to build a weather radar tower which was funded with a low interest yen-loan. 

It is gratifying to think his work had contributed in a small way to the Philippines receiving some advance warning of the arrival of the super typhoon Yolanda / Haiyan. The devastation seen through media such as YouTube is reminiscent of the 2011 tsunami in Japan however and the scale of the typhoon means that merely receiving advance warning was never going to be enough to save everyone. It is truly sad. As a friend who is living in Manila commented, "there seems to be one universal truth whenever something like this happens, it's the poor who suffer the most." 

I never found the gloves I wanted. But I am thankful for a stable and safe life. Life goes on as usual for the time being. And that is wonderful!

Searching for a Swordsman

I am always looking for new places for us to visit and explore, and at my local train station recently, I chanced upon a flyer promoting the railway company's 67th annual Sawayaka (refreshing /crisp air) walk. The scheduling of this kind of event is a cultural marker that autumn has arrived in Japan, as it is the season when at long last after the draining humidity of summer, the temperatures abate, the air crispens, and spending time outdoors becomes pleasurable again. We resolved to join the hordes in this group activity mainly because the walking course outlined took in a temple in a teramachi (temple town) boasting of an intriguing connection to Miyamoto Musashi, author of "The Book of Five Rings". Musashi Miyamoto was a famous swordsman born in the late sixteenth century, who was undefeated in more than sixty sword fights before he was thirty years of age. His advice, despite being somewhat on the dry side in my opinion, is well-regarded by the business and management industry. 

In preparation the night before the walk, I pulled my unread copy of this book off my shelf which I have had for some years now with its back cover proclaiming that it, "provid[es] the tools and wisdom necessary for success in any human endeavor" to see if I could find out more about this supposed connection with a temple in Chiba. Sadly, the walk was cancelled when Typhoon No. 27 (international name: Francisco) decided to grace Japan with its presence and clashed with our plans as it brought with it steady rain to the Tokyo region instead of sawayaka breezes. Generally the capital bears much less of the brunt of the force of a typhoon than other regions of Japan, and once again this was true with only medium-strength rain falling and not much wind so that rather than causing any damage in our immediate proximity, it merely put a dampener on our plans.

But not for long as post-typhoon Sunday dawned and the sky was a brilliant and clear bright blue. We went ahead and set out for the teramachi by ourselves. We crossed several rivers and left Tokyo behind us for Chiba prefecture. Chiba has a different vibe than Tokyo and it feels like being transported to the countryside. The blue skies were amazing and the sunshine warmed our spirits. Of course, I did ride my bicycle around in a circle (of which I was totally unaware) and grew a little heated without any outside help prior when access to the river bank eluded me for a short while, before we triumphantly reached our goal, Tokugan-ji temple. We were the only visitors, apart from one woman who was carrying a water pail on her way out after obviously tending to a family gravesite. Nice to have the place to ourselves and take photographs of an unimpeded temple. That doesn't happen often in Japan.

The gate to this temple (see picture above) was built in 1745, which as Musashi Miyamoto died a century earlier, makes the connection between the two of them unclear. We were surprised by how new-looking the structure was. It has been well-maintained despite being situated on a low-lying plot of land. Mr Engineer noticed signs of flooding in various sections, most worryingly around the grave markers at the rear. We hunted fruitlessly for any information about Miyamoto Musashi linking him to the temple. What is on the public record about him is that he was famous for his fighting skills in his early years and for his philosophical and writing skills in his later years. Less well-known is that he was also a talented sumi-e artist and painted the lovely work with the prosaic title, "Shrike on a Dead Branch" seen to the right. Sumi-e is brush-painting using ink ground from an ink-stick, various brushes made using hair from a wide range of animals and different paper textures. It requires many years of training and practise to master and is an extremely difficult art form to perfect as the artist cannot erase any strokes once they start. He must have been a patient man, as well as a great warrior.

              

After a little internet digging it seems that perhaps NHK TV filmed scenes at Tokugan-ji for its Taiga drama (year-long historical fiction series) but I cannot tell if it was a past or future production. I may need to do some additional research and watch some TV. You can read more about Miyamoto Musashi here. He lived to be over sixty years which is quite remarkable considering his vintage and his dangerous profession. Despite some disappointment felt for not finding out more about the legendary man, we derived great satisfaction from simply walking around the ageless buildings, and I wondered to myself whose footprints we were re-tracing so many years later.

