Why academic marriages work.

There are many posts in the academic blogsphere regarding the difficulties of maintaining a two-academic marriage. I've complained about the two body problem myself in the past. But there are times when being in a significant relationship with a fellow academic - especially a supportive and intelligent fellow academic, comes into its own.

To set the scene: it's our last week in Japan. A week devoted, in theory, to traveling and relaxation. However, I've been waiting for some referees' comments regarding a proposal, and I know that the time frame is such that, as they hadn't turned up by the end of my working weeks in Japan, they were certain to arrive during the traveling week. SAO (Significant Academic Other) & I have just spent two days in the Yamagata mountains at a beautiful ryokan. All stresses and strains, and about four layers of skin, have been dissolved in the volcanic springs. We return for one last night in Sendai. One last night of guaranteed internet connection and a splendid meal in my favourite Sendai restaurant.

Of course I know that the referee's comments are bound to have arrived whilst we were away. The first law of Sod is global. I turn on, tune in and freak out: the reviews arrived two days before. One excellent (if brief) review, one with valid critique and one Total. Utter. Hatchet job. Responses soonest please.

I know that reviews to every funding proposal span this spectrum - and that the outliers are usually taken lightly by the panel. Nevertheless, this is the first proposal I've played a major part in, and I feel like someone's just called my baby a minger.

SAO takes one look and correctly diagnoses hatchet-jobbery. The PI, forwarding the reviews, warned that it was hatchet-jobbery. But I feel like someone's just landed me with a dirty punch and, boy, am I mad. I go on the offensive in the only way I know how - by honing arguments, fixing weaknesses and mustering support in terms of secondary sources. Pow, pow pow. Oh yes, I am a ninja.

With not a word of complaint, in fact with all alacrity, SAO agrees to a canceling of our indulgent "Sayonara Sendai" dinner in favour of some quick ramen from an "order at the vending machine" place. He also digs out a copy of his recent paper on an associated topic [1]. He spends dinner uncomplainingly letting me jab the air with chopsticks (and, in some messy cases, ramen), helping to channel my ire into constructive responses to all three reviews, and suggesting more succinct [2] ways of countering the criticism.

He then lets me keep him awake in the hotel room, in the least fun way possible, typing (and muttering) 'til late and waking early to review what I've written. He complains not one jot when I wake him with a "morning darling - read this before we catch the train", and then packs whilst I put on a final polish and send to the PI (who, because of his odd working hours, will be awake to receive it despite it being midnight in the UK).

Now I'm not saying that any other occupation would make SAO less supportive, nor am I saying that all SAOs are so supportive by nature. But I am saying that academics, in general, are: finely attuned to distinguishing hatchet-jobs from genuine criticism; much more likely to spend more energy responding to genuine criticism; unlikely to resort first and foremost to sympathising over the hatchet-job, preferring instead to demonstrate the fallacies on which it rests. They also understand the necessity of harnessing the creative and critical insights that a really good hatchet-job provokes.

[1] One I was all too pleased to cite, not only out of wifely pride, but also because said hatchet jobber expressed doubt that such work existed ("but as there is a citation suggesting the work is under review, let us for the moment accept that it is so"), or if it did that it would ever succeed, or be of interest (as well as the paper being published, the work has also garnered positive interest from the New Scientist, CNN, the BBC, National Geographic).

[2] And in some cases less succinct. After all, "so eat it, you arrogant fuckwit", is a succinct conclusion, but not constructive.

Japanimals

Sadistic Tokyo Metro beavers are amused at the thought of humans losing their fingers:



Easily offended Japanese pigeons are patronised by the offer of food:



But the deer in Nara are politeness itself - they bow their thanks when fed:

Kyoto and Nara:

I'll let the pictures do the talking:

Rokuon-Ji, Kyoto. The pavillion is covered in gold leaf:


The gardens at Rokuon-Ji:


Tea rooms on the river front in Kyoto:


Todai-Ji, Nara:


The Virocaba Buddha inside is almost 15m tall:


Nara, from a temple on the hillside:


A beautiful garden in the smallest of spaces


Kyomizu-Ji, (Clear Water Temple):


Modern technology meets an age old ritual. UV Lights disinfect the long handled cups used to collect the temple's holy spring water:


Osaka University International Guest House is in the middle of a peaceful expanse of bamboo:

Tales of the riverbank

Yesterday, Shinohara Sensei invited me to join his lab's Imonikai (芋に会) - which translates roughly as potato boiling party. This is a Tohoku regional tradition to usher in autumn (秋 'aki'), where people gather outside to make and share a Taro based stew. Two prefectures, Miyagi (where Sendai is) and Yamagata have competing recipes for this stew - Miyagi uses pork and carrots in a miso base where Yamagata uses beef in a soy base. Sake and beer are drunk in generous proportions.

