What's so incredible? Why is she so awesome? How does she do it?

When I die, I hope I can find Chanpon in heaven because that noodle soup was plate-lickin’ good. Full review over at my foodblog, Up for Dessert.

Tokyo has an older part and a newer part. Asakusa is what you’d expect Tokyo to look like, with its crowded streets and dingy establishments, but truthfully it’s a rarity in the city that boasts the new and shiny everywhere you look. Asakusa has some of my favorite little hidey-holes too, including that tiny little Sento I spent every night at for a week, including my favourite okonomiyaki seller, including the best spot to get ceramics, and until recently, I hadn’t ever had noodles there. Seemed fitting to get traditional noodles in traditional Tokyo (well, if there is such a thing), just a stone’s throw from Senso-ji, the largest and most famous Buddhist temple in the city.

Read the full review over at my foodblog, Up for Dessert.

It’s that time of year again when the men on the subway do nothing but talk about how hot it is. The rags to mop your sweat start appearing in every woman’s hand instead of her purse. Uniqlo is sold out of quickdry and linen. 　夏です。It’s not a surprise really, since all the classic literature I can drum up bemoans Japan’s hot and muggy summers in great detail, and yet, it always seems to catch the Japanese off guard, like the heat wave is rolling in earlier and earlier each year.

So how does one deal with the oppressive heat of such a summer? With seasonal drinks at the kombini? With unagi-don on the Day of the Ox? Or with ice cold somen noodles in front of a fan on full blast?

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The Japanese will not give up their noodles, and I must say, I agree with their priorities. So even in the dead of summer, they’ve devised a way to eat ramen without getting a face full of steam. It’s called the tskumen set. In one bowl will be a pile of chilled noodles. In another bowl will be tepid broth. On a plate will be all the usual accouterments. This brilliant invention can be applied to any noodle of choice: ramen, soba, udon, and even somen.

Somen. These thin, soft, very chewy noodles can be tricky to eat, but if you keep at it, you’ll be rewarded with a satiation in summer that doesn’t leave you heavy and uncomfortable. After a day of sweaty sightseeing, I needed some relief, and when you’re in Nara, you eat the Miwa Somen. So I ate the miwa somen. It was delicious, by all means, and when it was followed by shaved ice, this cold luncheon was nothing short of pure bliss. I’d highly recommend giving miwa somen a try if you get the chance.

Kamatama Udon-ya is an unassuming little shop halfway between Hase station and the daibutsu in Kamakura. Like so many small noodle joints in Japan, you’ve only got a handful of choices, and even less elbow room to boot. Still though, the smell alone is all you need to be assured of its quality, and even then, if the smell wasn’t enough, there’s the tray of flour-speckled udon clearly just made today, the flying hands behind the counter chopping minuscule green onions, and the faint sizzle that can only mean tempura-battered something or other. You will not be disappointed.

It may seem crass to us foreigners, but eating the face of Buddha in your noodle soup is pleasantly kitschy in Japan, and in Kamakura especially, mere minutes from the great metal Buddha, such a gimmick is fitting. The soup itself is far from gimmicky. Perhaps it’s just been too long since I’ve had a proper bowl of noodles, or that my American sensibilities are so easily impressed by the delights of properly prepared Japanese food, but in any case I may have come close to reaching nirvana in that very shop.

大きな地図で見る

The noodles are thick, but light, not dense like some fall varieties of udon tend to be, and of a completely un-uniform nature that points to their handmade authenticity. Your smiling buddha udon can be served hot or cold, depending on the season, in a scalding or a lukewarm dashi stock, depending on your preference. Alongside the standard noodles and broth is a large soy bean (Buddha’s third eye), a fried fishcake (his nose), and one of the tastiest cured eggs I think I’ve ever had: a hard boiled, just set mix of salt and age that one could only hope to duplicate. Needless to say, I licked the bowl clean.