Metabolism in Tokyo (it's not what you think)

a Wikimedia Commons file (not my own photo)

We visited the permanent exhibition of the Edo-Tokyo Museum in Ryogoku on theTaiiku no Hi (Sports and Health Day) holiday. The museum, as the name suggests depicts the history of the development of Tokyo over several centuries and also houses a number of exhibits and photographs from the 1964 Tokyo Olympic Games. I learned after our visit that the Taiiku no Hi holiday (celebrated on October 14th this year) was established to commemorate the anniversary of the Opening Ceremony for the Tokyo Games, a happy coincidence which appealed to me.

It is an arresting structure which reveals itself more as you draw closer. We came upon it from street-level on our bicycles. This Google Map street view here gives you a better feel for the atmosphere. We had to ride along the right, very long side of the building to reach the parking area. It is an enormous building but it can be forgiven as it is more than simply a museum. It is combined with the Ryogoku Station run by Japan Railways (JR) East.

Inside the museum, we went to the sixth floor where we encountered the highest ceilings I have ever seen in a public building outside of a sports stadiums. There is a life-size replica of the Nihonbashi bridge, which even while it has an imposing height, does not explain the need for such towering upper limits. We marvelled at the design and since construction was completed in 1993, we concluded (wrongly it turns out), it must be a relic of the bubble economy Japan experienced in the eighties.

I would highly recommend this museum as it has a vast range of exhibits with detailed English captions (unusual for Japan). The museum initially appears to be more for children's entertainment, however, I soon discovered its depth. I picked up all sorts of fascinating facts and connected in my head a few more pieces of the jigsaw puzzle of Tokyo's timeline. There is an area dedicated to war history, and I was awed when I happened upon the Instrument of Surrender for WWII in one of the showcases. I could not believe it was the original at first but I checked and it was. It was signed by Australian representative Field Marshal Sir Thomas Albert Blamey .I quickly took some pictures (yes, this museum allows photos) and moved along.

Another highlight was the above replica of the Dai-Ichi National Bank which was designed and built in 1872 by my husband's company. I liked the Kabuki-theatre also, and there was a section of Olympic memorabilia but I neglected to search for a photograph of Dawn Fraser's (Australian Swimming Olympian).

Leaving the permanent exhibition's unique edifice involved riding the longest escalator I have ever been on. It really was rather surreal. Of course, I was intrigued by the design.

We walked off the escalator to an open-air section on the third floor of the building just as the sun was setting. If you return and look at the first photo in this blog you can see this floor just about the museum's sign (the Chinese characters) to the front of the museum. Engineer husband lamented the lost space and I wondered if there are ever enough student-tours at the one time to warrant such an expanse of space.

For my friends who also love good buildings, I checked out the architect of the building. His name was Kiyonori Kikutake (see his Wikipedia entry here). He was a member of an architectual movement called Metabolism (see here) which started in the 1950s in Japan that "fused ideas about architectual megastructures with those of organic growth", according to Wikipedia. Aha, I thought when I read that, "The scale of the building was an intentional design feature". One last link for luck which I confess, I have yet to watch but I will, is this Harvard lecture explaining Metabolism. It is not what you thought, right?

築 (tsuki) fabricate, build, construct + 地 (ji) land = 築地 (Tsukiji) a.k.a largest fish market in the world

Tokyo is such an amazing city. Less than a ten-minute bicycle ride from fashionable, sophisticated Ginza is the Tsukiji area where fish and seafood are the main attractions. We visited the outer market last Sunday for the first time (the main market (jonai-shijo) that people get up to visit very early in the morning to see the wholesale market operations is adjacent). 

Lots of restaurants in the outer market (jogai-shijo) advertised huge platters of sushi but we joined the student crowd and went for donburi-style (rice bowls with toppings). The picture above (bottom left) is negitoro (ground-up tuna). And it was really good. And yes, I could even taste the freshness difference. This fish was still warm (as in, not heavily refrigerated). Very, very delicious and definitely worth making a special trip to experience the taste.

What surprised me the most, because it is a well-developed district, is that Tsukiji is reclaimed land (hence the name). It was reclaimed several centuries ago, which also made me raise my eyebrows. But fire is the reason as it is said that the shogun, Tokugawa Ieyasu had debris caused by a fire in the seventeenth century shovelled into the marshes on the outskirts of Ginza.

