Kyoto

Having experienced lesser rush hour to get to Shibuya, we no longer feared the white-gloved subway pushers and were willing to brave slightly crazier rush hour to get to Tokyo Station, from where we’d leave for Kyoto. But not before we checked out the vending machines and shopped for bento. The train ride was all the more exciting for the various snacks and desserts we’d brought along. Jay shared green tea macarons, and sakura ones as well. He’d gotten Susan hooked on macarons but I remained aloof. Unless they were really amazing, they were just okay, and much too sweet.

I don’t remember whether it was that morning or the one before when Richard coined the term(s) Gaijin Power/Power of Gaijin (POG). Okay, someone tell me why the cuss MS Word isn’t underlining “gaijin.” Really? But I digress. According to the POG concept, our gaijin factor granted us a certain amount of leeway in matters of culture and etiquette. For example: Who do those people think they are, taking their luggage on the subway during rush hour? Well, they’re gaijin; they don’t know any better.

Jay often doubted the Power of Gaijin.
Jay: We can’t eat while walking down the street! We’re going to get exported!
A.: Exported?
Jay: That’s right. They’re going to put a stamp on my butt and send me home.

He came around, though, and started suggesting that we use our POG to get away with things we weren’t sure about.

***
My guidebook’s introduction to Kyoto was not unlike the one it offered for other places: it’s quite beautiful, but that won’t be immediately obvious. You have to find the beautiful parts. Indeed, Kyoto was fugly, except where it wasn’t.

I was—surprise!—really excited about food in Kyoto. The guidebook just made it sound better and better: menus in English! Credit cards accepted! All kinds of food, everywhere! And a food market that we absolutely must check out! How was no one else excited by that? Jay grudgingly agreed that he would accompany me there, as a huge favor.

We would get into Kyoto early afternoon, and as we were staying in a temple complex rather than a hotel, we weren’t comfortable showing up early and asking them to watch our stuff, so we thought we’d amuse ourselves around Kyoto Station. Except it was quite cold and windy when we arrived, and the (historic) station building was open-air. The first thing that caught our eye were these bizarre, antlered creatures on display all over the station. Were they demons? Some sort of anime character? We would find out later that this was Sento-kun, the mascot for the anniversary of Nara. Sento-Kun represents—I cuss you not—a Buddhist child monk with a rack of deer antlers sprouting from his head, in honor of Nara’s Buddhist history and its wild deer (see Jay’s sake-inspired haiku).

Even within the confines of Kyoto Station, we managed to find ourselves in a protracted hunt for food. We ended up at Isetan, the local…wait for it… department store. I loved it. So much to choose from, so much variety in sashimi, seaweed, etc. I was spoiled for choice for the first time on the trip. We each got our own thing and ghetto-picnicked in a corner of the station. Later, we walked around and popped into every other convenience store and vending corner. Eventually, we took the train out to NW Kyoto and walked to the temple complex, which were so peaceful and beautiful. We checked in, settled in. Jay and I went for a walk and attempted to recon dinner, with particular attention to a restaurant that the Vice Abbot recommended. Instead, we got weirded out by the neighborhood, and chased out of a convenience store. We weren’t sure why. Hypotheses include: they don’t serve hairy barbarians; or we were holding a (vending machine) bottle of tea. But that seems odd. In any case, we returned to the guesthouse to retrieve R&S, and the four of us set out for Raku Raku. When we walked in, we thought we’d come to the wrong place, or at least gone in the back door, because there was a kitchen, and a guy at his computer, eating rice. It was between 6:30 and 7pm, at which time, in our experience, people were already lining up outside restaurants. In any case, we were in the right place. The guy invited us in, made us dinner as we sat just outside his galley kitchen. There was no English menu from which to order, so he improvised. We were a bit concerned, but it was fascinating to watch. He made a massive hot pot, the contents of which we consumed incorrectly in spite of his instructions (POG, I tell you). We were supposed to dip into the vinegar-like mixture, not turn it into a soup. In any case, it was really good. Afterward, there was dessert, which included our first introduction to sakuramochi, which I just loved. I know it’s rice, but it tastes like cherry blossom. Afterward, he took our pictures for his facebook page. Jay was somewhat weirded out but along for the ride. Until dude charged us 100k yen, or just over $25 each. Which did seem like a lot—we’d been paying a lot less for dinner up until then (to my surprise). Of course, we’d been eating at convenience stores and Ducky Duck. Thinking more about it—I mean, I initially just didn’t care that much even though it did seem like a lot for what it was, because these things happen when you travel, and it’s not like any of us couldn’t get over a $25 dinner—but we were biased toward what things cost here, i.e. vegetables don’t cost a lot in the States, but they’re quite expensive in the States. Richard phrased it well: think about how much you pay for a bento box, and then think about the ingredients that went into this meal compared to what goes into one of those. I, personally, was thrilled to not have had any rice apart from that in the sakuramochi. Besides, it was a great experience (you know what stuffwhitepeoplelike.com says about us—we’re all about authenticity). I was thrilled to have had something warming, as it was quite chilly out. When we left the restaurant, we went in search of… wait for it… a convenience store. Susan hadn’t eaten the hot pot, had found it too fishy. And I wanted to get breakfast for the next morning. And Jason never didn’t want to shop for snacks. We found one just down the road, where the friendly people didn’t chase out the gaijin. Susan found dinner, I found a bento breakfast, and Jay and Richard found sake and beer. Jay and I also got a green tea ice cream to share. It was tasty.

