Blind Shogi —ブラインド将棋—

I learned to play Western style chess when I was a child.  I just played casually with a few of my friends.  I especially played during the month of Ramadan, when Muslims fast during the day.  One of my best friends was Muslim, and he would come round to my house during the school lunch break, and he would keep his mind off food by playing a game of chess with me. 

When I came to Japan, someone in an izakaya taught me how to play shogi, or Japanese style chess.  I got into it, and played with a friend in the same izakaya.  Then I found a shogi dojo and started going there once a week.  It was a slightly stressful environment, because I was in my early twenties, and almost everyone else at the dojo was at least in their sixties.  I had no idea how to make conversation with them between matches. 

After leaving Japan the first time, I hardly played shogi for about 18 years.  But I have taken it up again in the last few weeks. 

The trouble is, I lost my eyesight about 13 years ago, so I can no longer see the board or pieces.  I play against my son, who is seven years old and goes to a shogi dojo (for children) twice a month or so.  I tell my son which pieces to move: “Move my pawn from square 8 – 7 to square 8 – 6.”  He moves it for me, then tells me his own move.  And I have to try to remember it all. 

Does it sound difficult?  It is exceptionally difficult to remember the whole board.  I can visualise little sections of the board, but not the whole thing at once.  So I can easily make huge mistakes, such as not noticing that my most important pieces are threatened, especially by a long distance attack from a bishop or knight (“Kaku” and “keima” in Japanese).  Fortunately, my opponent is only seven years old and so is, in theory, much weaker than me at the game.  This gives both of us a chance to win. 

We have been playing for about half an hour or so in the evenings.  Games take longer than usual because I have to keep confirming with my son where  various pieces are.  In our first major game together, I slowly crushed his army over the course of a week.  I took his rook (“Hisha”), his bishop, and both of his silver generals (“Gin”).  His king cowered in the corner and waited to die.  I was just about to kill him off when my son suddenly launched a kamikaze attack with one of his knights, which had become a gold general (“Kin”).  His piece was totally unsupported by any other pieces.  It had to move into a square next to my king to attack him.  This was no problem for me because my king could then simply take the piece. 

“Okay”, I thought, “When I hear my son say Ote, I will just take his piece.  Until then I will ignore his attack.” 

As far as I remembered the rules, players had to say “Ote” when they placed their opponent’s king in check.  So I moved one of my pieces forward. 

“My next move will finish the game,” I thought. 

“Daddy, why didn’t you move your king?” asked my son.  “I’ll take your king with my gold general.” 

He had moved his piece next to my king without saying “Ote”.  I told him that he was supposed to say it.  He insisted that it was a courtesy, not an absolute rule.  My wife consulted his shogi rule book and confirmed that he was correct.  I suppose that for good players, the idea that you wouldn’t notice that your king is threatened is ridiculous.  Except that for blind players just trying to keep their son entertained, it might be a nice courtesy to observe. 

So after a week’s patient planning, visualising and memorising of moves, I lost from a sudden suicide-bomber attack from one of his last desperate soldiers.  Perhaps there is a lesson about real warfare to take from this.  Be careful of a desperate opponent, for he has nothing to lose.  And if you are expecting courtesy from your enemy, remember Shakespeare’s advice that “All is fair in love and war.”

 

Smells Like Kansai, part 3 —関西のにおいがする パート3—

After spending our first two nights in a hotel in Kobe, we checked out and took the train towards Kyoto.  We planned to stay in a hotel in Kyoto for one night, allowing us to enjoy the city for two days. 

Unfortunately, problems started for us on the morning of the first day.  My son complained of a stomachache, and I spent ages sitting on the platform at Juso Station while my wife took him to the toilet. 

Eventually we made it to Kyoto, with my son still not feeling well.  My wife instantly got lost, because of a mistake she had made when setting up her Google Maps app on her phone.  She had accidentally turned off the compass function.  So instead of an arrow always showing north, the direction we were walking in was unclear. 

“I don’t understand how we can be lost,” I said.  “The streets of Kyoto are set out in a grid pattern.” 

“I think the hotel is this way.  I’ve got it now!” said my wife. 

For a while we were too far north of our hotel, then too far south.  All the while my son was grumbling about not feeling well.  We decided to take a taxi to the hotel instead. 

