Latest news with #JapaneseCulture
NHK
5 days ago
- Lifestyle
- NHK
Foreign students in Hokkaido drum up affinity with Japanese culture
Students from abroad experienced Japanese taiko drumming to deepen their understanding of the country's culture. A Japanese-language school in Nakashibetsu town, located in the northern prefecture of Hokkaido, hosted an event on Thursday as part of a cultural studies class. About 50 students participated. Members of a local taiko group kicked off the event by performing a powerful piece inspired by the ocean and the fishing practices of Hokkaido. The students then had a chance to play the drums themselves. They learned the basic stance -- placing their left leg diagonally forward with knees slightly bent. They also learned a striking technique that involves lifting the drumsticks straight up and bringing them down to hit the center of the drum. The participants followed the rhythm or played freely, enjoying the sounds of various sizes of drums and Japanese flutes. A male student from Nepal said it was difficult but fun. A female participant from Myanmar said she felt nervous but found it very interesting and would like to try playing again.
Yahoo
5 days ago
- Business
- Yahoo
Beloved San Francisco Icon Shuts Down After 40 Years
After 40 years of serving its community, a beloved cultural institution is shutting its doors. Japan Video and Media, a long-standing hub for Japanese and Korean media lovers, has announced it will close at the end of the month. Unlike many retailers grappling with sales slumps, inflation, and tariffs, this closure stems from a more personal reason: owner Takeshi Onishi is retiring, The Street reported. Onishi, who founded the store after moving to the U.S. from Japan, dedicated his business to introducing people to Japanese culture. Over the decades, the store became a go-to spot for Japanese and Korean videos with English subtitles, as well as anime collectibles and cultural merchandise. In 2020, Japan Video and Media was honored with legacy business status in San Francisco, a testament to its cultural significance and deep community roots. 'We have served over a million people,' Onishi shared in a heartfelt statement. 'We could not have done it without our loyal customers and our dedicated staff. We are grateful for each and every one of you.' While many small businesses have struggled in recent years—hit hard by the pandemic, economic shifts, and changing consumer habits—Japan Video and Media thrived thanks to its unique offerings and devoted customer base. Its closure isn't about declining demand, but rather Onishi's decision to step away and enjoy a well-deserved retirement. For longtime fans, the end of this chapter is bittersweet. The store's legacy lives on as a reminder of the power of cultural connection, community, and resilience. As Japan Video and Media prepares to close its doors, it leaves behind a story of dedication and impact that won't soon be San Francisco Icon Shuts Down After 40 Years first appeared on Men's Journal on May 29, 2025
Japan Times
26-05-2025
- General
- Japan Times
A moving meditation: Finding serenity in tea ceremony across space and time
Softly, a door slides shut. There's a faint rustle of silk and the whisper of feet clad in tabi (split-toe socks) over tatami. After a pause, a bamboo ladle taps a small stand, its slender handle inaudibly dropping to the floor. And it's here — crouched in the garden outside of the tea room, holding my breath, eyes closed in concentration — that I sense my signal to quietly roll up the slatted sudare (bamboo screens) hanging outside the paper-covered windows. I can't see what's happening in the tea room where the host and five guests are gathered, but it's my responsibility to know. At this formal chaji (tea ceremony), I'm a behind-the-scenes assistant making sure that things run smoothly. It's Rikka, the first day of summer according to Japan's traditional calendar, and everything about the event is planned to highlight the vibrant new season, from the motifs on the tea bowls to the fresh irises in the alcove. The sunken hearth of winter is now closed, replaced by a charcoal brazier for heating water. A hanging scroll selected for the occasion displays the kanji for seki — a Chinese character that signifies a literal gate, but also implies the threshold to a new chapter. For the guests seated inside, the timing of my actions brightens the space, shifting the atmosphere from in (yin) to yō (yang), just as the host begins to prepare tea — the main event. This task seems simple, but it took many years to get here. Only by playing a role on the other side of the window — whether practicing the same procedures as the host, or watching it all as a guest — was I able to eventually memorize the movements and timing. Weekly o-keiko (lessons) with my gracious teacher and a dedicated group of fellow students have given my life a reliable rhythm. While my career as a writer and strategist continues to evolve and I've changed addresses a few times since moving to Japan in 2017, I find a steadiness in studying tea. Chadō, the way of tea, puts life's ebbs and flows into a broader context of natural cycles, where even a fleeting