The view from the river bank as the sun began to set:


Students cooking some 蝦 (ebi - prawns) drenched in sake:


A dish of Miyagi style stew being served up:


I also learnt the word オタク (otaku - geek). One sleeping student, passed out after too much stew and sake, had the most inventive facial graffiti administered that I've ever seen - among other things, his glasses were removed and eye balls drawn on his eyelids. His glasses were then replaced. There is a Japanese attention to detail that I really admired about this process. The end result, someone apparently passed out with their eyes wide open, was strangely disconcerting. But CS students are CS students wherever you go, it seems, and the penchant for alcohol and elaborate practical jokes knows few bounds.


The students also took me to Karaoke (usually written カラオケ - and literally means empty orche(stra)). I was worried that they were only doing so because Shinohara Sensei had asked them to, so when offered a short or long session I opted for short. That's 30 minutes, I thought, maybe an hour. No. When it comes to karaoke Japanese style, short apparently means two hours! Which was then extended by a further thirty minutes.

At the time, being suck in a little box with six male grad students singing some strange songs (more on that soon) didn't seem remotely odd, in much the same way that the induction into Scientology probably seems perfectly rational whilst you're going through it. Only as I was walking back to the hotel did it suddenly strike me that, wow, that was weird.

Karaoke in Japan is apparently not like Karaoke in Britain. For a start you do it sober, which was a shock. Secondly you do it in a small room with your friends, or even alone (hitokara - one person karaoke). Thirdly, everyone seems to volunteer quite eagerly - singing several times. Furthermore, nobody applauds. In fact there are very few outward signs of enjoyment, but it is somehow obvious that the evening is being enjoyed. Additionally, nobody's singing is mocked. Inability to remember a song might raise a chuckle - but most important seems to be the choice of song.

I was told that one of the students - your off-the-shelf, archetypal male CS student, plaid shirt, glasses and introverted even by the standers of his peer group - was well known for singing songs that were a little 'otaku'. These included "Cartoon Heroes" by Aqua (a very earnest rendition) and a song called "Butterfly".

I've been searching for a man
All across Japan
Just to find, to find my samurai
Someone who is strong
But still a little shy
Yes I need, I need my samurai

Ay, ay, ay, I'm your little butterfly
Green, black and blue,
Make the colors in the sky.

An inspired choice!

The last song was a Japanese hair-metal group - lots of fun. Everybody got to join in singing (shouting) the "YES!" and "GO!"s at the end of each line.

I opened with "Song for the Dumped" by Ben Folds Five (whose lyrics served to dispell any lingering impression that I should be treated as Sensei). I also did "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" which I think was thought to be rude at first - though my "They just'a wanna, they justa wanaaaaas!" were enthusiastic enough to be met with nods of approval. Also "Call Me" - which was though to be not rude ("Cover me with kisses baby, cover me with love" was met with a heartfelt "ahhhhh" from the other participants). And these kids today don't know Blondie, so I got extra kudos for knowing an apparently new song!

I really wish we'd had some of these guys at the UCL christmas panto - I quite fancy the idea of a Kabuki version of "Murder on the Outlook Express", or a Noh rendition of "Array Pointer and the Finkelstone".

From Ginza to Ginga

Professor Shinohara had many engagements on Friday so I decided to leave a little early and spend some extra time in Tokyo. From this isde Tokyo station looks almost serene. Inside it's manic. It took me almost an hour to deposit my bags and find the right exit.


Find it I did, though. I opted to head for the Imperial Palace Park, an oasis of peace in a hot and busy city:



Not all of Tokyo is so tranquil - I decided to spend the evening in Ginza and Nihonbashi:



Eight way crossings: what fun!





At 11pm it was time to catch the Ginga ("Galaxy") night train to Osaka. There were several train fanciers on the station, waiting to photograph of one of the Grandes Dames of the Japanese railways.




The feeling of nostalgia extends to the interior, with the brass and porcelain washroom.





In standard class the beds are small but adequate, and laid out four to a bay. The curtain provides the only privacy. Night trains are definitely a relic of a time that was less concerned about safety.




The beds come with neatly folded bedding and a yukata robe. There are "indoor slippers" to be worn around the train too.





I fastened my curtains, changed into my robe, put in the iPod headphones and fell fast asleep by midnight. When I woke, the sun was rising and we were speeding through the outskirts of Kyoto. There's something very romantic about night trains.

