Or: Thoughts From Afar, Thoughts Close to Home
In the early morning of October 12, 1492, Columbus stepped ashore on the low beach of Samana Cay in the New World. (Or any one of a dozen other locations in the Caribbean, all ardently defended by their partisans, take your pick.)
I’ve often wondered what passed through his mind at that very moment. Intense relief at making landfall? Thoughts of the glory and honour surely to be his upon return to the Spanish court, or perhaps surprise that the long-awaited promised land seemed so strangely devoid of promise? What did he say, I wonder, what were his first words in the New World? Whatever they were, it’s unlikely to have been “Quick, if we hurry, we can get through passport control before the crowd catches up!”. Admittedly, my contribution to posterity is not the kind that makes immortal entries in the history books…
Now, besides the dashing exploit of managing to place myself in the same paragraph as Columbus and totally confusing whoever is reading this in one deft hairpin turn of phrase, the two episodes do actually have one thing in common.
Xipangu.
When Columbus stepped on that anonymous beach in the Caribbean, he arrived on exactly the same day he had planned to disembark in Xipangu. Xipangu (or Cipango or Zipangu, derived from the Chinese pronunciation of Nippon) was first revealed to the Europeans in the writings of Marco Polo. Tantalizing glimpses of fabled (and of course fabulously rich) lands to the east were nothing new. Logically, Columbus sailed west – around a globe whose dimensions were based on calculations made in the middle of the second century AD by Ptolemy, which, while astonishingly accurate for the time, left no room for the wide Pacific Ocean, placing the Orient within reach of favorable winds and helpful Atlantic currents. (One wonders if Columbus would have set off so optimistically had Erastothene’s amazingly accurate calculations not been reduced to a more manageable size by Ptolemy.)
All in all, he set foot in a land of expectations, but hardly the one he expected.
Visiting any foreign land, even in our time of the so-called global village, is an exercise in serendipity. (Actually, I think those who say every capital is the same likely stay in the same chain of hotels, go to the same Starbucks and Hard Rock Cafés and then idly wonder why “authenticity” seems lacking.)
I was expecting to be surprised by Japan. In the end, I was doubly surprised. All the things that I expected would startle me (our trip was preceded by kind-hearted yet ominous coaching by well-meaning friends on all the mortally offensive pitfalls we ignorant gaijin unwittingly commit at every turn) seemed perfectly familiar and everything I took for granted astonished me thoroughly.
The exhibition was delightful, beautifully organised, leaving us ample time to amble around Tokyo (twice the population of Switzerland). We were honoured by a private tour of the Samurai arms and armour at the National Museum. (I had to curtail my enthusiasm when I realized that the rest of our little party may not have been following with equal enthusiasm the last ten minutes of detailed discussion about the relative merits of medieval oriental and western bowyers’ techniques I was happily having with the two curators of the collection… My wife puts up with this kind of thing a lot, brave girl that she is.) The curator of the show took us on a little excursion to Kamakura, and thanks to a friend from Tokyo, we managed a plunge into the collectible cornucopia of the otaku (seven floors the size of football fields of nothing but electronics and toys, and that was just one shop of hundreds).
It’s impossible not to have preconceptions about a foreign land. (Foreign, by the way: Middle English foren, forein, from Old French forein, forain, based on Latin foras, foris ‘outside,’ from fores ‘door.’ Beyond the threshold, in sum.)
Thankfully, thirty years of living abroad have cured me of the pretension that I can ultimately fit in anywhere or have some exceptionally privileged rapport with the places I visit (tourists themselves are usually those who complain the most bitterly about “all those tourists”). So I keep my eyes (and hopefully the mind behind them) wide open. (My affinity is with infinity – it helps keep horizons where they are meant to be.)
I’ve often wondered where exactly lie the the curious thresholds we cart about, when cautious appreciation turns to distaste, where offence replaces acceptance or indifference. We tourists are rarely in danger, but, firmly seated in the high saddles of our expectations, our own limitations and preconceptions are difficult mounts to master. We wear our cultural blinders at unconsciously as our sunglasses.
Though I’ll likely never be an experienced traveller, I am more than ever determined to remain an inexperienced one. (In life, you only go through the arrival and departure gates once.) Or perhaps a passenger delighting in the differences that make us alike, not the ones that drive us apart. Idealistic? I most certainly hope so. If I am lucky, I will never learn.
For me, every step is one on the road to Xipangu.
