action movies when the good guy is getting ready to fight the bad guy. Sam told me the name for that, but I forget what it is. But now that I think of it, it’s kind of like haiku. Short and to the point.
Pine trees along the Tokaido road. Hills. Water-front. Over a bridge and into the crazy busy city of Edo. Buildings of wood, paper windows. Looking like New York in kimonos. Samm telling us, “Edo, as you know, is the original name of modern Tokyo.” Sam says, “I knew that.”
At a roadside food stand. Fred eating noodles (soba). We all eat raw fish on rice (sushi) with our chop-sticks (hashi). Seaweed, shrimp, hard-boiled eggs I recognize. Zou and Freddi eating octopus (tako).
The heart of the city. A great wide street full of shops and a sea of people. A bookshop. “Do you have a thin blue book?” asks Sam. Swordmaker sharpening a pair of swords on a long flat stone. Honda tests his blades. Candlemaker. Oil seller. Puppet plays on the street. Silk sellers. Clowning entertainers. A basket full of kites. Bamboo brooms sweeping.
People, people, people on the street. Big flat round hats. Slow, pale, kimono-wrapped ladies. Everyone steps aside for proud samurai. Shaved-head priests and nuns. Sandals. “Look at that guy’s socks with a big toe,” I say. “Everyone wears those,” says Jo, showing me hers. “They’re called tabi.” I say, “I knew that.”
No one pays much attention to us. The Red Devils are a much more impressive sight ... and proud of it. Red Devil samurai and soldiers show off spears, lances, bows and arrows.
Giant sweeping white stone wall. Passport check. Lady Ii Naomasa guides us through. Bridge over water-filled moat. A monster gate. Huge stone walls of the castle rise up to little narrow windows, just big enough to shoot an arrow through. Castle samurai and soldiers with different armor, blue banners.
Inside paper walls, sliding doors. “You’re asking us to take a bath?” says Fred. “Sam, check that Auto-Translator.” Fred, Sam, and I soak in a giant warm bath. A lady tries to talk us into kimonos. Fred, Sam, and I get safely back in our jeans, T-shirts, and sneakers. Jo, Samm, and Freddi in even wilder outfits than before—patterned kimonos, wide belt things. Something is going on with their hair.
Honda: “Bushido is the Way of the Warrior.”
Fred and Freddi practice with wooden samurai swords.
The seven martial arts.
“Fencing.” Whack.
“Archery.” Whack.
“Spearmanship.” Whack.
“Jujutsu.” Whack.
“Horsemanship.” Whack.
“Firearms.” Whack.
“Military strategy.” Whack.
“And girls trained as samurai, too,” says Freddi.
Fred blocks the last blow. “I knew that.”
Sam and Samm sit cross-legged, listening to Zou. “The true samurai is a trained warrior, a trained artist, a trained mind,” says Zou.
Carefully pouring tea into small cups. Samm arranges a stalk of flowers. Sam meditates in a garden of carefully raked stones.
A long thin flag over the castle flaps in the wind.
“What is moving?” asks Zou.
“The flag is moving,” says Sam.
“The wind is moving,” says Samm.
“Not the flag. Not the wind,” says Zou. “Mind is moving.”
Jo and I sit on our knees at a low table. “Samurai practice with swords ... and brushes.” Jo draws a neat Japanese character.
I draw. Try to act casual. Find The Book. Ask, “So you were thinking of warping home with haiku, too?”
Another neat character by Jo. “Haikai, actually. It’s a whole chain of verses. Modern haiku came from that. The verses linked all together are called renga.”
I draw. “Right,” I say. “I knew ... it was something like that. Five syllables, seven syllables, five syllables?”
Jo draws another perfect-looking character. “Oh no, that’s just a simplification for English speakers. It’s more about images. Like the famous poem of Basho:
“Old pond ...
A frog leaps in
Water’s sound.”
“Ms. Basho, our teacher?” I say.
“No,
Pine trees along the Tokaido road. Hills. Water-front. Over a bridge and into the crazy busy city of Edo. Buildings of wood, paper windows. Looking like New York in kimonos. Samm telling us, “Edo, as you know, is the original name of modern Tokyo.” Sam says, “I knew that.”
At a roadside food stand. Fred eating noodles (soba). We all eat raw fish on rice (sushi) with our chop-sticks (hashi). Seaweed, shrimp, hard-boiled eggs I recognize. Zou and Freddi eating octopus (tako).
The heart of the city. A great wide street full of shops and a sea of people. A bookshop. “Do you have a thin blue book?” asks Sam. Swordmaker sharpening a pair of swords on a long flat stone. Honda tests his blades. Candlemaker. Oil seller. Puppet plays on the street. Silk sellers. Clowning entertainers. A basket full of kites. Bamboo brooms sweeping.
People, people, people on the street. Big flat round hats. Slow, pale, kimono-wrapped ladies. Everyone steps aside for proud samurai. Shaved-head priests and nuns. Sandals. “Look at that guy’s socks with a big toe,” I say. “Everyone wears those,” says Jo, showing me hers. “They’re called tabi.” I say, “I knew that.”
No one pays much attention to us. The Red Devils are a much more impressive sight ... and proud of it. Red Devil samurai and soldiers show off spears, lances, bows and arrows.
Giant sweeping white stone wall. Passport check. Lady Ii Naomasa guides us through. Bridge over water-filled moat. A monster gate. Huge stone walls of the castle rise up to little narrow windows, just big enough to shoot an arrow through. Castle samurai and soldiers with different armor, blue banners.
Inside paper walls, sliding doors. “You’re asking us to take a bath?” says Fred. “Sam, check that Auto-Translator.” Fred, Sam, and I soak in a giant warm bath. A lady tries to talk us into kimonos. Fred, Sam, and I get safely back in our jeans, T-shirts, and sneakers. Jo, Samm, and Freddi in even wilder outfits than before—patterned kimonos, wide belt things. Something is going on with their hair.
Honda: “Bushido is the Way of the Warrior.”
Fred and Freddi practice with wooden samurai swords.
The seven martial arts.
“Fencing.” Whack.
“Archery.” Whack.
“Spearmanship.” Whack.
“Jujutsu.” Whack.
“Horsemanship.” Whack.
“Firearms.” Whack.
“Military strategy.” Whack.
“And girls trained as samurai, too,” says Freddi.
Fred blocks the last blow. “I knew that.”
Sam and Samm sit cross-legged, listening to Zou. “The true samurai is a trained warrior, a trained artist, a trained mind,” says Zou.
Carefully pouring tea into small cups. Samm arranges a stalk of flowers. Sam meditates in a garden of carefully raked stones.
A long thin flag over the castle flaps in the wind.
“What is moving?” asks Zou.
“The flag is moving,” says Sam.
“The wind is moving,” says Samm.
“Not the flag. Not the wind,” says Zou. “Mind is moving.”
Jo and I sit on our knees at a low table. “Samurai practice with swords ... and brushes.” Jo draws a neat Japanese character.
I draw. Try to act casual. Find The Book. Ask, “So you were thinking of warping home with haiku, too?”
Another neat character by Jo. “Haikai, actually. It’s a whole chain of verses. Modern haiku came from that. The verses linked all together are called renga.”
I draw. “Right,” I say. “I knew ... it was something like that. Five syllables, seven syllables, five syllables?”
Jo draws another perfect-looking character. “Oh no, that’s just a simplification for English speakers. It’s more about images. Like the famous poem of Basho:
“Old pond ...
A frog leaps in
Water’s sound.”
“Ms. Basho, our teacher?” I say.
“No,
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