On the rails

I've been travelling this weekend. It started with a Shinkansen to Tokyo, where I wandered for hours just getting as lost as possible. The Imperial Palace Gardens and a couple of parks form oases of tranquility, but otherwise Tokyo is a fairly hectic place. However the politeness and good manners of the people there make it much easier to cope with than some other cities of lesser size (I'm looking in your directions, Paris and London!)

The biggest excitement for me was actually leaving Tokyo - I caught the Ginga sleeper. I adore sleeper trains and, whilst it wasn't quite as comfortable as the capsule hotel, my little bunk/tent combo was very conducive to sleep. Waking up just after sunrise whilst travelling though the outskirts of Kyoto was fantastic - seeing the streets empty of cars and the station platforms all but deserted (apart for a few hardy Japanese trainspotters for whom a photo of the Ginga is much prized).

My colleague and friend Larissa and her daughter have been looking after me this weekend. They arrived in Osaka very late on Friday night, so my arrival at the crack of dawn on Saturday wasn't particularly well timed from their point of view! Nevertheless they've been the souls of hospitality. Larissa lived in Osaka for three years and her knowledge is invaluable - I've had to make hardly any effort at all - just follow where I'm led and some astonishing temples or heartbreakingly beautiful gardens or beautiful food is there in front of me.

Photos and videos will follow in a couple of days, with some more details about the temples and shrines that we've seen. I think I may be in love with Japan...

Around Asakusa and Ueno

Tokyo, days one and two - now with moving pictures.







Sunday morning shuttered shops in Asakusa. I'm guessing that vandalism isn't a major problem here.


Rough and ready video of the first couple of days. Best with sound:

Shinshoji Temple, Tokyo

The Shinshoji temple is in Asakusa, so I couldn't leave Tokyo without a visit:





The temple gate.



Worshipers purify themselves in incense smoke before entering the temple.



Worshipers complete their devotions by clapping very loudly..








Shinshoji is surrounded by beautiful gardens, shrines and statuary.




But maintaining them can't be cheap. These new lanterns are sponsored by, and carry the logo of a credit card company.

Capuseru Hoteru Asukasa

(Or, カプセルホテル、浅草, if you have Japanese fonts installed!)

Thanks to an excellent bilingual map of Tokyo[1] I knew exactly where to find the capsule hotel, and even which exit to leave Asakusa metro station. Check in was a little more difficult - I'm not used to having to go to a vending machine to pay for my night's stay (I swear to you - an actual vending machine that actually vends an actual ticket that you actually take to the receptionist to exchange for a locker key).

I didn't go out much the first night - I mainly walked around Asakusa, trying to position myself so that David could find me on the webcam:


[Webcam on the cheap - I'm the orange splodge by the phone box!]

By 10 o clock I was attempting my first Japanese bath, and my word was it hot. 40 degrees C sounds quite warm, a few degrees above body temperature but copeable with. Until you try it for the first time. I didn't get in any further than my knees. I've jumped in post-sauna, ice-cold plunge pools with greater alacrity than this, and I don't particularly like the cold. To every lobster I've ever eaten - I'm sorry.

The panoramic baths were only available to men. For some reason, the women's bathing arrangement's didn't involve huge floor to ceiling windows :) There was a common balcony where tea and coffee were available. It made a nice perch to watch the city from.



The heat and journey by this point were enough to make me feel like some capsule time was in order. And that's why you're here, right - to see photos of those crazy capsules. Well wait no longer dear reader:

The women's floor bathroom. I may be wrong but I'm assuming the chaps don't get flowers and a hairdryer.

Women are assigned a single floor of the nine storey hotel. Not many capsule hotels cater for women at all, as they exist mainly for the convenience of salarymen who've missed the last train home after a night on the sake. Apparently they aren't great company.

On Saturday night, the women's floor was camaraderie personified. Japanese grandmothers visiting grandchildren whose apartments are too small to take guests and lone female travelers sharing stashes of sweets and being sweetly considerate about noise.

---

The capsules themselves were somewhat hivelike. I do think this is what the first spaceships to colonise other planets will look like. I've always thought that the living conditions on Red Dwarf were much more plausible than the ones on the Enterprise.



The capsule interior feels surprisingly spacious - there was room to sit and read, and to watch some Simpsons on the laptop. The radio unit doubles as a handy shelf and the dimmable light makes things very cosy indeed. Nothing about the experience felt in any way strange, and the capsule was easily big enough for someone of my height (5'10"). I've never slept so well on my first night anywhere.

The photos of the inside of the capsule don't do it any justice, but I have some video coming up that will show you a capsule in all its glory. I'm off to explore Sendai.


[1] Tokyo City Atlas: A Bilingual Guide, Kidansha International, 2004. ISBN-13: 978-4-7700-2503-6. I got mine from Stanfords.

