By Tomoko Yamamiya
Tokyo Correspondent

Summer has arrived and one of the events that many Japanese people look forward to every summer is Natsu-Matsuri, which means summer festival. Typically, most of these festivals consist of fireworks and a variety of stalls. People enjoy them with family, friends, and their lovers.

A lot of people wear yukatas, which are traditional informal cotton kimonos,to go to the festivals. The light cotton fabric used to make yukatas, make it a summer favorite for women and children in particular.

There are a variety of summer festivals that go on throughout different parts of the country. One of these summer festivals I attended was the Bon festival. Bon festival usually takes place in August. It is believed that the spirits of ancestors return to their hometowns during the Bon festival. Many families and relatives get together during this time to open their homes to their ancestors.

Bon Odori, which means Bon dance is one feature of this festival that is held everywhere in Japan.

The origin of Bon Odori can be traced back to centuries of traditions when Japanese families would get together to welcome the spirits of their ancestors. Those whom wear yukata sometimes do a Japanese traditional sedge hat dance with music or play drums and flutes. Nowadays the purpose of this festival has shifted and people just enjoy watching the dance as one of events held during the summer festivals.

As it is progressively getting hotter in Japan, now is the best time to take advantage to enjoy summer festivities as well as reconnect with old friends and family.

By Jorge G. Zavala
Creative Director
Ogilvie Zavala
Associate Arts Editor

WINNETKA, IL - Sun, sand, and sea. For Chicago's residents, the "sea" is replaced with "lake", indulging in the clear waters of Lake Michigan on the north end of the metropolitan area. Chicago's North Shore, consisting of some of the most affluent suburbs in the region, borders the shore of Lake Michigan.

In 1833, white settler displaced American Indians and forced them to sign a treaty, essentially barring the locals from ever having access to their lands again. The region was developed into towns following the opening of Northwestern University in Evanston in 1855 and the founding of Lake Forest College two years later.

This area became popular with the affluent wanting to escape urban life, beginning after the Great Chicago Fire, and grew rapidly before and just after World War II. Large mansions were built, along with lavish homes.

Today the North Shore remains one of the most affluent and highly educated areas in the United States. Seven of its communities are in the top 10 percentage with regards to U.S. household income, and four of those (Lake Forest, Kenilworth, Winnetka, Highland Park) are in the top 5 percent.

The North Shore is also the home of the Ravinia Festival, a historic outdoor music theater in Highland Park, Illinois.

Some of Chicago's more beautiful beaches are also located in the North Shore.

Winnetka’s Tower Beach, for example, has diverse amenities, including restrooms, showers, foot baths, concessions, water/sand play areas and beach volleyball courts. There are two parking lots available to beach-goers as well.

"The beaches here are great, and it's a really good time," mentioned Tommy, a young Winnetka Park District worker. "It's nice here, and the beaches are pretty clean. Everybody loves it."

Forest Park Beach in Lake Forest is considered one of the most attractive in the area because of the picturesque view, large beach and grass areas, walking trails, restrooms, a playground and fishing pier, and concessions They also offer a book cart for those craving a mid-afternoon novel.

If escaping Chicago's urban jungle is what you seek, the North Shore and its beaches provide a bit of serenity and piece of mind that is much needed during the summer months.

Make sure to bring sun screen, a beach towel, and a firm, toned body because things may get a little hot.

By Jorge G. Zavala
Creative Director

He was around 5 feet tall, and maybe 19 years of age. He wore black beaten sandals, a T-shirt with some sort of floral print, and Doraemon swimming trunks. He yelled "Hello sir, taxi car for you!" while scratching his underarm. His dark skin contrasted with his white shirt and neon-orange bottoms. "I have taxi. I take you and your friend to see temples."

I smiled, and walked away. However, before I could walk more than 15 steps, he ran over and offered some friendly advice. "OK, sir. No problem you no take my taxi, but you buy water for $1?"

I looked over at his cooler full of water bottles that I assumed were imported from Thailand: the Thai Namthip brand was a big giveaway. He said that his father was killed during the Khmer Rouge and that he had to care for two younger sisters and his grandmother. He even had a picture on him to solidify his story.

I asked him if his father had been a part of the Khmer Rouge. He laughed. "American people think crazy thing when see Cambodian people in army uniform," Bom laughed it off. "He was good man who cared for women and child during bad times of my country."

I didn't know whether Bom was lying about his father's whereabouts, but what seemed certain was that he really wanted to sell me that bottle of water for $1. I smiled, and began to walk away.

Bom reached for my arm and called two children over. "If you want, children can sing beautiful songs for you, sir," He pleaded. "You like John Lennon? Madonna?"

I gave an awkward smile, not knowing what to do. At this point, the friend I'd been traveling with, Krystal, came to my rescue. Bom looked at both of us, smiled, and then moved closer. "You have pretty girlfriend, sir. You buy water for pretty lady, yes?"

I figured that Bom was either one hell of a salesman or he desperately needed the money, maybe both. I eventually bargained for him to give me a cold bottle of water with a cup of ice for the initial price. He grabbed a few pieces of ice, the ones fortunate enough to not have melted in the Southeast Asian heat, and put them in a disposable cup. I paid him the $1 for the water, and Krystal and I made our way towards the taxi drivers lined up by the side of the curb.

"Excuse me, sir and madam!" Bom yelled in a confident voice. "You no forget that Cambodian people are very poor, but we very kind. Thai, Vietnam, Cambodia so poor, but have good family values. Thank you for coming, sir."

I sipped on my imported bottle of water, looked at a map for directions, and walked towards downtown Siem Reap. As we walked towards the city center, the sun was beginning to set, the mosquitoes beginning to befriend us.

Food peddlers were everywhere in sight, and women and children were waving red flags to encourage tourists to sit at their restaurants. Women in pink tube-tops and 10-inch stilettos walked with white gentlemen twice, sometimes three times their age. You could hear them speaking in broken English, not quite understanding one another. Perhaps an intelligent conversation was something they may not be after. Old women in sarongs walked with naked babies on their shoulders, carrying a basket of fruit to sell to those passing by.

Japanese, Korean, German, British, and French tourists sat at restaurants advertising cashew chicken and Khmer fried rice. I look at the menu and noticed they misspelled "fried" with "friend". I'd be down to try some friendly Cambodian rice.

A strong wind came suddenly and dust picked up fast. I closed my eyes for about a minute, trying my best to avoid opening them until the mess was gone. I wiped the dust from my face and rinsed off with what remained of my water. We sat down at a mom and pop place with red Chinese lanterns and a giant poster of what appeared to be a general. Something written in Khmer with red marker adorned his pasty-white face. I asked the waitress, a young woman of no more than 13 years of age, to recommend something typically Cambodian. "We have fried rice, chicken," she replied in perfect English. "Maybe you like cashew chicken? Foreigner really like."

I went with her advice and ordered the cashew chicken while Krystal ordered some fried rice. We asked for some beers and sat down on plastic stools. Our table had a tablecloth with Thai celebrities advertising soda and fried chicken. The young woman, wearing a "God Bless America" tank with black skinny jeans, returned and handed us two beers, not quite ice cold. Angkor Beer, our savior. I opened mine immediately, enjoying the rich taste of beer that was cheaper than water.

Wiping the sweat from my brow with a tissue, I looked around me, smiled, and let out a sigh. All I could think about were Bom's last words.