The next day—our first full day in Kyoto, which happened to fall on the anniversary of Buddha's birthday—we set out for some of the World Heritage Site temples in the area, starting with Ryoanji. Jay and I took bikes—they were free with the temple stay—and Richard and Susan walked. This was a perfect arrangement, because it gave the two of us time for vending machines. We stopped at one for hot coffee/tea, took some pictures, looked for trash/recycling, and arrived at Ryoanji ready to go.

I now realize I’ve neglected to let you in on two important undercurrents of the trip: Jay’s persistent search for rubbish bins/recycling, and his predilection for haikus. Since Jay’s a vending machine wh*re (and snack wh*ore), he was always looking for a place to throw out wrappers and recycle cans, and trash cans, in particular, were hard to come by. We don’t know why—they were just few and far between. At one point—in Nara—I walked around for over a mile with our lunch trash in my hand. It was so bad that we switched off carrying it.

But that’s not as interesting as Jay and his haikus. From the first day, starting with the Imperial Palace, Jay was composing haikus, one after another, and posting them to his Facebook page. They were quite good, actually. Later, in Kyoto, he expressed (quasi-feigned) concern that his prolificacy in haikus was giving him away. Which brings up another, more important issue: Jay had never come out to Richard and Susan.

I hadn’t known that when I signed on to the trip. I just kind of figured that Jay was out. This complicated things: I certainly didn’t want to out him, and he didn’t want R&S to think we were an item. He thought they’d take issue with our unmarried cohabitation. I imagine the latter concern was alleviated almost immediately: you didn’t have to spend much time with us to see that we would sooner strangle one another than sleep together. The former issue was more fraught, even though Jay tried to mitigate it from the day we got to Tokyo.

Jay: I don’t care if you out me.
A.: I don’t want to out you. It’s not up to me to out you, especially not to your friends.
Jay: I’m just saying, don’t worry about letting anything slip, because I don’t care.

Except when I did let something slip—i.e. our mutual affection for Gael Garcia Bernal—Jay harped on it.

Jay: Our mutual crush?
A.: I didn’t mean it that way. I meant it like, I might have a girl crush on Madonna, or something. I mean, before she got gross.
Jay: Still.
A.: You said you didn’t care.
Jay: I don’t care.
A.: Besides, you’ve done a lot more to give yourself away.
Jay: Like what?
A.: Like being yourself… like talking like a fourteen year old girl, and saying that things are hot. And saying “whatev,” which is annoying as well as gay. It’s like you can’t be bothered to say the whole word.
Jay: Whatev.
A.: Besides, they don’t care. Did you not hear them going on affectionately about Neil Patrick Harris.