Oba Emma No Tabi*

So I'm off - in a few hours I'll be in the air and on my way to Japan. I've done everything I can to prepare except pack - and I've become an adept at packing due to my commuter lifestyle, so I refuse to freak out about that. The smart shoes are re-heeled, the various language aids packed, the iPod charged and the sleeping tablets handy in my "sleeping on a plane" kit.

I wasn't going to post yet, but once aging, PhD comics seems to be talking directly to me. See panel 3:



Ho hum. I just hope the fame doesn't go to his head!

*Travels with Auntie Emma

Unleashing my incompetence

Professor Shinohara of Tohoku University, Japan, has kindly agreed to let me join his group for a long visit. This is exciting, and the opportunity of a lifetime, but it also throws up some uncomfortable facts about how I see myself and the things I do to cope with the limits of my competence.

Coming from a chaotic family background, competence has always been hugely important to me. I've not minimised its importance by choosing to work as a woman in a male dominated discipline. Jorge Cham sums up pretty much how I feel most of the time in this strip:



Ever since school reports I've been described as "dilligent", "studious", "competent" and "enterprising". Solver of problems. Learner of things. Nose in a book, head in the air, feet on the ground.

So working in Japan for a month is going to be a huge challenge for me on a personal as well as a practical level. Regular readers will have noticed that I'm already trying to prepare. I'm learning as much Japanese as I can, downloading street maps, buying city guides and pumping every Japanese person I meet for data.

It's starting to dawn on me that being able to control my environment by knowing everything about it will be impossible. At some point in the next four weeks this has to stop, as it's more than bordering on an obsession.

My drive for competence has - not for the first time - reached its limit. This time, however, I'm going to try something new. I'm going to try letting myself be incompetent. Get in the Onsen the wrong way? Embarrassing sure, but really the end of the world? Use "Taberu" not "Tabemasu"? No-one will be rendered catatonic by my breach of etiquette.

And yet the mere thought of these faux pas is enough to render me clammy handed and weak legged. The thought of being incompetent is bad enough. The though of being the incompetent representative of womankind is enough to give me the screaming abdabs. I'm sent rushing back to Google, the Rough Guide and the friendly waitress in the Japanese restaurant.

I forever miss the moment because I've rehearsed it so many times, in order not to get it wrong. If I could unleash my incompetence, how liberating would it feel?


scientiae-carnival

Learning Japanese - I really think so

I am trying to learn Japanese (there's a reason - I'll explain some other time). I know the "Romaji" (romanised spelling) of some common Japanese words ("konnichiwa", "domo arigato mister roboto", that kind of thing). But a ma-hoosive impediment to getting any further is not understanding any of the several written forms of Japanese. So I'm teaching myself the Hiragana - the phonetic "alphabet" for anything other than common names (which have a different alphabet of their own).

Note that these symbols are not related to the Chinese derived "Kanji", which my reading tells me have, usually, at least two readings - a Chinese derived pronunciation (or pronunciations) called "On'yomi" and a reading derived from the original pronunciation of that word in Japanese called "Kun'yomi". The different readings are given in Hiragana in dictionaries, so knowing Hiragana is a huge advantage to learning what the Kanji mean, or at least how they are said.

Hiragana are also used for the "grammar" of Japanese, so I'm told. So learning these, and some basic vocab, is my first task.

Thankfully there are a small number of Hiragana and each maps to a Japanese phoneme. This is the first bit of good news I've had since deciding to learn some Japanese!

Here are today's words and the relevant Hiragana:

---

ありがとうございます (arigato gozaimasu: "thank you" from this online dictionary)

あ a
り ri
が ga
と to
う u
ご go
ざ za
い i
ま ma
す su

---

こんにちは (konnichiwa - written konnichiha: "hello". Literally means "today is".

こ ko
ん n
に ni
ち chi
は ha

---

ごくろさまでした (gokurosama deshita: "Thank you for your help" (lit: it must have been a toil))

ご go (note the "Daku-ten" accent (looks like a ") that turns "ko" into "go")
く ku
ろ ru
さ sa
ま ma
で de (another daku-ten - changes "te" to "de")
し shi
た ta

ごくろさま (gokurosama = it is a toil)
でした (deshita = past participle)

---

じゃまた (ja mata: see you later (from these useful lessons))

じゃ ja (the Hiragana for ji (じ) - which is in turn a shi (し) and a ", and a little version of the Hiragana for ya (や))
ま ma
た ta

---

せんせい (sensei: teacher or other highly placed professional - literally "one who lived before". From Wiktionary

せ se
ん n
せ se
い i

---

I still don't know how to punctuate or capitalise. Do such things exist? Any help appreciated!

'Til next time, ありがとうございます and じゃまた