Mamachari

Each place I move, to varying degrees, there is some sort of cultural practice or item I admire and adopt. After all, people worldwide face a lot of the same problems, and different cultures mean a different way of looking at those problems, and therefore different solutions.

In Seoul, it was the food. Usually comfort food is something you grow up eating, but for me, Korean food entered my world and took up residence as what I crave regularly. When I need edible comfort, please pass the kimchi jjigae.

In Hong Kong, it was the domestic helper. While I didn’t adopt the custom to the full force of the locals (many families hire one helper per child), I was grateful to have our wonderful helper Sheryl at hand so I could focus on the kids rather than on certain aspects of life in Hong Kong that I found challenging, like grocery shopping in stores with aisles too tiny for strollers.

In Tokyo, there are lots of little solutions to everyday problems that are fun to discover—like the stapleless stapler—but the item that has truly stolen my heart is the mamachari, my “mama chariot,” an electric-assisted bicycle with child seats. It definitely cost more than the passed-down ‘90s-era car we bought from a departing embassy family, but I’m convinced it’s my favorite purchase of all time.

My bike has two seats—one for Damien nestled between the handlebars, and one for Luca on the back. I ride it almost every day, and rarely do I ride it without smiling. It simply makes me happy! I get to see this amazing city above ground in the fresh air, all while exercising and getting to my destination usually faster than if I were to schlep my stroller through the elevators of subway stations. I can just plug my kids into their straps and helmets and cruise straight to my destination. Plus, bike travel is much more fun for my kids.

You know when you kick off on a bike for a ride and slowly build up momentum? Well, the electric-assist basically allows me to start at speed—as if I was starting on a downhill slope. By the end of a 45-minute ride in the city, I feel like I’ve exercised, but I’m not dying. Without the electric-assist, the weight of the very sturdy bicycle combined with my own and that of two children would be extremely difficult to manage even on flat surfaces, but Tokyo is a city of many hills, and the electric-assist means riding uphill is not a big deal. It’s still a challenge if the hill is very steep, but it’s doable.

A word about safety: Most people put helmets on their children, but I rarely see an adult wearing one. In fact, I’m pretty sure people find it strange or perhaps geeky that I strap one on myself. Now, drivers in Tokyo are extremely aware of bicyclists, and the roads and sidewalks are set up to accommodate them, so that certainly helps. But I still remember an elementary school classmate whose life was spared because he was wearing a helmet when a car struck his bike, so, unless I am riding only in our neighborhood where the cars drive slowly and I don’t use a main road, I wear my helmet, however geeky I look.

I remember when Joe first mentioned the idea of looking into an electric-assisted bike, I literally rolled my eyes. That’s silly, I thought. It’s probably some ridiculous-looking contraption, and who needs help riding a bike, anyway? What’s the point of riding if a motor is doing the work for you?

I am incredibly glad I gave the idea a chance. It just goes to show—sometimes a new idea sounds ridiculous or strange or crazy, but if you’re open, you might find just the thing to improve your every day.

Toddler Art Review: Damien on Yayoi Kusama (Tokyo exhibit)

BY: DAMIEN KIM, AGE ALMOST 2

Magic doors!!!

Today I learned the word “polka dots,” which I prefer to call “poke!” or “dots!”

When we entered the exhibit, my mom read about how Yayoi Kusama expressed her hallucinations through art and coped with her mental illness through art, all while I struggled to get my jacket off because it was SO HOT in there. The first painting in a small entry room was a big Mount Fuji with a cool-looking sun (I can say “sun,” by the way, so that’s a win). There was a bench/step-like thing lining the wall in front of the painting. This is perfect for climbing! I thought, hoping to get closer to the bright picture, and edged my way just barely up before my mom scooped me off of it. “This is not for climbing,” she said, before a security guard came to scold her.

Then, we entered a huge open space with bright colorful art all around the room and giant flower sculptures in the middle. So, can I just say here that I loved the flower sculptures? Loved them! UNTIL! Until I learned I could not climb on them, touch them, or even step on the circle of carpet marking them off from the rest of the floor. WHAT IS THE POINT OF OFF-LIMITS AWESOME CLIMB-WORTHY SCULPTURES???

