Mysterious (and Creepy) Roadside Markers Explained
When wandering the backroads of Tsukuba you might encounter a set of what appear to be SIGNS OF WARNING or NO ENTRY. Three primitive stick figures drawn on wooden boards and mounted on sticks, usually posted on each side of the opening to a small road or path. I have never seen these goose-bump-eliciting road-markers anywhere else in Japan, and have STILL NOT been able to find any references to them in Japanese or foreign language sources. Most Japanese I have asked have told me that they had NO IDEA what these were, and several times Japanese friends joining me for a stroll have said "LETS GET OUT OF HERE QUICKLY! THOSE SIGNS GIVE ME THE CREEPS" after coming upon them on a secluded road.
Years of asking around eventually led to meeting a few elderly locals who knew what these markers were. Little by little I have been able to clear up the mystery of these mounted stick figures. This EXTREMELY LOCALIZED CUSTOM will now be explained for the first time in English (and maybe Japanese as well).
Simply put, the stick figures represent JIZO, one of the most familiar and beloved figures in Buddhist iconography. Anyone who has travelled around Japan and has been to its famous temples has probably seen these monk-like images (sometimes in great numbers), often dressed up by worshippers in shirt, coat, bib or hat, or maybe with some stones piled on them. Jizo, or more respectfully O-Jizo Sama, is a Bodhisattva (one who delays his own Buddha-hood in order to aid in the salvation of others), and because of that has come to be venerated in Japan starting in the Heian period (794-1185). For MUCH MORE DETAILED INFO on just about everything related to Jizo go to this page.
Jizo is regarded as the protector of children (including those who passed away before having been born) and also as a source of solace for dead souls.
The interesting thing around these parts is that when someone passes away, the neighborhood committee (in charge of helping with funerals) prepares these uniquely rustic Jizo figures (even if there are stone Jizos in the cemetery).
The stick figure Jizo placards are set up at the entrance to roads which lead to the cemetery, as a set of two, each with three Jizo characters. This is because Jizos are often found as a set of six, with that number being of great significance in Buddhism. The graveyard Jizos represent the SIX REALMS OF EXISTENCE, or SIX PATHS (rokudo). The custom of setting up these signboards began with the intention of helping guide the dead souls to wherever it is they have to go. If you look at the photos I have taken, you can see three nails sticking out of each board. Sometimes there are candles fastened onto them (to guide the dead) and sometimes even chili peppers (which serve as imitation flames).
A more practical purpose served by these Jizo boards is helping to guide the Living to the graveyard, which can often be hard to find out in the country. The jizo placards mark the entrance to the paths or roads leading to the cemetery.
So, next time you come across these strangely primitive markers, don't run away! It's not black magic or voodoo. It's just jizo, helping the spirits on their way.
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HIGH PROFILE Tsukuba Landmark To Be Dismantled !
Tsukuba`s Meteorological Observation Tower Will Disappear in June
When not exactly sure of where we are in Tsukuba, locals and long time residents, always look for Mt Tsukuba`s familiar, semi-crushed M shape. When we spot it, we immediately gain our bearings.
When it is too cloudy, or hazy ( as it often is in summer) to spot the familiar mountain, there is another landmark, which Tsukubans have turned to, to find their way- the 213 meter tall steel tower which since 1975 has been standing within the spacious precincts of the National Meteorological Research Institute.
With its blinking beacons, it is especially visible at night, and when returning to Tsukuba from other parts, whether by car or by bus, its flashing lights are always like a warm and reassuring WELCOME HOME.
The Meteorological Measurement Tower
You can imagine how dismayed I was then, to find out, that this highest of all structures in Tsukuba, has been deemed to have outlived its usefulness, and judged too costly to maintain. In other words, it has been condemned, and will be dismantled by the end of June.
I once had the good fortune to have been invited, by a researcher affiliated with the institute, to go up to the top of orange and white tower. I was amazed by how much time the small elevator ( capacity-3) took to get to the top- about 20 minutes! A veritable snail`s pace!
The view from the top was worth the long ride and the frosty temperatures, though, with Mt Tsukuba, Lake Kasumigaura and Mt Fuji all visible.
There is also a ladder which can be climbed to the top- not for the acrophobic! I have heard that this route up has been illicitly used by various late night-thrill seekers, including students from a nearby ( and quite famous) private school.