Rodger Swan was a young man who made videos and shared them on the internet. He uploaded over 130 videos before his death this January and in telling the story of his life in Japan, impacted far more people than his nearly 8,000 subscriber count indicates. This simple passion of Rodger’s turned out to be far more meaningful than probably anyone could have guessed, inspiring a global audience and reminding many of us to follow our dreams, whether they take us halfway across the world or involve staying home to read Goosebumps. The Japanese Vlogging community familiar with Rodger was understandably grief-stricken by the sudden news, but a glance through Rodger’s video comments reveals that he touched a much larger group of people worldwide. Many have posted tribute videos, some have shared their favourite Swan stories, others, like me, have written about Rodger’s life.

He was that normal guy that everyone watched grow up. We saw him turn from a boy into a man…And as we watched that Rodger grow, we fell more and more in love with him. We fell in love with his normality. We well in love with his selflessness. We fell in love with the hope there were still people like Rodger left in the world. (via Kevin O’Donnell)

It may seem a touch superficial, a bit overly dramatic perhaps that such a mass of people who barely even knew Rodger are mourning his passing, but I assure you the sentiments are sincere. Rodger was a small part of a niche that stood for something much larger and more real: for compassion and curiosity and unyielding courage in the face of the less-travelled path — the perfect example of why blogging is more than just unchecked journalism or uncensored ranting, but instead an important medium deeply rooted in human interest in a way no other format does justice. Rodger’s published videos really did resonate with people, so called strangers, and through his candid monologue and honest storytelling, Rodger managed to inspire, to change, to make a difference. He moved some of his audience to learn Japanese, he enabled some to make the sacrifice of the world they know for a world much greater, and he affected many, myself included, in ways still unknowable, just by spending a few minutes every week with his video camera.

I think it’s impossible to imagine or count or know just how many lives Rodger touched…It’s a funny thing, moving across the world, as Rodger did, because you wind up being intertwined with the lives of people you never in a million years would have expected meeting. (via Kevin Cooney).

It takes a man every bit as amazing as Rodger Swan to remind us of the kind of people we’d like to be, and his character remains strong to this day. His videos leave behind a legacy, proof that Rodger’s life was far more meaningful than his death could ever be. We could pin Rodger’s appeal first as Tokyo Swan and later as Iwate Swan to many things, from his prolific posting to his relaxed and endearing on-camera attitude, but perhaps the most influential aspect of Rodger was his sincerity. For all the skepticism vloggers face, it’s easy to forget that the youtube audience actually can make an authentic connection with people like Rodger, people who are too genuine not to bond with, and while the phenomenon is a rarity, it’s also one of the most comforting connections we can have. The appeal of a young man thousands of kilometers away with unusual interests may not be apparent at first glance, but from those first videos it’s easy to see why so many felt so close to Swan and found solace in his shared journey.

His death…serves as a powerful reminder that ultimately, what matters is loving, caring, sharing, and being true to yourself. And doing that today, not tomorrow. The honesty with which he shared his life was touching. I found his attitude inspiring, and comforting too – knowing that this good person was out there. (via Joseph Tame)

I don’t claim to have known Rodger personally, and I don’t count myself among his acquaintances, but I do know a number of us touched by his work are keeping him and his family in our thoughts. I will always remember the way his videos and words and views on horror movies left a lasting impression that may not have made us family, but made us far from strangers. So goodbye, Rodger, you will be missed.

It’s been a lot harder than I thought it would be, saying goodbye to the people, saying goodbye to the places, and what you’re used to, because you do, you make connections, you meet people, and you form bonds, and that can be a difficult thing to walk away from because you’re never going to get this again. It’s never going to be like this again. But there’s always hope. You never know, one day we might meet again, so in that sense, you always have to stay positive. (via Rodger Swan).

We all remember our first trip to Tsukiji (pronounced “ski-gee”) fish market. In Tokyo it’s a right of passage, a tourist destination, and a local icon simultaneously. Where else can you buy a 85kg tuna for millions of yen? Where else do you have to chew your still-wriggling octopus tentacle before you swallow to ensure it doesn’t strangle you on the way down? And where else do you have to wear wellingtons year round?

It isn’t just the world’s largest, busiest, and most prestigious fish market, Tsukiji is a Japanese landmark. It’s the most readily accessible glimpse into the intense world of the Japanese work ethic, filled with zooming carts, white-gloved traffic managers, and more men smoking, talking, carting six cardboard boxes, throwing fish, shouting, spearing yellowfin whole, and trying to get you to buy a gross of their tomatoes. It’s a shoppers paradise, and it all happens before 4am.