After resting in the hotel for a while, we tried to adjust our plans to take account of the fact that my son was not feeling well.  We went out to a coffee shop for lunch and I sat by myself with a sandwich and coffee while my wife took our son to the toilet again. 

My son eventually emerged, feeling a little better.  So we decided to take a taxi to one end of the Philosopher’s Path, a pretty and not too challenging path that runs alongside a river.  Then we would walk to Ginkakuji. 

The walk started pleasantly enough.  The sun was shining and the path was very quiet.  Then my son started feeling unwell again.  He was getting a fever and said that he couldn’t walk any further. 

We wanted to take a taxi back to the hotel to let my son rest, but unfortunately there were no taxis nearby.  We decided we could probably find one if we got near Ginkakuji, but that was still about a ten minute walk away.  But my son couldn’t walk at all. 

So I gave my bag and white cane to my wife, and carried my son upon my back.  Because I couldn’t check the ground with my cane, and the ground was covered in cobbles, I was worried that I would trip up and hurt myself or my son.  So with my wife’s hand on my shoulder to guide me, I took giant steps forwards, lifting my feet high up and down with each step to avoid tripping. 

It was slow and painful progress.  It must have looked ridiculous to any people who passed us.  Because my wife was holding my cane, it looked as if I were being guided forwards by a blind woman.  My son kept sliding down my back or strangling me by wrapping his hands directly around my throat.  I was leaning forwards and taking comically huge steps, as if I were stepping over invisible cats that only I could see. 

Thankfully, we passed a little tea house on the Philosopher’s Path, and we could stop for a rest.  Again I sat alone while my wife took my son to the toilet.  We stayed in the tea house for an hour until my son felt a little better. 

We did make it to Ginkakuji for a quick tour, and then took a taxi back to the hotel.  It was just as well that we went back because next my wife became feverish.  I drank a bottle of red wine on my own while my wife and son lay in their beds and shivered.  So much for our grand plans to see other places in Kyoto. 

The next day we took the shinkansen back to Tokyo early.  By now I was getting a high fever and was in the worst condition of the three of us.  I shivered and staggered off the shinkansen and onto the Yamanote Line. 

So Kyoto was a bit of a disaster.  My son and I tested positive for influenza when we went to the doctor’s back in Tokyo.  My wife was very annoyed because, although she had the same symptoms, she tested negative and didn’t get any Tamiflu.  But Kyoto was not the main place I had wanted to go to anyway.  We went to the tastiest restaurant in Japan (my friend Takumi’s izakaya in Himejima in Osaka), we went to the room of smells (Nunobiki Herb Garden), the place of one million steps (Himeji Castle), and the room of sound (Jam Jam jazz bar).  For a blind person who can’t enjoy “sightseeing,” all my other senses got a good workout.

 

Smells Like Kansai, part 2 —関西のにおいがする パート2—

One of the best things about travelling in Kansai is that there are a lot of interesting places that you can get to by train very easily.  We were staying in a hotel in Kobe for two nights, and had originally planned to stay in Osaka and Kobe for the first two days.  But we decided to use the second day to go a bit further.  We considered spending an extra day in Kyoto, or going to Nara.  But in the end, we decided to take a train to Himeji on the second day to see Himeji Castle. 

I had promised to take my son to a building with one million steps, because he loves climbing up steps.  I had been thinking that I could say that Kiyomizu Temple was the place to enjoy steps, but it turned out that Himeji Castle was the paradise for step lovers. 

My son had a great time in the castle.  We had to take off our shoes and carry them with us in a plastic bag as we toured the castle.  This let us feel the cold of the wooden and stone floors.  It was quite a challenge for me as a blind person.  Without wearing shoes, I could easily hurt my toes by walking into an unexpected block of stone.  And I had to be careful not just of my feet, but also my head.  Many of the staircases had low ceilings which you had to duck under.  Finally, a lot of people kept walking straight into me as I was carefully trying to feel my way over a raised step and under a low ceiling, because many parts of the castle were quite dark, and people didn’t notice my white cane.  But we got through the castle without injury, and with a great sense of achievement. 

We had udon for lunch in Himeji and then took the train back towards Kobe.  The Sanyo Line runs along the coast of Hyogo and for parts of the trip has fantastic views of the ocean.  I used to live in a place called Maiko, near Akashi, and I loved taking that train line. 

