Rhea Doll Diaries: The Origins of Baby Daikon

February 14, 2024

Two years ago, I crossed the cloudy gap separating the Western and Eastern therrestrial worlds. Aboard the flying conductor, the red panda next to me was preparing to return to Japan after a brief visit to Frankfurt. He had made room on the seat between us to store the survival kits, and immediately hid his tears by pulling down his sleeping mask. A heron woman in a blue uniform wandered from each station, offering the day's breakfast...

So I reached Nerima, a residential province of Tokyo.

The Rapaci family welcomed me lovingly —a sweet little family of two owls, a frog, and her pet tortoise named Kame-tan (カメ・タン) — into their compact, functional home.

They'd put together a handful of Rilakkuma dolls and a futon in the guest room to make me feel right at home. Beside the futon, a nightlight and a temperature-controlled foot warmer.

A new environment, with customs completely opposed to mine, reserved for the Japanese and the few tourists capable of sharing them. I'd wanted to learn them for years. So I wrote them down during my first trip to Gyoen Park in Shinjuku .

[Important] things to know about navigating Tokyo:

1. Keep LEFT and go with the flow when you're not sure where to go
2. Respect the queues
3. Don't blow your nose around
4. Don't eat standing up or while walking
5. Don't stare too much at the Japanese
6. Keep a small bag in your backpack/purse as a garbage bag
7. Don't talk on trains/metros
8. Learn how to use the Japanese toilet, especially if you're on your period. If you're on your period, click 「ビデ」 to flush the area.
9. Don't take pictures of Japanese people even if they are beautiful!!!

Returning to Nerima, I realized only later that I hadn't investigated the surroundings: the town was too quiet compared to central Tokyo. Something didn't add up.

It was a rainy day. The biting February cold pierced my dual-purpose umbrella (rain/sun), but I didn't care because there was always something unexpected around the corner. Strolling the streets there is like going on an adventure, even in a desolate town like Nerima. A few inns here, a few little shops there... there was even an Italian trattoria on the corner of a building specializing in buckwheat tagliatelle. Then, several plots of land where only lettuce grew. The plots were scattered everywhere between the houses, treated with extreme care even if half empty. I still didn't understand why.

Wandering here and there, looking for something but not knowing what, I'd discovered I was in the city of animation. At the station-cum-shopping-mall-restaurant-cum-recreation-area, a bronze statue of Urusei Yatsura told me to turn back, to 𐔌not take the train to the city center again꒱. Okay, no problem, I'd taken a billion steps and was already accustomed to my "personal Zen rhythm," after all. In Japan, everyone paces themselves, and in the end, everyone manages to get what they need to do in a day or a half. Golden rule: avoid rushing to get to your destination.

On my way back, I reached the Toei Animation Museum. A wave of pure nostalgia washed over me, discovering that this was the birthplace of everything I'd ever watched on TV as a child. I was too shocked to go inside.

Unexpectedly, I stumbled upon something green in the middle of the flowerbed. It was Majo Rika (マジョリカ) from Doremi!

𐔌 Go to Shakujii Park, it's very nice꒱

I went there.

The shore was populated by small ochosaurs and numerous weeping willows that were obviously shedding rain. The rows of houses overlooking the pond were splendid, there was even one in the Baroque style. At the top of the hill, among the trees, the Furusato Museum emerged. At first glance it looked like an indoor public swimming pool, but the closer I got, the more I felt compelled to go in. Admission was free, and the museum showcased the folk history of the neighborhood, in particular that of daikon cultivation dating back to the Edo period (1603–1868). At first, I didn't understand what it was exactly; I had never seen or eaten one in my life. I thought it was some other creature, like a mineral or a fish or a large insect, but I never would have guessed it was a white radish.

It was said that daikon was a root vegetable with powerful nutritional properties, a radish with fibers ideal for the intestines and therefore for preserving instinct; that it could grow up to 70 cm in length thanks to the volcanic soil of Mount Fuji , which favored its growth. Over the years, however, urbanization in the district nearly led to its extinction, reducing its number from a hundred varieties to just a few, which also explained the desertification of the land and the city: the rabbits that once tended them had all disappeared. In fact, the change was clearly noticeable: compared to what I had witnessed in old photographs, every single square meter had been rebuilt and concreted over, already in the 1960s. It was no longer the same, except for those small clods of earth in the middle of the houses.

As I retraced my steps, I realized that perhaps those green leaves weren't lettuce, and I had the impression of hearing voices coming from underground. It was then that I discovered the origins of the baby daikon. Probably, over time, the few remaining roots had sunk so deep into the soil that they resurfaced in the world of Rhaetia, specifically in the duck-rabbit swamp. I also discovered that dinner at the Rapaci household would include boiled daikon. I was a little sorry to eat it... but it was so delicious 𖹭.ᐟ