Tsukiji isn’t just known for it’s impressive variety of seafare, or for the rapidity with which business transpries, though both are awe-inspiring in their own right. In my opinion, Tsukiji stands as a reflection of so much blatant Nippon-ism: the tireless working man’s vigour, the fisherman’s pride, the massive oceanic bounty readily bought for consumption from seaweeds to roes, well-oiled maneouvers that keep a large-scale machine running without hiccup, and of course, the sheer masses and palpably formidable presence of the Japanese. Seeing how much and how many different types of fish the Japanese eat is like seeing a microcosm of how big the country is, how many people it must support, and where it excels in the world arena. The tuna bidding wars are a sight to behold, and remind me of just how cutthroat the culinary world can be, as I watched several tourists being removed for touching a tuna too many.

Tsukiji market — and I mean all of the market, from the political fish trades inside to the garden-variety produce outside to the passerby merely glancing off the outer stratosphere of planet Tsukiji without even knowing how deep the rabbit hole goes — it’s a display of mastery, nothing more. The precision of fish sales, the exacting nature in which boxes make their way through the fireman’s drill off of the farmer’s truck, all of it is a demonstration with such everyday luster that if you aren’t paying attention, you might be convinced it’s nothing special. But it is something special. It’s this little hub of activity that turns pre-dawn glow into a boiler fire and ushers in a new day amid elbowing and elbow grease.

The above, by Myles in London, encapsulates the hubbub one can experience while the rest of the city is still a-dreamin’, the sort of frantic to-and-fro that, though routine in places like Shibuya crossing or Shinjuku station, is almost entirely out of place somewhere like Tokyo Bay. Contrast the insanity of the tuna auctions hidden deep in the heart of the warehouse maze that is Tsukiji with the quiet, calculated, calm of the sushi stalls rimming the outer ring of the wholesale market. Instead of 85kg tuna fish you get 2g, perfectly sized sashimi that tastes milder than anything you’ve ever put in your mouth. You get lines out the door for a morning course of nigiri sushi. You get foreigners from as far as Timbuktu placing complete trust in the sushi chef they’ve never met and don’t have a hope of understanding. It’s a place where the world gets turned upside down for a few hours every day, and then miraculously righted in time for the salarymen to make it to the office before their bosses.

My first night out in Japan I had every intention of visiting Tsukiji; in many ways the catacombs of seafood were always the first thing on my “must see” list, and yet I lay my head down at a ripe 3:00, wholeheartedly believing I would make it to the market before the clock struck six. Of course I kick myself for not just hitching up my skirts and heading towards Tsukiji then and there, because I didn’t make it out to the very place I wanted to be most until six hours before my flight out of the country months later. At the same time, the greatly delayed gratification ensured it was a place I’ll never forget, always love, and long to return to. Yes it does carry that kind of allure.

I have never seen anything like the zoo, nay, the orchestra that was that fish market, and before I could even poke my nose around, my mate Alisa was there, looking like the かいしゃいん I never knew she was, smiling like a banshee because she knew I was about to get an eyeful. She led me past the easily one hundred-person line awaiting Daiwa sushi and we took a seat at the entirely empty sushi bar next door. Alisa and the chef chit-chatted about the crazy tourists, and after we made our less than conservative (tako, uni, and takuwan are apparently unusual preferences for がいこくじん tastebuds) order, we were treated to a tour of the coldwater oceans. Alisa and I, both aspiring surfers, were hungry for the slightly salty aftertaste and critiqued one another’s favourite surf spots in Chiba before we said our goodbyes.

“Well,” she said, “now you’ll never want to leave.” And she was right, because I spent as many minutes as I could possibly spare ambling endlessly through the labyrinthian market, sacrificing much-needed sleep and photography equipment amid the piles of こつおぶし and the few remaining bunches of たむぽぽ greens. Tsukiji is a place you don’t forget, and while it’s in all the guidebooks and on all the travel shows and at the top of any shortlist you consult, that doesn’t mean it isn’t deserved. Tokyo is a city of places unlike anywhere else, a land of truly unique, and Tsukiji is perhaps the crowning gem of them all. It doesn’t matter that it’s been a place to visit since farther back than your grandfather can remember, because Tsukiji is not going to stop being amazing anytime soon.