On the way back to Kobe, we stopped at Suma, and went to Suma beach.  The day was December 25^th and it was pretty cold.  “Surely it is too cold for our son to go into the water!” said my wife.  But he was very keen.  So he left his heavy winter jacket on to protect his upper body, but took his trousers, socks and shoes off, and ran into the water in his pants.  He endured the cold to find shells and bits of wakame in the sand. 

In the evening, we took the train back to Kobe.  We visited Harbourland, and rode the Ferris wheel to get a view of the city.  Then we went to an old jazz bar that I used to go to in Motomachi called Jam Jam. 

The staff member greeted us as we entered by saying, “Irrashaima – hey?” 

She was surprised that we had taken our seven year old son to an evening jazz bar.  My wife says that she literally jumped a little in surprise.  I suppose that it is meant to be a place for only adults.  But never mind.  She let us sit down. 

Jam Jam has enormous speakers which play jazz so loudly that you can’t hear anyone talking unless you shout into their ear.  This was the room of sound which I had promised to take my son to. 

I had a high ball and pizza.  The food options were rather limited for a seven year old.  But my son ordered a curry flavoured hot dog, which fortunately wasn’t too spicy for him to eat.  We enjoyed having our ears blasted with jazz for a while and then got ready to leave. 

“Where is my phone?  I’ve lost my phone!” said my wife. 

She searched around our table and in the toilet, but couldn’t find it. 

“Don’t worry,” I said.  “I’ll use my phone to call you.” 

I called my wife’s phone.  But unfortunately, the jazz was blasting in our ears so loudly that we couldn’t hear her phone ringing.  Being in the room of sounds has its disadvantages. 

We did eventually find the phone, which had fallen to the floor.  From the castle to the beach to an evening in Kobe, our legs were pretty tired by the end of the day.  We retired to the hotel and rested in preparation for going to Kyoto the next day. 

“I wonder if it was such a good idea to let our son play in the freezing cold ocean today,” said my wife.  “I just hope he doesn’t catch a chill…”

 

Smells Like Kansai, part 1 —関西のにおいがする パート1—

I, my wife, and my seven year old son took a four day trip to Kansai recently.  We left on Christmas Eve, making sure to leave a window open a crack so that Santa could find a way in while we were absent. 

I have previously lived in Osaka, Kyoto and Akashi, and I used to work in Kobe, so I had a number of places I wanted to revisit.  To get my son excited about the trip, I said we would go to a special room of smells, a room of sound, the place of one million steps, and the best restaurant in Japan.  We managed to get to all of these places in the end. 

First was the room of smells.  Just near Shin-Kobe Station, there is a cable car which climbs up Mount Rokko.  We took this cable car to the top, to enjoy Nunobiki Herb Garden.  They have a room full of different jars of herbs and perfumes, and you can have fun comparing all the different smells.  I didn’t like jasmine, but the traditional Christmas scents of frankincense and myrrh were nice.  Surprisingly, though, everyone’s favourite smell was that of the tobacco plant.  It really does smell nice before it is put into a cigarette! 

Because it was Christmas Eve, there was a Christmas market.  It would have taken several hours to get to the front of the queue to buy anything, though, so we couldn’t try the German sausages or mulled wine.  We went back down the cable car.  What did we find, but a shopping centre running a much smaller Christmas market?  With no queue at all, we bought some mulled wine and apple cider, and waved to Santa. 

After checking in at our hotel in Kobe, we took the Hanshin Line back to Osaka.  I used to live in Himejima, between Amagasaki and Umeda.  So we went there, to go to Sangokushi, an izakaya still run by my friend Takumi and his wife Yukari. 

“Why do you like Osaka, Daddy?” my son asked. 

“Because the people are so friendly and kind,” I said. 

Sangokushi was as good as I remembered.  We sat at the counter, where Takumi could chat to us when he was not so busy cooking.  We had sashimi, yaki-onigiri, nabe, ochazuke with grilled salmon, potato and cheese, and finished off with udon.  My son tried his first ochazuke and yaki-onigiri, and loved them both. 

I exchanged some gifts with Takumi, and he refused to accept any money for the meal.  He even gave my son an envelope with a little money as “otoshi-dama,” or money to celebrate the New Year. 

My son was incredibly impressed. 

“You were right, Daddy.  People from Osaka are the kindest in Japan!”