Which, in turn, brings up another WTF issue that came up earlier, in Tokyo:

Jay: NPH sings?
A.: What? Are you F*ING SERIOUS?? Of course NPH sings!

But I digress.

Jay: I wish they’d just know.
A.: But they’re not going to say anything until you do. You’d just be doing them a favor by saying it, even if they do know.

Later
Jay, with some chagrin: Of course they know I’m gay! Who else writes haikus all the time?
A.: Nothing gay about haikus. And I repeat, in any case, that’s hardly the gayest thing you’ve said or done.
Jay: Really? Like what?
A.: Like being late all the time because you’re forever putting stuff in your hair. Have you noticed that you’re the only one who’s asked how your hair looks? And, I repeat, you could do everyone a favor and stop deeming things “hot.”

Jay: I think they know. Susan's taken to asking me for fashion advice.
A.: Who can blame her?

One variation on this conversation or another would come up from time to time. But let’s get back to the temples of Kyoto.

Martha warned me that it would be very easy to get shrined out in Kyoto. I was already a little shrined out from Tokyo—i.e., of the “you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all” mindset. This went for temples, too. What made the various sites worthwhile, though, were the grounds, rather than the temples themselves (although the temple across from which we stayed was amazing). We didn’t plan to hit a bunch of temples in one day, but once we took in the uber-scenic Ryoanji, we headed over to Ninna-ji. And found an ice cream vending machine in the parking lot. By the time we’d discussed and decided on a flavor, R&S had arrived.

After Ninna-ji, we returned the bikes to the temple and took the train to Nijo. Between the station and the castle, there was a Mos Burger, and we’d all been wanting to try it (I know), but we were all too full—so much so that didn’t buy anything from vending machines or convenience stores (note that I didn’t say we didn’t stop at or into any).

We all had our favorite vending machine wares: Susan went for the grape juice, Jay the lattes, I the black coffee or green tea, and Richard whatever most resembled a coke (which would sometimes be Coke). Jay would sometimes get an (unfortunately named) energy drink, such as Pocari Sweat. I don’t think he ever did try Bikkle.

A.: Really?
Jay: It’s like Gatorade.
A.: It’s got electrolytes. It’s what plants crave.

***

A.: Really?
Jay: What?
A.: Do you not know that high fructose corn syrup is of the devil?
Jay: Whatev.

***
Anyway, inside Nijo castle, we walked on the Nightingale floors, which squeak by design to give away intruders. The castle's grounds and gardens were amazing.


You'll spot geishas from time to time all over Kyoto.

From Nijo, we managed to resist the allure of Mos Burger, and walked straight to the bus stop and boarded a bus to Ginkakuji. On the way up the hill to the temple grounds, we did brake for ice cream—green tea ice cream sandwiches, in actual freshly baked bread. It was tasty. Ginkakuji was beautiful, particularly the view from the “mountain.” I mean, it’s a real mountain, but the mountain path is paved, so it felt more like an amusement park mountain, with a great view. The woman walking/hiking ahead of us was hiking in a skirt and heels.
Which brings us to another critical topic: Japanese women are stylish. I think I voiced that observation every day, if not several times a day. Once in a while, I’d follow it up with “…but you also need a certain body type to pull off that look--you can’t do it with curves.” I know I said it in the bamboo forest outside Tenryu-ji.

Jay: They spend a lot of money on clothes. Chad says that Japanese women live with their families until they marry, so they have a lot of disposable income for clothes.
A.: I couldn’t pull off the look, even if I bought the clothes.
Jay: Well, if I may be frank, it’s also your carriage and demeanor.
A.: My carriage and demeanor?
Jay: I shouldn’t have said anything.
A.: That’s not what I meant—I just want to know more. Besides, I told you you had bad posture.

I did, and he did. I had plenty of opportunity to notice it, because he kept jutting ahead of everyone in the subway in Tokyo, so I was constantly looking for him, or at him so as not to get lost. He wasn’t standing up straight, and it didn’t look good, so I knew he’d want to know. He took it well, and also improved his posture.