Want to see more of what Tsukiji’s all about? You can see the rest of my photos of Tsukiji, or you can also check out Mark Wu’s comprehensive Tsukiji flickr set.

I’ve talked before about the wonderful world of Japanese hip hop, I’ve spent a bit of time waxing poetic about Japanese shibuya-kei, and I’ve even met the criteria required to be an 8bit-fanboy of Ymck, but I’ve spent far too few words defending what is easily the most dismissed genre of Japanese music: JPop. Some of it is really as terrible as you think, but there’s a hefty subset of the genre that’s solid quality, actually borderline visionary. Granted, you have to be into the electro scene and pretty accepting of vocoders and auto-tuning, but once you get into it you’ll be surprised how much super awesome stuff is coming out of that one geographically tiny country.

I won’t make you learn Japanese, nor will I make you comb through the endless stream of manufactured pop icons to find the diamonds in the rough. I won’t advise you to spend thousands of yen on still pricey albums. But I will tell you some of the great names in the Japanese Pop/Electro/SynthFunk scene that are worth checking out no matter what language you speak. I will give you some respectably mainstream names you can drop to carry on a conversation with the next Japanese conversationalist or enthusiast you engage with. I will give you a few gems from the underground and the local genba that are up-and-comers that should be well-watched even if they currently aren’t. And I will give you my personal and very contemporary guide to understanding and perhaps even enjoying JPop.

Electro-esque JPop (think ‘808s and Heartbreak meets Kylie Minogue):
We’ll start with one of the biggest names in Asia: BoA. BoA, or Beat of an Angel, is actually from Korea, but she accomplished what few stars can and made the crossover into Japanese popularity and now, with her new language skills, is trying her luck in America. You may not like it, but you have to know who this girl is.

To make international superstar BoA go down easier, let me let you in on a little insider’s secret. Check out Capsule for a perfect example of epically good electro-pop fusion, complete with crazy synthesisers, ’70s visions of space-utopia inspried costumes, and some surprisingly delicious, non-bubblegum flavoured pop. Check out the tracks “Eternity” from Flashback and of course the title track from More! More! More! to see exactly what I mean when I say epic.

Then there’s of course something in between the well-known and the unknown. Enter Pefume, a trio from Hiroshima that are more the traditional sugary postergirls you’re used to coming from Japanese soil. Unlike Capsule, they get radio play but, unlike BoA they aren’t a household name (yet). Their songs are exclusively dance-y and their image is fun, but there’s no shame in paying for their concert tickets.

Meg is surprisingly similar to Perfume, but unless you’re trying to bond with a 9 year-old girl, you probably won’t get much mileage out of this one. Then again, Japanese tend to think we foreigners are crazy already, so declaring your undying love for Meg’s entire discography shouldn’t hold you back from contributing to society.

How could I possibly forget about Ami Suzuki who made a thoroughly enjoyable indulgence in coining Can’t Stop the Disco as a sensational pop album. Ami Suzuki is hands down my favourite on this JPop guide, and I can’t seem to stop listening to Super Music Maker in my car, a sure sign of international appeal.

Even if you despise everything about JPop, a tiny piece of you somewhere probably still likes Saori@destiny for the ultra-feminine voice and infectiously peppy backbeats. It’s okay to embrace Saori@destiny, to construct a shrine for AI, or to obsessively seek out items with Double’s face printed on them. This is Japan. That’s what you do.

They used to be part of Japan’s authentic hip hop scene, but now they just pander to the dancefloor with a never ending lineup of megastars. I’m of course speaking about M-Flo, the duo from Tokyo with an endless stream of singles and studio buddies that the Japanese never seem to tire of. While fans like to lament the departure from their Planet Shining days, I personally think Award SuperNova (and the new AstroBoy single) give them much more credibility.