microseason is something to be cherished. My journey began two decades ago in another Japanese garden, on the other side of the world. I was working as a journalist in the United States, but found myself traveling often to Tokyo for summer vacations, craving a deeper cultural connection after getting a degree in East Asian studies. Then I found out that Rohoen, the Japanese Friendship Garden of Phoenix, Arizona, was accepting volunteers. I started showing up early on Saturday mornings to help rake bamboo leaves, prune shrubs and sweep the walkways before the doors opened to the public. A joint project between Phoenix and its sister city of Himeji, Hyogo Prefecture, the garden was (and still is) a surprising oasis of Japanese-ness in a desert metropolis surrounded by rugged, rocky mountains. Volunteering at Rohoen felt like a homecoming. I was especially drawn to the tea garden, with its tsukubai (stone wash basin) tucked inside of a bamboo gate and stepping stones scattered across the mosslike lawn, all leading to a low, square door on the side of the tea house. I knew you had to duck and kneel to enter it, but I had no idea what went on inside. Meanwhile, after months of volunteering — and noticing a group of women in kimono who faithfully visited each month for tea practice and public demonstrations — curiosity eventually got the best of me. All of my nervousness about joining the tea ceremony group dissolved when I received a warm welcome by my teacher and classmates for the first time. Someone even brought a spare kimono for me to wear and helped me put it on properly. Together, in the cozy 4½-tatami mat space, we learned to slow down and appreciate subtle things like the sound of water boiling in the kama (kettle), the delicate flavors of traditional wagashi (Japanese sweets) and, of course, the savory-sweet aroma of matcha. It was admittedly difficult and often painful to sit in seiza, the formal kneeling posture, but my senses were so engaged with all the other details that I was compelled to keep going. Even today, I have to put my mind over matter when sitting for a long time. I first began practicing tea at a time when I was focused on growing my career. Being busy at work felt like a badge of honor, but I was also starting to feel the strain of prolonged periods of stress. I didn't realize how my attraction to tea ceremony may have been a manifestation of my desire to attain balance — a balance that the ceremony itself instills through quiet moments of mindfulness and gratitude. When I learned that entering the rōji (tea garden) represents crossing into a different world — one where everyday concerns should be left outside the bamboo gate — the magnetic appeal of that garden suddenly made perfect sense. At times, practicing chanoyu — 'hot water for tea,' the literal meaning of the term for tea ceremony — feels like a moving meditation. As with many traditional artforms, there's plenty of repetition to refine each movement and sharpen one's focus. In my earliest lessons, I learned how to fold a silk fukusa cloth down into a palm-sized rectangle for wiping utensils. It's an essential technique for every ceremony, from the simplest to the most complex. I've practiced this countless times and will never tire of it. Since the items for preparing tea are already spotless to start with, it isn't about literal cleaning, but symbolic purification of the spirit. Michele Laudig (right) and fellow practitioners of tea ceremony perform at Ginchakai, an open-air event held in Ginza, in October 2024. | Courtesy of Michele Laudig For me, the initial allure of chadō was how it wove together many threads of my fascination with Japan into a bigger, richer picture. My interest in philosophy, literature and history gave me an appreciation of the names of utensils and the Zen-infused wisdom of hanging scrolls. Learning how to wear a kimono also taught me how to move differently. And finally, I learned the proper way to navigate those spaces that used to seem mysterious, appreciating the garden and traditional architecture with a different kind of awe. It was the ultimate way to connect the dots between so many different aspects of Japanese culture and aesthetics. Then, as it continued to pull me into its world, tea ceremony became more of a familiar, comfortable place. Even though I accepted it as a lifelong learning path, full of ever more topics to explore, I also got to a point where I had a solid foundation that would serve me anywhere I went. I could relocate to New York City and join an entirely different group of teachers and students, but still have a common language of movement and ritual. I could uproot again, move to Tokyo for a new job and still find the same sense of calm in folding my fukusa under the guidance of my current sensei. I could strike up conversations with absolute strangers and find kinship when we discover our shared devotion. All of these years, I didn't quite realize that I was following my passion as I navigated life's changes. In hindsight, perhaps it wasn't my career after all that precipitated my movements, but the desire for a deeper relationship with tea ceremony and Japan — through one gateway, and on to the next.