The tower through the trees
The tower was used to take collect all sorts of meteorological data, which can now be gathered by other means, using newer technologies.
I think I speak for all of those who have grown familiar with, and fond of this tower, when I say I will be sad to see it gone ( though when it IS gone, on very windy days I will no longer have to keep a nervous eye on it as I pass within its falling range!)
Some of the small woods near the tower
I`m also concerned about what will happen to the area around it after it is dismantled. It is now a sort of unofficial nature preserve, with plenty of trees and open meadows to provide a haven for birds and small mammals.Unfortunately, most of this will in all probability quickly disappear.
Deconstruction work has already begun, so if you`d like to take some memorial photos or call out a final farewell, you`d better hurry up.
Alas !What will will we look to now when lost on foggy days or by the dark of night?
Here is what Ive written about Tsukuba`s notorious non-working windmills, and what happened to them:
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Respect for Tsukuba’s Aged
433 Tsukubans (115 men and 318 women) celebrated their 88th birthday this year. (The 88th birthday is auspicious in Japan.) 13 people celebrated their 100th birthday (2 men and 11 women), and 19 people are over 101 years of age (2 men and 17 women). Tsukuba's oldest citizen is Ms. Ko Michikawa (路川好さん -- did I get the romanization right?) at 105.
Source: Tsukuba City Hall Newsletter, November 1, 2007
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Small Shrine and Monument for Locals Who Fell in Russo-Japanese War
Stone monuments glorifying post-Meiji Restoration (1868) Japan's war dead were a central feature of Japanese living spaces, having been prominently displayed for maximum exposure, whether in the Capital or in the smallest hamlets. This was a part of the government's desire to instill in the People a sense of religious reverence for those who died fighting for the emperor.
After WWII, however, the Occupation Authorities, in an effort to swing Japan into a new non-militaristic direction (except of course, if it meant fighting communists!), had these monuments destroyed or moved out of plain sight (for the less provocative memorial slabs).
While exploring the backroads of Tsukuba, you will find that each BURAKU or traditional village has its own cenotaphs, large stone slabs with the names of local war dead engraved on them, hidden away in the shadows. Sometimes they are out in the open, but then, they are usually well off the beaten track.
I have recently written about General Maresuke Nogi, who led the Japanese army to victory in the Russo-Japanese War of 1905. This great triumph came at a heavy price: up to 80,000 Japanese dead (not to mention tens of thousands of Russian casualties). The General, who lost his only 2 sons in the war, was ordered not to kill himself in repentance, as he wanted to, since he had been carrying out the will of the emperor.
One way that Nogi tried to atone for the immense loss of life he had helped bring about was the erecting of monuments across the country (and abroad as well) at which the spirits of those fallen could be consoled.
Near the Sakura City Office, in Higashi-Oka, is a shrine-like structure which is a Fudo Worship Hall. About 20 meters south of this building, hidden from view by the shadows cast by surrounding trees, there is another, much smaller, shrine-like structure, which is usually locked. I had often tried to peek through the cracks, but it was always too dark to make out what was being sheltered inside.
One day, as I walked past, I saw the door to the structure open. An elderly woman was sweeping nearby. It turned out that she was the mother-in-law of my acquaintance Mrs Okamino (who was in charge of the Fudo-Ko Ceremony I have written about).
I finally found out what was inside. A small shrine housing the spirit of Lt. Colonel Okamino, the old woman's grandfather! He was among the dead of 1905. She then pointed out, further into the shadows, a large stone monument to the local men who fell in the Russo-Japanese War.
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Tai-Yaki Eaters’ Dilemma — Is It Heads or Tails?
Taiyaki in Tsukuba
Where just recently were forest and field, now stands an immense (by Japanese standards) shopping mall called Iias, which some believe means "a good tomorrow" (ii asu), while others insist that it is named after the great warlord and founder of the Tokugawa Shogunate, Ieyasu. The debate rages on. Wandering its corridors the other day reminded me a bit of the huge airport outside of Kuala Lumpur, which at one time was the biggest terminal in the world. The small number of travellers utilizing that facility (it's hard to compete with the Changi Airport in Singapore, which is relatively nearby) makes it seem even more spacious than it really is, and quite a bit forlorn as well. I had the same feeling passing by the mostly empty, generic shops at cavernous Iias. Even the book store, which I had been looking forward to browsing at, proved to be richer in square meterage than in good books. I have never seen a book store in Japan with so much empty space between aisles.