This 2007 video  allows you to see some of the nearby market operations without having to get up at the crack of dawn, and it was here that I learned about plans for the market to be relocated before the 2016 Olympics (Japan lost this bid, but were the successful bidders for the following Olympic Games in 2020). The anomaly may not exist much longer which is kind of sad. Even though I will admit as I heartily enjoyed my meal, I did notice the state of the restaurant's building did not quite meet the standard for which Japan is world-renowned. It will be the end of an era. 

But it is not a done deal yet, it seems the market has been granted a short reprieve and no action will occur until 2015 (see here ) and I saw the date given as 2016 on a different website. Saburo and I were in Toyosu earlier in the year and saw this construction site below and wondered what it was for. Is this going to be the site for a new fish market? 

Before that happens, we will have to make sure we get a few more Tsukiji visits under our belts, so we can bear proper witness for the future.

Waste disposal in plain sight

This is how my rubbish is treated in Dhaka (see above). The man collects my discarded refuse and sorts it in the street. It is a little affronting to see someone right before your very eyes picking through your waste and segregating it for re-use, but at the end of the day when his work is finished, he transports it all away, returns to his own home presumably, and the whole process can be placed safely out of sight and out of mind. 

This is how my rubbish is treated in Naogaon (our home near Saburo's project site). My waste is dumped on the vacant lot next to my building (see above). I was encouraged to hurl it directly from my balcony but I demurred and I ask the cleaning staff to take it down instead. Then your neighbours forage through your refuse and carry away the items they can re-use. This woman lives opposite me and she is taking the newspaper I used to wrap my coffee grounds away as fuel for her cooking stove. 

This recycling of what I no longer need seems very effective to me. There is no formal garbage collection service in the area and I learned from one of the office administrative staff on the project that this style of rubbish disposal is deliberately employed to create land fill. After a few years, when the "dust" has collected sufficiently, the owner of the land will build here. However,  in the case of my non-biodegradable rubbish which is completely useless to man or beast, it remains being tossed around in the wind or lying in full view forever, 

This is very disconcerting. Already in Bangladesh, I use less plastic than I have in previous countries, and I have read here that it was the first country in the world to ban plastic bags in 2011. (Can it be true that no other country has implemented a ban yet?). Instead the shops give their customers re-usable jute bags, which as jute is a domestic crop that has fallen out of favour in recent years, is a very clever idea. If like me, you grew up around old jute bales in your dad's wool shed (see here) but that was about it, you can learn more about its versatility here in an article from "The Daily Star" newpaper. 

In the old days in Chittagong, I am fairly sure there was  a rubbish collection service of some kind. I remember the cows in the streets eating from the rubbish piles but I don't remember plastic being blown around by the breeze along the side of the road. Maybe I have a selective memory? I will have to ask some friends to see what they remember.

Being unable to escape from my rubbish is, "An Inconvenient Truth" and it has changed my outlook more than Al Gore's film ever did. In fact I am pretty sure I avoided watching the film way back when, and I thereby find it rather ironic that I now have my own personal accumulation of plastic, which is very inconvenient and from which I cannot hide!!! 

It just goes to show you that life will get you in the end, one way or another; i.e. you can run, but you cannot hide. How ironic that it catches up with me here in Bangladesh. I would never have predicted this before my arrival here for the second time...

Our new apartment looks like home now

Here are some photographs of our second floor apartment in Naogaon. It looks a little different now that it has fresh paint and tiled floors. Our bedroom (above) is the room that receives the most abundant light in our new place. I love the light and find it very relaxing and calming, although I expect it will heat up tremendously during the summer and the blackout curtains I brought with me from Manila will double nicely as an extra layer of insulation. The mat on the floor in front of the bed is reminiscent of tatami, and I bought this at the Naogaon market (Tk190) to help keep the room a little warmer back when the mercury dropped to less than 10 degrees Celsius. The seasons have moved on since, and it is nearly time for the air conditioner to be put to work.

Note the emergency light on the bedside table. Thus far the electricity supply has been relatively stable, even though the current fluctuates and it is necessary to use automatic voltage regulators (AVRs) with our sensitive, expensive electrical goods. Once summer hots up and hits its stride that will completely change. A portable electricity generator was installed in the garage (across from our building) in preparation, but the staff and I are a little afraid of the machine and have not felt brave enough to switch it on yet.

It is connected to our power lines by a cable stretching from the roof of the garage and running across the road to our building. This cable is expensive and a night guard will start patrolling the vicinity from Saturday to ensure it does not go missing. It should be safe enough; as after cable was taken from a nearby building several weeks ago, our neighbours began to leave food out for the local dogs, I am told. The word soon spread and the savage sounds of viscious howling and snarling can be heard nightly as all the dogs from the town congregate and engage in stand-off contests to stake out their territory. It appears to be an effective deterrent as I have not heard of any more theft. I am hoping I will not hear about any of my neighbours being attacked by the dogs, either.