Malay Mail
21-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Malay Mail
Misunderstood and vanishing: Century-old Tokyo geisha festival revives dying art
TOKYO, May 21 — The geishas glide with measured steps across a wooden stage, offering a glimpse of a long-misunderstood tradition that is becoming a rare sight in Japan. Dancing with paper fans and dressed in kimonos, the entertainers were rehearsing without the striking white make-up and sculpted hairstyles they are famous for. But for seven days from yesterday the women will perform in full splendour at the 100-year-old Azuma Odori festival at a theatre in the heart of the Japanese capital. In the popular imagination geishas are often confused with courtesans, but in fact their work — as trained masters of refined old artforms — does not involve selling sex. 'Japanese people themselves often don't understand or have the wrong idea about what geishas do,' Hisafumi Iwashita, a writer specialised in geisha culture, told AFP. In Japanese, the word geisha means 'person of the arts' — a woman or man trained in traditional Japanese performing arts. But the core role of geishas goes far beyond 'just dancing and singing,' Iwashita said. Geishas in different parts of Japan are also known for different skills. In Kyoto, where they are called geikos, 'dance is seen as the most important artform,' Iwashita said. Tokyo geishas meanwhile are known for their singing and talents on the shamisen, which resembles a slim three-stringed guitar. This year for the first time ever, geishas from 19 Japanese regions are participating in the annual Azuma Odori, as well as those from Tokyo's Shinbashi district who usually perform. This photo taken on May 8, 2025 shows Shinbashi geishas rehearsing under the watchful eyes of instructors before the 100th edition of the Azuma Odori at the Shinbashi Enbujo Theatre in Tokyo. — AFP pic Around 180 geishas will take part overall, taking to the stage in small groups for two shows each day. Koiku, a Shinbashi geisha, said her job first and foremost involves 'welcoming and entertaining visitors at traditional restaurants called ryotei'. Entry to these expensive, exclusive establishments, found in historic geisha districts known as hanamachi, is by invitation only. This picture taken on May 20, 2025 shows Shinbashi geishas rehearsing at the Shinbashi Enbujo Theatre before the 100th Azuma Odori festival in Tokyo. — AFP pic 10 year's training Today around 40 geishas work in Shinbashi — many fewer than in times gone by — and all of them will appear at the Azuma Odori. 'Not so long ago, there were 100 of us, then 60... and the number keeps going down,' Koiku said. Life as a geisha is tough, with a strict practice schedule even for established performers. 'In general, it takes 10 years to be seen as competent,' said Koiku, who was enticed by her love of music and dance. The geishas' choreography, watched by their instructors and accompanied by live musicians at the rehearsal, includes playful touches such as miming the movements of a fox. It is not polite to ask a geisha's age, but some taking part in the show have been performing for five or six decades. Koiku said she is worried that if nothing changes, it will be 'too late' for the waning geisha tradition. Azuma Odori's roots date back to Japan's 1868–1912 Meiji era, when dance began to take a more central role in geisha performances. Geishas, who would entertain government officials at banquets, played 'a key role' in shaping modern Japanese culture, according to the expert Iwashita. He thinks the main reason for the falling number of geishas in Japan is simply that they have fewer clients. While geishas once made a living from Japan's wealthy elite, in 1993 then-prime minister Morihiro Hosokawa called for an end to government banquets in ryotei restaurants. That was a 'tough blow for the industry', Iwashita said. Koiku agrees that the 'world has changed' — including the type of socialising where business deals are sought. 'Nowadays, companies are increasingly organising receptions in their offices or other venues,' she said. Shinbashi Enbujo Theatre, where Azuma Odori will take place, was inaugurated in 1925 with the festival's first edition. It was rebuilt in 1948 after being destroyed in World War II, and its lavish post-war performances influenced Japanese kabuki theatre before being simplified to audience tastes. With the future of the geisha profession uncertain, for Iwashita, 'the fact that such a theatre still exists, and that it is the 100th anniversary (of Azuma Odori) is nothing short of a miracle'. — AFP
Telegraph
20-05-2025
- Telegraph
How Japan perfected ‘the art of waiting' – the ideal antidote to modern life