I pressed for what he meant by “carriage and demeanor,” forgetting that it was part of a line from “Steel Magnolias.” It wasn’t out of defensiveness; I really was curious.

Jay: It’s the whole look, not just the clothes. You don’t wear makeup…
A.: No, and I’m not about to start.
Jay: I’m not saying you should. But that’s what I mean—that’s not who you are. That look isn’t who you are.
A.: No, but I can aspire to a somewhat higher level of elegance, no?

We went around in circles, perhaps because Jay had regretted being so straightforward. But I really was curious, not upset. I'm one of those rare women who only asks if she looks fat when she genuinely wants to know. You may wonder, then, what the problem is with my mother. Nuanced,v perhaps, but the issue is, when I don't ask, I don't want to hear it, much less on repeat.

A.: I'm not that bad. I only have you hold the nicest handbags.

It’s true. Like a good husband, Jay dutifully held my handbag when I ran into the washroom, and it suited him.

But I digress. Jay does have a point—my aesthetic is rolled-out-of-bed-chic, which is substantially lower maintenance than that of the Japanese women whose look caught my eye. I don’t wear makeup. I don’t dye my hair, not even to cover the gray. I feel no need to look like anyone else, even though, over the years, well meaning friends and acquaintances have suggested that I’d look better with lighter hair and younger without a gray streak. Recently—maybe with Pauline Porizkova’s rant--I’ve come to think it’s a cultural thing. But Jay's point doesn't invalidate my point: 'whole look' aside, Japanese women tend to be very thin, and this gives them much more leeway. The less curvy you are, the easier it is to pull off edgy fashions, or even most layered looks.

Anyway, we came down from the mountain and neared the temple and the pond at its feet, on which a crane had positioned itself on a rock. It was standing so still, and looked so appropriate to its surroundings, that we thought it was a statue, until it moved. Later, it would fly atop the temple and approach its not-real counterpart.

We left Ginkaku-ji by way of Tetsugaku no michi, or Philosopher’s Path. At this point, we were, as far as we were concerned, done with sakura. Until we saw the sakura on Tetsugaku no michi. We were speechless. It was perfect.

We walked the path, taking pictures at every step. At the other end, there was a handy map to direct us to the nearest bus stop, where we could hop on a bus to the city. The bus took us through downtown, which was bustling. We stepped out at the train station. And hunted for food, settling for an Italian place on the top floor of Isetan. I was in no position to prolong the hunt--after all that walking and standing, our feet were feeling it.

My feet still hurt the next morning.

A.: My feet are killing me. I could use a foot massage; where's RM when I need him?
Jay: Hah. I'm surprised you thought of that.
A.: Sadly, it's going to take a while to purge the memories.

We had an hour or so before the zen meditation class later that morning. The class, at Shunkoin Temple, where we were staying, and temple tour that followed it, were one of the highlights of the trip. The inside of the temple was amazing—click on the sidebar links to see the sliding door panels. The Vice Abbot explained that the core concept of zen was focusing on the present, rather than the past or the future. Every day was a new day.

Following the tea (and cookie) ceremony that followed the meditation session and tour, we split up—R&S went downtown, as Susan needed a less painful pair of shoes, and Jay and I headed to Tenryu-ji, which—no surprise—was amazing. We wanted to take advantage of our two-ness to have a proper Japanese lunch, but we were tired and hungry, and didn’t want to dally, so convenience store bento it was. It was pretty good, although Jay discovered that he didn’t like pickled sakura and I learned that those tofu-like things were really tofu-covered rice squares.

We took the train to Nijo, from where we took the subway downtown, and found vending machine ice cream before we emerged. We ambled through the covered shopping arcades, popped into a dollar store
—where Jay discovered (nasty) packaged, adjuki-filled mini donuts; walked through the famed food market—which was bananas; and walked toward the river to get to Kiyumizu. Which was okay. I don’t know whether I would have liked it more had it not been bananas on steroids, and it wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t amazing. We were definitely getting templed out. Afterward, we stumbled around in search of Gion, and finally found it.
My guidebook had suggested that one street there was perhaps the most scenic in Asia. Eh. I mean, it was scenic. We touched base with R&S about dinner—they’d found an all-you-can-eat Korean BBQ place; Jay suggested we each do our own thing. So he and I walked around the most expensive part of Kyoto before we realized that our best bet was depatoo fare. I don’t remember which department store it was, but we took our stuff to the river for night hanami. It was beautiful.