Here is our dining room table (above) which is an ubiquitous local design where the table top is balanced on a frame with legs. The cabinet is one I purchased from Otobi. And the lamp is from Dhaka.

The balcony outside has iron bars for security reasons. This balcony overlooks a vacant plot of land, which serves as the local rubbish dump (more about that in a future post). There is another balcony off our bedroom without any bars. This seems quite odd to me, not to mention rather dangerous, as the railing is perilously low. But perhaps that side of the building is more difficult for would-be thieves to climb up? Or perhaps the owner ran out of cash? I suspect it is most likely the latter.

Here is my brown kitchen. I don't notice the colour (much) anymore, although that might also be because I have not spent a lot of time here yet. I returned again to Dhaka today. I had the little stands made for the counters so I don't have to bend over, and they turned out well. I still would appreciate some more counter space. I am considering having a table made for the middle of the room. We'll see how energetic I feel next time I am in Naogaon town.

I designed this cabinet (above) and I am pleased with the result. I have enough storage room for my dishes, and the rice cooker sits on the ledge next to the microwave. My microwave had a little work done by a young chap whom I guessed correctly was 20 years old. I needed the cord to be lengthened for it to reach the power point outlet, which is on the floor behind the cabinet. He fixed it all up for me, as well as changing another power outlet on the wall so I could plug in my oven toaster. 

Note the AVR on the top ledge, which is connected to the refrigerator and the washing machine (in a room to the right of the above photograph). It was a little tricky to connect everything that needed connecting, and I was relieved when I solved the puzzle. The top ledge goes all around the room. I assume it is used for food storage and kitchen items, however I think it would be very annoying to have to constantly climb on a stool to get things down all the time. 

Our living room is quite spacious. The coffee table was order-made here from a Ikea catalogue, and is much heavier than the regular flat-pack I can tell you. The sofa is from DCC 1 Market in Dhaka. The cream poufs (this word is used in Australia for an ottoman) are what is left from the sofa set we had made in the Iloilo in 2005. The curtains are covering a window which faces onto the wall of the very gray and drab building next door, and are from SM (department store) in Iloilo, Philippines. I have been carrying them around with me for the last six years just "in case" I ever need them. The orange silk covering on the piano is from Viet Nam, that also has been with us ever since we received it from Matthew and Bec all those years ago. The piano is waiting for Saburo to have some free time to set it up. It has been everywhere with us since we left Tokyo in 1998. One of our few decorations is courtesy of my niece Ali. She made me a very pretty blue and pink owl last year and I have it on the bookshelf. 

Not much overall in the way of decoration but quite a few memories in the mix all the same.

This room is my "Treadmill room". It is useful being able to lift it up and I can also move it around by tilting it down towards the floor and balancing it on the wheels on the front end of the machine. The room has a view of a construction site, and I enjoy watching the progress of the works. The bike has yet to be tested on the streets. I may have to work up some courage. Despite Naogaon being a small country town, there is a lot of traffic on the roads here. It is also the room for washing racks and all the odds and ends that don't fit anywhere else. Saburo's golf bag is getting dusty unfortunately.

Say hello to Mickey. He is a memento from my first visit to Japan when I was still in high school. Mum kept him for me for many years and I retrieved him last year. I am very fond of his company, I must say.

There is another bedroom to the left, behind the bookshelf so to speak. This is a guest room for company employees. The nearest decent hotel is more than an hour's drive away and occasionally if the rooms on the first floor apartment which is rented also by the company are all full, then this room is used for Saburo's colleagues also. The bathroom is the only room on this floor which deserves the name. Saburo spent time with the workmen explaining how to fit a bath tub in the narrow room. His perserverence paid off and we have a fantastic tub, and also the water heaters are large enough, that the tub can be filled with hot water. It is really wonderful!

And did you say hello to me also??? Did you notice me in the mirror? I did not see me either at first.

P.S. Thank you everyone for reading. It is lovely to have an audience, and it makes a huge difference. I have changed the settings on my blog so that now anyone can make a comment. I was being cautious before and I had closed the comments, but I realised this blog is public already so I have decided to throw caution to the wind. Please let me know if the comments section is working ok. Thank you!