Very much like this last trip. But, unlike Columbus, I wasn’t disappointed.
(Then again, he didn’t get to see Mount Fuji from the plane.)
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Cats, lights and tentacles (reduced).
The tentacles looked like something out of Jules Verne, and yes, they were that colour.
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Vending machine, umbrella ballet, bonsai and blue plastic.
Drinks machines seem to be everywhere (red for hot, blue for cold), even in suburban residential streets. Ten thousand pedestrians an hour ply the crosswalks in Shibuya – I was completely Lost in Contemplation.
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Gable, koi and temple roofscapes in Kamakura. (These pictures are solely to reassure everyone that when abroad I don’t only photograph merchandise on display.) The gable was on a private house, the fish were flirtacious and the temples were exquisite.
PORTO
The Fantasporto Film Festival was also good fun. (Anders Banke and Magnus Paulsson, who made “There and Back Again” won the grand prize for The First Swedish Vampire Movie – no, that’s not the title, it’s called Frostbite.) Portugal seems to be one of these romantic kingdoms whose fortunes ebb and flow like the sea to which its destiny is tied. Porto has a curious obsession with pictorial blue and white tiles, and covers whole buildings with them, an intriguing touch of Delft far south. Ordinary bookshops have books in half a dozen languages on any subject, all indifferently mixed on the shelves, and the Portuguese themselves seem to have an easy familiarity with the other Romance languages. ( This made book browsing more akin to treasure hunting, compared to the measly offerings of “English Books” and “Deutsches Bucher” that bookshops here reluctantly offer. My suitcase weighed a ton on the way home.)
It poured with rain, a boisterous wind off the Atlantic made the fountains spout sideways. “You’ll have to come back in half an hour” said the attendant at the door of the Cathedral. “It’s a mess right now.” No, I did NOT say “Oh, there’s no need to tidy it up just for me”. I knew she meant “mass” and left the faithful to their business. Facing the cathedral was a statue of what appeared to be a mounted Visigoth, with the inscription “Vimara Peres 868-1968”. I naturally grilled all my new Portuguese acquaintances, but nobody could clear up the mystery. It turns out that he pushed the Moors south of the Douro and declared the County of Portucale as a fiefdom of the Kingdom of Asturias. How I wish I had known while wandering along the quays or looking over the roofs of Porto. Information like that sends my imagination into orbit – it would have been two trips in one.
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Above left: A most unusual sculpted balustrade in front of the Cathedral of Porto.
Right: Architects in Porto display a certain predilection for tiles.
FROM THE MOUTHS OF BABES…
Kids are great. They have none of the cautious language we adults too quickly acquire and agile thinking that reminds me of haiku. This selection of quotes was sent to me by an elementary school teacher from Canada. The comments were written after a tour of the web site.
Gwaihir Rescues Gandalf from Orthanc: “I love this picture because I think that the little dude on top of the castle is really cool because he looks like he is pushing all the wind one way. The eagle bird is cool too because I imagine that I’m underneath the big bird. I also like it because there’s a fire part and first you look at the picture and then the fire. ” Alyssa, Gr. 4
Gandalf: ” Gandalf the Gray wizard is very cool and interesting and I am going to ask my mom for a poster of him. He is very sneaky.”
Matthew, Gr.5
Celtic Myth: ” My picture is very beautiful and detailed. I like it very much because it is very wild-like, but at the same time it is very magical! I think that John Howe is VERY good at painting. My favourite part is the mountains.” Kate, Grade 4
Against the Shadow: ” I like the way he uses the colours and the different sizes of lines in the fog and the sway of their clothes. The light of his sword takes my eye to the fire so I see all of it.” Nick, Gr. 5
Black Riders: “I chose this because it has a lot of details. It also looks really realistic. I also like how the clouds cover the moon in the same colour with the glowing eyes of the horses. I can hardly see the riders.” Kelsey, Gr. 4
Balrog II: “All the fire draws my attention. And the way the colours blend is so cool! The placement of everything is perfect. The best part is the dragon.” Taylor, Grade 5
Celtic Myth: “Distant cliffs stretching as far as the eye can see, and towers of rock reaching toward the sky. Large oak tree with a few swans flying by. Knight sitting in camouflage under the tree, lance in hand, standing beside horse. Golden knight standing beside lady of Celtic myth and some sprites. Unicorn sitting still by golden knight, ever loyal to its master, it sits as still as a rock.” Justin, Grade 5