Rip Slyme is another one of those pop/hip hop fusions you just can’t ignore any longer because there stuff is good no matter your tastes. It’s lyrical, playful, and it’s an earful of JPop that won’t make you want to claw your eyes out. So if you were skeptical of this guide to begin with, star with Rip Slyme.

Full of Harmony is one of Japan’s many boy bands, in fact the one I shamelessly belt out as loudly as possible whenever it’s on a Karaoke list. Like most JPop stars, they sing a lot of slower ballads, but that didn’t make the upbeat track “Exclusive” any less amazing.

If Full of Harmony is the R&B boy band for the country, Heartsdales is certainly the girl version. You’ve probably heard them before and you didn’t even know it, from one of their many guest appearances on shows and in music videos with the likes of M-Flo for some bubble candy action. I guarantee if you say the phrase “Heartsdales” to a culturally-aware Japanese person, they’ll know who you’re talking about.

You’re not convinced. I can tell. You clicked on BoA before you clicked on anyone else and then you lost heart. Or you actually understood the words in Heartsdales songs. Or maybe you just listened to one too many of Meg’s tracks and are afraid. Some of you might be content for hours right know and can leave it at that, but many more of you will have a strangely difficult time accepting JPop into your hearts. I know I did. It was just a little to synthetic for me to consume without feeling mildly ill at first. So to ease the transition I’ve added some antidotes, a series of still poppy, still Japanese, but much more relaxing music. It’s not quite as popular as electro-inspired JPop, and your seatmate on the flight to Okinawa might not have a clue who you’re talking about (I couldn’t find anyone in Tokyo that had heard of Fantastic Plastic Machine, Pizzicato Five, or Cornelius), but this is the kind of music that really makes my heart sing. This is the stuff I listen to in my spare time, the type of beats I gobble up, the music that inspires me to become a house musician one day. So after you’ve burned yourself out on Ami Suzuki, give these guys a listen to assure yourself that JPop doesn’t have to mean covered in pink and with elaborate choreographed dance numbers.

House-inspired JPop (think jazz meets eurotrash techno):
Fantastic Plastic Machine is wildly experimental and downright brilliant most of the time. It’s one man in a room with a computer and a set of turntables that manages to make you believe that “Love is Psychadellic” and that “I’m Still a Simple Man.” Buy his albums. Now.

An oldie but a goodie, Daishi Dance leans a little more on the house side. While FPM is more funky, Daishi Dance is nonetheless equally capable and makes some pretty groovy stuff, a strange mix of piano and dance beats that leave you pleasantly confused.

Studio Apartment is known mostly for crazy remixes (and for being mistaken as Korean), but they make some awesome old-school jazz house that you could really drive all the way to Alaska rocking out to. I only wish they made more then their already intense discography so I could live in my Studio Apartment world all the time.

Okay, I know this doesn’t belong anywhere on this list, but Cubismo Grafico’s stuff is so unbelievable I have to shout it from as many rooftops as I can. His style is loop-driven, sample-based, unclassifiable wonderland (much like Australian mixer whiz kid Pogo). I’m reminded of aural birds singing me awake on a lazy Sunday.

I think house master and fellow 8-bit aficionado Ram Rider is all kinds of under rated. His re-envisioning of Ayumi Hamasaki’s “Real Me” especially is unbelievable, and he spent the time and money convincing his record label that Ram Rider Refeathered was a great idea, and anyone fighting for this is well worth listening to.

Perhaps one of the jazz scenes more famous powerhouses is Jazztronik, who is hands down the master of mood music. He’s another in Japan’s arsenal of US-undiscovered masterminds slowly turning our speed tribes into slow life believers. It’s dub as good as Thievery Corporation and pop as wonderful as Clazziquai Project.

Kyoto Jazz Massive have been around for over a decade and are still going strong, killing it in shows all over the world with a list of collaborators that leaves even my mind reeling. It’s got a strong bebop flavour to it, with overtones belonging to the Big Easy, but in the end it comes out as something a little more modern, a little more synthetic, and a whole lot more complex.

It would be absurd to even talk about this genre of music without referencing the beloved Mondo Grosso, the bossa nova-esque beatmakers whose albums, Born Free and MG4 are legendary. If you like Bebel Gilberto and her remixes, if you like Jazzanova minus the latter half of In Between, or if you’re into something worthy of Enjoy! House, then this is the band for you.