Nevertheless, we enjoyed looking at the colorful art with so many patterns and polka dots and strange cartoonish faces. Several paintings had millions of tiny eyes making up the patters, and I can say “eye,” so that’s another win. This Yayoi lady is pretty cool, I thought. The gallery rules are not as cool.

Soon the room got REALLY crowded, though, and since I kept longingly asking to climb the flowers, my mom picked me up and toured me through a route of dimmer, more serious rooms filled with patterns painted in colors and materials that were less bright and cartoonish and more textured and introspective. 

Some rooms were a bit confusing to me because—ahem, how do I say this? Well, I’ve been quite interested in the potty lately, so I definitely know what is in my diaper. And, well, that dangly thing was EVERYWHERE! There were so many! They were sewn in pretty fabrics onto ladders or plastered onto couches and drawers. Millions of them. Mama called them “phalluses,” but… yeah, it was a little odd for me. It’s a pee pee, people.

Moving on, there were sparkly tiled pumpkins and people statues covered in big red polka dots, but by then I was overheated and overcrowded and just plain WIGGLY.

But THEN! Then… we went into a pitch black hallway, and I grew calm, excited. In the next room were what looked like millions upon millions of little colored ball lights, stretching out as far as my little eyes could see. An infinity room, it was called, with mirrors, and this was by far my favorite part of the exhibit. I would have stayed in there for hours if it weren’t for the line of people behind us. “More!” I shouted in dismay when we returned to the light. Mama said the DC version of this exhibit has more infinity rooms, but I don’t know what a DC is, so I was just upset.

I had seen a giant pumpkin outside the window, though, and it was obviously set up for play. Mama promised to help me find it if we got through the rest of the exhibit, so I tried to hold myself together. Except when I sat on the floor and refused to move for a bit.

But.

When we arrived at this huge, solid pumpkin with a big door-like opening in the side and lots of windows, I OF COURSE popped right inside and pulled my mom in to join me. The floor was lined with a protective black Astroturf covering perfect to keep little feet from slipping. It echoed! I could peek out the windows! It was super fun… for all of two minutes, until the Fun Police told my mom something in Japanese that had her scooping me up and out of the pumpkin. She said the rule was that we had to stay out. 

I wondered if an artist with such fun and crazy designs would agree with this rule, but mom said we had to abide by it, even if it didn't make a lot of sense to us. After about 10 more minutes of me pretending to climb back in with alternating giggles and cries of longing, stressing out the poor security guard, Mama picked me up and toted me back in to the museum.

This was no longer fun for me.

And then!!! Sweet glorious mercy!

We happened upon a mini exhibit in the middle of the great hall, just outside the Yayoi Kasuma shop—the one with the 30-minute line of people waiting to buy Kasuma books and knickknacks. It was a white room my mom called an “Obliteration Room,” whatever that means, and in the doorway, a man looked at our ticket and handed us two sheets of polka dot stickers. Stickers! The room was set up like a regular room, with a table, chairs, a lamp, a little sofa and a stuffed animal, but all of it was white… and littered with hundreds and hundreds of polka dots guests had stuck on. NOW for some REAL fun! Mama gave me free reign, and I stuck those polka dots all over a white throw pillow.

Tree Hugger!

I even stuck a couple on the floor. When we ran out of stickers, I twirled in the doorway a while, admiring how the spots of color danced as I spun. I was bummed to leave, but then a stranger pointed out to my mom that she had stickers stuck to her clothes and shoes. BONUS!!! I gladly took those little stowaways and applied them to the mini exhibit’s exit door.

After admiring the polka-dot trees outside, we hunted for lunch. 

If you know me, you know food is my love language, and I LOVED this Japanese buffet—I ate FREE! I was mostly into the deep-fried sausage and the yummy soup and noodles, but Mama tried everything. When we left, there was a HUGE line of people waiting, so we knew we’d found a gem.

Overall, I give the exhibit five stars for being fun to look at and one star for child-friendliness—the sticker part was AMAZING, and the artist's colors and patterns and polka dots and sculptures were great, but, in my opinion, the gallery rules were NOT GREAT. I recommend art-loving toddlers send their parents alone to the exhibit and just ask to look at Yayoi Kasuma art online or in a book.