The next day, we were switching “hotels.” We would be taking off early the following day for Hiroshima, so we’d picked a hotel near the station for our last night in Kyoto. Besides, the temple was an amazing experience—and I slept quite well there, perhaps largely because Jay and I each had our own futon—but it would be good to have a bathroom and shower next to the room without having to go outside. In case you were wondering, the bathrooms at the temple were outdoor/campground-like bathrooms. But the toilets had control panels.

Anyway, before checking out of the temple, Jay and I checked out Kinkaku-ji while R&S went to Tenryu-ji. There wasn’t much to do but walk around Kinkaku-ji. It was pretty, and worth a visit, and I can’t say it was underwhelming—I mean, it was amazing—but you saw it and got the point. The bike ride over was interesting, for sure. Afterward, we were—surprise!—hungry, so Jason google-mapped on his crackberry to see whether there was a Mos Burger nearby, and off we went. Except it wouldn’t open for another fifteen minutes. We parked our bikes and walked around the neighborhood.

Jay: There’s a McDonald’s.
A.: I’ll let you know when I’m that hungry, which would be never.

It’s true. Even that first night in Tokyo, when I was starving, McDonald’s was not an option.

Jay: Do you want me to get something vegetarian there, and tell you it was from somewhere else?
A.: No, thank you.
Jay: Ooh! Vending machine!

We got coffee. Mos Burger opened at 11.

It was… interesting. The burgers were small, i.e. just enough. We both got shrimp burgers, which were okay (would have been better not drenched in tartar sauce, but that request, had we known to make it, would have exceeded our meager Japanese abilities). Jay got onion rings, and I got a tea/dessert set. The dessert didn’t really have any flavor, which was disappointing, especially because it was green. Anyway, having checked that box, we biked back to the temple.

Have I told you how there’s no rhyme or reason to the paths the Japanese take? In the subway, there are arrows that indicate on which side to walk up and on which side to walk down, but people just walk in all directions, everywhere. In Kyoto, whose subway is pathetic and bikes are a great way to get around, there are designated bike paths on many sidewalks… but people walk on the bike side and ride on the pedestrian side.

In any case, we returned to the temple safely, checked out, and hauled our crap to the new hotel, where it was still too early to check in. We left our stuff and split off again. I’ll tell you about Jay’s and my afternoon in Nara in another post.

On the way back, Jay got an e-mail from Japanican, which he’d used to book the hotel, indicating drama: it turned out that he’d inadvertently booked smoking rooms (that’s the default), and that R&S, having found theirs intolerable, checked out and were rebooked in the one available non-smoking room in the area, which was luckily a few doors down from our hotel. We were worried. Our room wasn’t too bad, though—unless we turned on the AC, which blew smoky air into the room. So we slept with the window open. It was fine.

That night, before crashing, we made a point of having dinner together. We found a place, called Donguri, that had English (or, as it turned out, Engrish) menus and foods that were acceptable to all of us. There was a wait, but it was fine (I’d found affordable apples in Nara, and had one before we set out on the hunt for dinner). And while those guys waited and looked over the menu, I popped into the convenience store for my bento breakfast, and stuck it in the fridge in our room. The food was great—although I was dismayed that they’d brought me a green tea cocktail, in response to my drink order of ‘green tea,’ rather than green tea. It was sweet and disgusting. Like, sweeter than green tea ice cream. I managed to unload most of it on Jay. The menu was amazing! How I wish they had it in Engrish on their website, because the pictures we took were lost with Jay’s blackberry. It was also the full-out Japanese dinner experience: take off your shoes, get your food served on the hot grill thing in front of you, overhear the uproarious laughter or the partiers in the adjacent booths. We had a call button to call our waitress. It was cool.

Stay tuned for Nara.