On the other side of the spectrum we have Shinichi Osawa who just tears his turntables apart for some forward-thinking but powerful electro. If you’re digging the sultry sounds of the jazz-house Tokyo touch, then you might want to steer clear of Osawa, but if you’ve got a stomach for Tiga, Danger, and MSTRKRFT then you should definitely look to Osawa for foot-pounding prowess.

That’s all I’ve got for you. Armed with your newfound list of JPop contenders with which to find your new favourite artist, to impress your colleagues with your far-flung musical tastes, to entertain your Japanese mates with lengthy discussions about pop stars you’re now familiar with, to find your foothold into more amazing Japanese music, because that’s really the point of this list. We’ve got Ami Suzuki next to Capsule next to Gubismo Grafico, next to Daishi Dance. I hope I’ve shown you just how vague a term JPop is, and how varied and wonderful the world of Japanese music can be, in its entirety.

“As I see it, language is not an act, nor is it a skill; it cannot be possessed. Language is a habit. You don’t ‘learn’ a language as such, you live it. You don’t need to get ‘good’ at a language, you get used to it. You don’t become fluent at a language, you become it.”

There’s this cat on the internet (literally, he goes by Khatzumoto) who wanted to learn to speak another language and did it. This feat in and of itself isn’t particularly remarkable, but how he went about it is a story I was so blown away by, it warrants retelling right here, right now. Khatzumoto, like so many of us trying to speak in a nonnative tongue, got so sick of being told your brain hardens at age 12, of classes and classwork that didn’t get you any closer to fluent, of foreign language speakers that couldn’t hold a conversation in their purported language of mastery, of outdated textbooks that make you speak like a news anchor, ex-pats of several years who still can’t speak the native language, in short of all the hogwash out there that makes even the most spirited of language students feel like they’re fighting an uphill battle. So instead of buying into the idea that he couldn’t do it, Khatzumoto staunchly believed he could, and when the traditional means of lecture and memorise, of writing tables and making flashcards didn’t work, he came up with a method that did.

He calls this All Japanese All the Time, essentially a total immersion experience that does not require selling all your possessions and moving to a foreign country before you can speak the language passably. In fact, in just 18 months Khatzumoto went from knowing no Japanese to being able to hold business discussions, have casual conversations, find a job in Tokyo, and navigate the tricky and at times unfriendly world of moving to Japan. How did he do it? By watching TV. Okay, not just by watching TV. Khatzumoto also watched movies, and anime, and read books, and found Japanese friends, and pretty much anything else he could get his hands on. His reasoning? Learn like a child learns: through context.

The seed makes more than perfect logic to me. In my own experiences growing up with Spanish spoken around me, I heard certain phrases like “Quieres ir afuera?” when it was time to take the dog for a walk, or “Awwww, mi pobrecita hija, lo siento.” I just learned these patterns, and when I began to learn Spanish academically, suddenly the meanings of these phrases were more clear. “(Do) you want + to go + outside?” was easy enough, but the equivalent of “sorry” literally translates to “I feel it.” Unlike my classmates, I had the upper hand because I intuitively knew how to use these phrases in the proper context. Instead of trying to formulate how to ask if you wanted to go outside by first thinking of the verb I needed to use, then conjugating it, then picking out the vocabulary, then ordering it correctly and checking for errors, the phrase came naturally to my mind in a single chunk. I had associated the meaning of the phrase with the actuality of it, while my colleagues were still grappling with making the individual words make sense.

Of course even now it’s been several years since I’ve been halfway decent at the language, it’s now fairly safe to say tengo muy olvidado el Español, to the point where I’m once again inept. Why is this? Because I’m not using it. Spanish isn’t being spoken around me, I have no reason to ever break into the language, and I’m not trying to expose myself to it in the day to day. If I wanted to improve my Spanish, I’d have to start using it again, immersing myself around people who spoke it and finding opportunities to practice. It stands to reason then, that to learn a language with proficiency, the same method must be employed.

