Firefly-viewing

Last eve Miss Morning Glory took Sir S and I for a quick spin in her delightfully small and bubble-shaped motor car out into the countryside on a mission to observe that most enchanting of summertime wonders: the hotaru (firefly).

We motored along winding country lanes, past darkened rice fields and forest, and here and there an illumined paper screen denoted the presence of a dwelling. We stopped off briefly and collected the jolly entomologist and firefly enthusiast, Dr Yoneda, who acted as our guide for the evening, then returned to our wild ride through the dark. Occassionally, in the bouncing beam of light from our headlights, one could glance the bumbling outline of a tanuki,* its rotund bottom bobbling in its mad scramble from the glare, its pendulous tummy somewhat inhibiting its flight.

Our first stop was on the outskirts of Yakumo. Here a wide stream threaded its away between a rising, monolithic forest and a quiet row of houses. Along the road, people had parked their cars and were gathered in small groups on the riverbank for this splendid summer ritual of firefly-viewing.

The only previous time I had seen fireflies was on my India Tour of '02. I was in a fisherman's boat, silently coasting up the Keralan backwaters in the ink of night. The punters of the boat slowly dipped in their wooden poles as they sang songs of old fishers, and a couple of fireflies entwined on the wing and floated about our heads, then disappeared. So that's the origin of fairies! I recall whispering to myself.

And indeed, here in Yakumo, amongst the reeds bent over the trickling water, and in the dark shadowy forest that loomed above us, was the soft blue-green budding of moving, entrancing lights. They flittered in the forest shadows, drifted between the long grasses, and alighted on the reeds in a pause of contemplation and the constant pulsation of their starry lights.

Dr Yoneda gently picked up a male and female firefly and compared their glowing bottoms. The male's light comprised of the whole tip of its tiny bottom, whilst the female's light seemed to be on the underside of her bottom and was not so visible. At close range, their light was a fluorescent sea-green. From afar, the hue is more comparable with stars: a twinkling of white, blue and green, quite conflicting with their name, which evokes images of orange-red embers.

The second viewing-spot was further out in the country. A lone farmhouse stood nearby. Again, the spot was next to a dark rise of forest and fresh-flowing stream. There were few people here, and I think the fireflies were more active as a consequence, for they flashed their little bottoms in unison in a pretty proposal to their sweethearts. I caught a firefly and it flashed its bottom mightily at me, then proceeded to tickle my wrist before hopping onto Sir S's ear and then settled upon Miss Morning Glory's clavicle (to a loud shriek of delight from Miss M-G) and it pulsated there like a jewel.

Miss M-G swore that the traditional folk song "Hotaru Koi" ("Come Firefly") attracts their little lanterns, so she had been singing it softly to herself most of the night. It certainly worked!

Ho, ho, hotaru koi,
atchi no mizu wa nigai zo,
kotchi no mizu wa amai zo;
ho, ho, hotaru koi, ho, ho, yama michi koi.

Ho, ho, firefly, come,
there's some water that's bitter to taste,
come, here's some water that's sweet to your taste;
ho, firefly, ho, up this mountain path.

*It's English name has been variously mistranslated into "badger" or "raccoon". "Raccoon-dog" is the official name for this furry creature. It has a bushy tail with a white underside that can look foxy from afar.
n.b. The main pic is "Fireflies over the Uji River by Moonlight" by Suzuki Shonen.

A Festival of Fringe

Oh, dear, that last scribbling nearly brought me out in a rash recollecting the various wonderments of Brett's latter day fringe! And here I indulge in a stroll down memory lane ...

I'm feelin' Summersonic (for the third time)

It was with a great whoop and "golly" that I discovered, whilst drowsing under the soft white and blue flicker of the J-MTV talkies, that the dashing Sir Brett Anderson of the Once-Alluring* Fringe is playing solo at Summersonic this year! Hurrah! I was crossing fingers and madly tossing coins into shrine collection boxes, praying that - as Sir Brett has recently released his rather poignant collection of lonely warbles - he would crashland sushi-side this summer and break hearts a-go-go at musichalls up and down Nippon. This has indeed now come to pass, so I thank ye Shinto gods for that! I intend to take along my records in case I'm lucky enough to be allowed admittance to the Autograph Salon, where I witnessed the Editors last year, shy and overwhelmed with squeals and gifts from Japanese fans.

Also whipping up Charlston-inducing tunes on the same day include Cyndi Lauper, the Pet Shop Boys, the Arctic Monkeys, Manic Street Preachers, Bloc Party, Unkle and Motorhead(!).

Sir S and I have snaffled tickets for the Osaka show on Saturday, then I plan to head onto Tokyo for a language course, then to Kyoto and Hirosh before returning to Matsue. Bravo for two months off in the summertime!

*Sir Brett's follicular marvel of old seems to have been shortened of late. Sigh! But at least he still retains the equally alluring high cheekbones.