Tokyo hums with arcade bells and neon lights, commuters bustling past one another at speed. But look closer and a gentler rhythm appears: silent platforms, orderly queues. This is gaman, the Japanese philosophy of patience. Instilled from childhood, it has carried Japan through its gravest moments, from Hiroshima to post-war rebuilding. For those of us raised on urgency and instant reward, Japan offers a quiet challenge: to find beauty in restraint. Here, you don't need to seek gaman – it finds you. At Ekoin temple, Koyasan, nestled among towering cedar trees and centuries-old wooden walls, it's woven into every ritual. Tatami rooms face mossy courtyards. Vines trace the stone paths, and incense drifts through cedar halls. During a 24-hour stay , guests practice meditation, attend a fire ceremony and eat nourishing vegetarian meals. Sean – who, at 22, is one of the temple's youngest monks – speaks softly as he offers me a seat. 'It's about discipline, self-control and an inward patience,' he says. 'If you're patient with yourself, you become patient with others.' Perhaps it's this quiet discipline that equipped Japan – a sliver of land in the Pacific, where 125 million people co-exist on just 30 per cent of its terrain – with the confidence to endure, and to thrive. Gaman shapes the culinary experience, too. Ramen. Sushi. Matcha. Japan's staples. At Men-Ya Inoichi in Kyoto, a Michelin-star ramen joint where a bowl costs around £10, diners begin to queue for lunch as early as 10.30am, receive a ticket at 11, and return at 12.30. Instead of boredom, there's a quiet thrill. Appetite sharpens, as does anticipation. When the ramen is finally served – Wagyu beef, rich in umami and fish flakes – it is even more satisfying. Each bite feels earned. For something more refined, Sushi Atsuya in Osaka offers a two-hour, 20-course omakase experience where diners surrender their discretion to the chef. Patience is part of the art. Thirty one years into his craft, the chef glides through the room with the same precision as he slices the salmon. Diners observe every flick of the knife and brush of soy in near silence. Every bite is savoured; every pause, deliberate. You wait. You watch. You taste. In an age where choice is abundant, omakase lets you fall into the arms of a master chef and defer control. A release also echoed throughout the traditional tea ceremony, where ritual, not whim, leads the way. At Gion Tea House in Kyoto, guests dress in kimonos and slippers, kneel beside the instructor, and are guided through a three part process: sweets to stir the appetite, matcha whisked to a froth, and a final bow of quiet gratitude. Each gesture flows with intention, intuitive and precise, forming a melodic rhythm: the rise of steam, the gentle dripping of water, the brushing of the whisk. When the tea is finally sipped, it's earthy and restorative, its warmth magnified by the unhurried ritual that precedes it. A teabag and kettle will never feel quite the same. In Tokyo, Hamarikyu Gardens offers another opportunity for gaman. Amidst the high-rises sits a traditional tea house on a lake. Shoes are taken off and stacked neatly by the door; green tea and Japanese pancakes are served. Inside, there's no sense of urgency, only hushed conversation. An old couple sip their tea in quiet unison, leaving the city's hustle behind. Leaving the tea house, Tokyo's frenetic energy hits immediately. Street food scents and flashing billboards mock your attempt at gaman. But just a thirty-minute walk away lies Zojoji Temple, where tranquillity perseveres and self discipline dismisses distraction. The stairs are lined with visitors, waiting equidistant, like figures in a diorama. Inside, a reprieve from the thrumming crowd. Incense swirls and a golden Buddha draws bowed heads and a moment of reflection. Beyond the capital in Hakone's hot springs, time slows down. At Laforet Hakone Gora Yunosumika, private onsens bathe in sun-dappled light surrounded by forested peaks and crisp mountain air. Each room includes an open-air tub. Skin softens, the mind clears. There's no doom-scrolling; it would feel sacrilegious, like ordering a cheeseburger at an omakase. All senses are anchored to the present, absorbing the natural symphony: the sweet hum of the Japanese nightingale, the cool wind and swirling cocoon of steam. In a society governed by speed, gaman offers a rare interlude. Time stretches, unfolding patiently, and delay becomes a welcomed opportunity to practice inner mastery. At first, it may chafe against instinct. But as you yield – in each sip of tea, slow queue and stretch of silence – life grows more vivid, its richness quietly sneaking up on you. Essentials Mandarin Oriental, Tokyo offers doubles from £1,040 per night. British Airways flies from London Heathrow to Tokyo Narita from £1,336 return. Sushi Atsuya 's two-hour omakase experience costs from £57 per person; Ekoin temple, Koyasan offers stays from £110 per person, including meals and ceremonies; tea ceremonies at Gion Tea House are priced from £32; Laforet Hakone Gora Yunosumika has private rooms from £195 per night.