Gin-no-An
After buying a book (I couldn't resist), I made my way down to the ground floor and spied in the distance a kiosk type shop (one that you cannot enter) which actually had a long line of customers waiting patiently to be served. From afar I saw that the shop was called Gin No An (銀の餡) and I curiously approached it to find out what it was selling -- ah-ha -- tai yaki (鯛焼き) those fish shaped waffle-like snacks usually filled with bean paste. I asked how long the wait would be, and was told 45 minutes! Well, I had my newly purchased book with me, so I figured, what the heck, these MUST be great tai yaki with a line this long. I asked my fellow liner-uppers if this was a famous chain, and was told that it was, and that there were always lines like this in front of this outlet, in fact usually even longer.
I tore open the plastic bag containing my book, held it up to my face, and fanned through its pages, inhaling that exhilarating NEW BOOK smell, and started reading while I waited. And wait is what I did. After a while I began to feel ON EDGE, not only because of the unusually long stand-around, but also because I'm a very impressionable reader, and the novel I had just started was Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar, the story of a young woman's descent into MADNESS. Fortunately, the line eventually advanced far enough so that I could now observe the staff, deep in concentration, scraping the grills clean, filling them with dough, adding filling, etc., which made the waiting (something I don't usually do) easier, and calmed my nerves a bit.
When it was finally my turn to order, I just couldn't make up my mind as to what filling to get, as GIN NO AN offers an interesting selection, so I took the easy way out and ordered the special six- type set. I was promptly given a hefty, steaming bag of tai yaki. Since I knew that if I opened the bag then and there I would end up eating the WHOLE BATCH by myself, I decided I would take them back to the Japanese friends I would be meeting later.
Not only were they thrilled by the special treat I had brought, but the tai yaki proved to be a great conversation piece, stimulating a long and excited discussion. The key question my friends asked each other was how they went about eating tai yaki -- from the head or from the tail? My group seemed to be divided on the subject, some liked starting with the head and working down (since the tip of the tail has no bean paste some thought it was a mouth freshener -- KUCHI NAOSHI -- at the very end), while those who loved the bean paste finished with the bean-filled heads. There were also those individualists who actually broke the Tai Yaki open and ate each half from the inside out! I also found that there were those who liked crispy outsides, and those who prefered them soft, and of course, there was the question of favorite fillings. In fact I hadn't had such an animated discussion with these friends since I had asked them what kind of ramen they liked!
Of course, I put in my own two cents, a little bit about the history of these long popular fish-shaped snacks (for many Japanese they are actually a light meal!)
The original Tai Yaki shop
Tai yaki were the creation of the Naniwaya-So-Honten (浪花家総本店) of Azabu Tokyo, which first started making them way back in 1904. The tai (鯛), or Japanese sea bream, has long been considered a sign of fortune and celebration. This is because of its red color, and even more importantly because the name TAI sounds like the ending of OMEDETAI, which means "something to celebrate". Back in the early 20th century, real sea bream were too expensive for the average Japanese, so when the sweet shop in Azabu made inexpensive tai shaped waffles filled with bean paste they were a big hit. And while most such big sellers quickly fade away in Japan, the popularity of tai yaki has proved enduring.
Tai -- fish for festive occasions
The peak of this popularity appears to have been in the mid-1970s with the appearance of a surprise hit-song "Oyoge! Tai Yaki-kun" (Swim! Tai Yaki) which was originally marketed as a children's song but whose lyrics hit a chord with the average salary-man (the fish, tired of being grilled everyday, escape to the sea!). The song's success fuelled a tai yaki craze at the time. Like most fads in Japan, however, after a few weeks of intense airplay, this song was hardly ever heard again (in fact I had never heard it until this week). The snacks themselves still live on, while the song merely remains ingrained the memories of people of a certain age who happen to be eating them. Oh, you can hear the song here.
These days tai yaki can be found in many different sizes and with various fillings. Gin No An has chestnut, sweet potato, sesame, etc., while the tai yaki vendor at the Seibu department store in Tsukuba has custard cream filling.
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