“It’s a cause and effect; it’s not ‘I learn this so I can do this,’ but instead ‘I do this, therefore I learn that.’ I made it like a game: how much more can I Japan-ise my life, and then suddenly, snap I can read Japanese, someone would hand me something in Japanese and I’d think oh snap I can read all of this.”

Khatzumoto seems to despise the classroom, and while I understand his point, I don’t think it’s a terrible place to start. But the classroom alone is not enough. In 2008 I began learning Korean essentially on my own (with some help from the good ol’ internet) but found there were just too many snags that held me up. So I broke down and signed up for a class. Having done it both ways, I can see why academic learning is inadequate, yet for those of us who don’t have a lot of opportunities to speak a foreign language (say, Russian in the US or Svenska in China) a class is an excellent place to work on speaking comprehension, the only skill of Khatzumoto’s four — reading, writing, speaking, and listening comprehensions — that cannot be done alone in your room. If you lack confidence to talk to strangers yet, a class is a great opportunity to test the waters in a fairly safe environment. Everyone knows you’re a student. Best of all, classrooms offer feedback, the most important point often overlooked by those self-taught. You might only be a hair off on how to say X or how to pronounce Y, but you’ll probably never know until it’s been ingrained in your neuro-pathways unless you find someone (a teacher, a language partner, a native speaker buddy, a homeless vet, your 3rd grade teacher, anyone) to correct you. Sometimes the letters themselves are pretty confusing to figure out; I know that while I could associate a symbol with a sound pretty well on my own, I could not for the life of me figure out how and when to break up syllables in Korean, so having a teacher explain it to me enabled me to pursue more learning on my own that I could not have before.

“The real problem lies in ideas and attitudes…Someone who thinks they can’t do something, can’t. and someone who thinks they can, can…change the philosophy, and you change the behavior; change the behavior, and you change the results. It’s not touchy-feely; it’s simple cause-effect.”

Classes will only take you as far as you want to go though, and often textbook teaching is fairly wide of the mark. I’ve heard horror stories from friends with Mandarin majors only to discover they could only talk in a formal mode and were ridiculed when they arrived in China. I’ve heard of Japanese students who are fluent speakers but essentially illiterate, of Korean students that only use the -yo form. You cant just write down a bunch of declensions, memorise a bunch of new vocabulary words, and only speak when spoken to and expect anything close to proficiency. This is why you need the immersion experience. Enter All Japanese All The Time, where Khatzumoto urges you to consume all the Japanese media you can, to think in Japanese and create situations for yourself where it’s sink or swim, the same way it would be if you were a child learning language for the first time. You’ll start to recognise patterns and to pull out the few words you know, and before you know it you’ll start to pulling out the few words you don’t instead. It’s a more useful lexicon to pull from anyway because, unlike a textbook, Japanese products are organically Japanese and not some crazy construction of a bilingual speaker.

Khatzumoto’s methods are more common sense than anything else, but the fact that his ideas surprise me is further proof that we’ve got some serious societal barriers to gaining fluency that could do with a revisit. Why shouldn’t we try to learn not just a language, but anything by doing? As children that’s how we try on new hats and pick up new skills, we observe, we imitate, and we adopt. It’s aligned with many other principles I’ve spoken of before: stop distracting yourself or falling prey to your fears and distractions and just do. Khatzumoto makes a wonderful point, “On the one hand it’s so magical, but it’s also so predictable. If you put in the time, it will happen.” I think perhaps the greatest barrier to people learning foreign languages is not that they lack the resources, or the time, or the means, but that they don’t put in the time. You expect it to take you several years, it takes you several years. When it gets hard we don’t have anything but the necessity of a credit or the need for a good mark to pull us through, and in the meantime are being constantly reminded of how inadequate we are and how far off our ideal is.

“The whole process is one of sucking, you’re sucking the whole time and you’re trying to suck less each day, to phrase it negatively…so basically the time you spend inputting [the language] is directly proportional to speed at which you’re going to reduce your sucking. This is just what children do; if you think about the incredible amount of time even just a four-year-old has heard the language before they get to the point of speaking, it’s really pretty mind boggling.”

If it makes you feel so rubbish, why bother? It’s maddeningly frustrating to feel inept and to be unable to communicate, and even moving to a land where no one understands you doesn’t guarantee you’ll pick up the language quickly, though most do out of necessity. That’s because trying to remember how to say “the plane took off of the runway” from a book is pretty dry, and most “practice conversations” are painfully dull. I fully agree with what Khatzumoto suggests, which is that you have to make learning fun or you won’t do it. I know from my own experiences that you have to treat yourself like a small child and learn songs, watch movies, and reward yourself with marshmallows and lemon drops (or whatever your Kindergarten teacher fed you when you got a math problem right). For a long time I’ve thought traditional academia has been sucking the life out of learning that we forget to take joy in as we once did in childhood. If you’re having fun, not only does it stick better, but you have more learning stamina, it’s easier to do, and use it more.

Ideas
Listen to music, like Cornelius or Pizzicato 5 or even J-Pop like Heartsdales and Full of Harmony. Watch movies of any variety (without subtitles) like Hiyao Miyazaki movies or cult classics like Ringu. Watch anime that you like; I learned how to say “good day” and “are you okay?” from Maria-sama ga Miteru, and various types of bread from Yakikate! Japan. Take advantage of free resources like JapanesePod101.com or language tapes at your library. Watch Japanese youtube videos whether they’re video blogs or Hard Gay episodes. Read all the manga you can find in Japanese and childrens books if you can get your hands on them. Find a language buddy or language exchange online to practice your speaking skills, usually for free. Take up a Japanese pen pal. Attend the Japanese service at a local temple or church if you’re town has one. Make friends with Japanese mates, or enroll in a big-brother style programme for Japanese new to the US. There are tons of ways to immerse yourself complete in a language, and these are just some to get you started.

A monumentally awesome blend of form and function, Uniqlo ranks high among my favourite companies in the world — panic, kudal, kiva, apple, and virgin among them — for hitting the target dead on, for innovative tactics and marketing, and for blending art and consumerism (at reasonable prices!) more seamlessly than anyone else has been able to.

Ambiguously international, Uniqlo is a Japanese clothing/culture company that makes outrageous basics in stock colours with occasional graphic tees thrown in. Think American Apparel meets Gap, but in more stylish cuts and with less suggestive advertising. With just a smattering of stores in Tokyo, Paris, New York, Singapore, Hong Kong, Seoul, and London, Uniqulo garb can seem a little too bougie for the average hipster to finagle. Yet one step inside a Uniqlo retail spot will erase that assumption faster than scrubbing bubbles. Uniqlo is gloriously affordable, unabashedly trendy, and wonderfully unique. After all, the name is a slurring of unique + clothing. (Check out their introduction to see what I mean)

Surprisingly, it was not in Japan where I encountered the glory that is Uniqlo, but stateside several years ago that I came across the Uniqlock, an amazing mix of contemporary dance, good-old Fantastic Plastic Machine music, graphic and forward-thinking design, and advertising that absolutely worked. I spent the next several hours looking through the extensive catalogue and debating online purchases. It’s a clock, that changes music and colour to showcase their latest products, thusly changing every season or so…you’ll just have to see it for your self.

That was the moment I fell in love with Uniqlo, primarily for their design. It’s not just the Uniqlock, or the amazing music compilations, or the supreme scarf selection, but the Fashion Map, which is like a study in Japanese street culture, and the Jump project that illustrated just how awesome the staff is, and the types of artists the company attracts. It’s the clean style, the bold fonts, the sheer volume of outside-the-box projects pursued in the name of clothing that makes me go all gaga over something so seemingly out of character.

And we haven’t even started talking about the clothes. I’m a hard bill to fit; I like simple, fitted items that are modern, bold, and international. But fashion isn’t that important to me, so I’m rarely willing to pay all that much, even for something that fulfills the criteria, making it easy for me to fall in love with a product but hard for me to follow through. Uniqlo solved all my woes for the glorious few months I had access to the goods.

Strange, I know, that I’m so shamelessly plugging something like this in oh so many ways, but hey, you can’t help what you like, and Uniqlo is definitely something I like.

Go there.

Tokyo tower

bicycles in Shinjuku

the shrines of Kyoto

a rainy day in Tamachi

Related How to pine for Japan: come home.