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.

Nara

We were undecided about going to Nara, a smaller city just under an hour outside of Kyoto. Jay’d heard from Chad—his principle Japan advisor—that it was unimpressive, particularly if you’ve been to Kamakura. Both places sport giant Buddhas, or Daibutsus. The one in Kamakura is said to be modeled after, but artistically superior to, the one in Nara. While the one in Nara was never immortalized in a Rudyard Kipling poem, it does have an antlered mascot. And its home is the Daibutsuden, which is the largest wooden building in the world.

According to my guidebook, Nara was one of the most rewarding destinations in Japan, particularly once you got past the gritty train station area (as I wrote in my Kyoto post, this type of disclaimer was more or less a constant in my guidebook’s introduction to Japanese cities). The guidebook did warn us that Nara’s other star attraction—its deer—may bite. Nonetheless, you could buy cookies to feed them (but don’t eat them yourself, as some tourists have been seen doing). Anyway, R&S saw us off to the train station and wished us luck against the “ass-biting deer,” a wish that Jay took on as a sort of inverse challenge.

Nara was hot as Hades when we arrived in the early afternoon. Our first mission, on our way from the train station to Nara Park, was to find a place to have a nice Japanese lunch, just because we could. But we didn’t. We did see another Mos Burger, and a KFC. By the time we reached the end of the road—just ahead of Nara Park—we settled for Circle K, the Food Lion of Japanese convenience stores. We got our bentos and settled on a bench overlooking a pond, with a view of the five-story pagoda. Or was it the three-story pagoda? They start to run together after a while. Anyway, it was a good spot; you could even describe it as quasi-hanami. There were turtles swimming in the pond and sunning themselves on its rocks. A pigeon even came up and started pecking at Jay’s toes, to the great amusement of those sitting around us. He thought it boded well for getting bitten in the ass by a deer. I don’t remember the contents of our bento; only that I had too much rice, and the dessert I bought was disappointing. But lunch wasn’t bad.

As we set out for our tour of some of Nara Park’s shrines and temples, toting our trash/recycling bags and wilting in the uncomfortable heat, we wondered whether we’d made the right choice. The deer, or sika, didn’t inspire confidence.

Jay: OMG, those deer are MANGY! It’s like they have fleas.
A.: They… really are mangy. Eww.

And they were everywhere. There were signs warning you that the deer may be dangerous through a variety of actions: they “bite,” “kick,” “butt” and “knock down.”

Apparently, they’re less dangerous than the palm-stabbing toothpicks, because the park was full of kids, and adults, feeding the deer.
It didn’t take Jay long to notice that there was deer scat all over the ground. He didn’t take it well.

We headed to the temples-and-shrines part of the park. Except we got lost. Jay blamed me, accused me of having no sense of direction, until he saw that we’d been given an especially unhelpful map. We eventually found our way, but in the meantime, we reverted to one of our recurring discussions.

Jay: I’m so fat. Why am I fat? I don’t understand it. I’m going to have to go on the Lindsay plan.
A.: Or you could stop eating crap.
Jay: I don’t eat that much crap.
A.: You had a whole bag of donuts yesterday.
Jay: That was yesterday. Today is a new day; I’ve turned over a new leaf.
[Pause]
A.: Are you… using zen principles in the service of donut consumption?

This was actually so funny to me that I couldn’t keep walking. I stopped in the streets of Nara to compose myself.

Jay: Is it bad that I was composing haikus during meditation class?
A.: I suppose it’s not the worst thing you can do, so it’s not great, but it’s not bad. Nor is it gay.
Jay: Ha.

By this time, it wasn’t unusual to find Jay counting on his fingers, making sure his haiku syllables were in order.

A.: I’m going to lose my mind if I don’t find recycling.
Jay: See! See! This is what it’s like.
A.: Let’s go see the Kasuga Shrine first.
Jay: I don’t know—I’d better not have spent 53 minutes coming out here and not seen the Buddha.
A.: We’ll see it. The Shrine’s on the way to the Buddha.
Jay: Wah.
A.: Shut up.

You’d think I’d know how to deal with this kind of thing, since I live with a whiny bitch who thinks every minute of the day is her dinner time. Throughout the trip—especially toward the end, when we would wonder whether Jay really had lost his mind—I would use the same lines that don’t work on Gracie, on Jason:

Jay: Wah.
A.: Zip it!

Jay: Wah.
A.: Am I going to have to beat you?

Jay: Wah.
A.: Is Wayne Brady going to have to choke a bitch?

Jay: Wah?
A.: That’s it. I’m going to beat you.
Jay: What are you going to do? Stab me with a toothpick?

This was before the incident. Little did he know how bloody those toothpicks could be.

But I digress. We finally found the Kasuga Shrine, and a recycling bin. We contented ourselves with the lanterns leading up to and surrounding the Shrine,

turning around short of the shrine itself. We were shrined out to the point that I, too, was starting to wonder whether coming out here had been worth it. Good thing our next stop was the Daibutsen. Actually, it wasn’t supposed to be, but we never did figure out that map, so we ended up there without knowing it.

Jay: Could there be more people here?
A.: Do you want to check it out?
Jay: I don’t know.
A.: Let’s just see what it is.
Jay: Wah. It’s 500 yen.
A.: I think it’s the Buddha.

Even though we’d already seen a giant Buddha, Nara’s was a really cool giant Buddha. Surrounded by really cool smaller Buddhas.
We explored the incredibly crowded, but still amazing, Diabutsen.
It was very difficult to capture it on camera, given the lighting, but I kept trying. At one point, I turned and saw a very calm, collected daschund, chilling in her mommy’s arms. I thought, why can’t Gracie chill the f* out? She’d go nuts here. But all over Japan, people were taking their dogs out on the town with them. In Takayama, I would find one calmly enjoying the marionette show.

From the Daibutsen, we made our way to the Nandaimon Gate, whose veranda offered an incredible view of the entire park. We took in the scenery, made all the more amazing by the sakura we’d thought we no longer cared about.
I was really happy with Nara—especially at that point, where it’d cooled down some. I was ready to head back, but Jay realized there was one box he hadn’t checked.

Jay: Oh, no! I didn’t get bitten by a deer! I knew I should have put a cookie in my butt.
A.: [Loses it, for the second time that day].
Jay: That’s not what I mean! Get your mind out of the gutter! I mean, on my butt—so the deer bite me.
A.: [Still laughing]

For better or for worse, Jay’s butt would go un-deer-bitten; it was time to head back. We were tired. This was when Jay threatened gangsta consequences if he didn’t get a beer to take on the train back to Kyoto. Which he didn’t. And the last express train had left, so we took a local one, which was late, giving us plenty of time to wonder how intolerably smoky our room would be. We were so glad it wasn’t bad. The hallway was awful, as it would be in other hotels, even on non-smoking floors, but the room was fine.

Although they left no bite mark, the deer left a lasting impression on Jay. He would tell R&S about how they “bite, kick, butt and take down.” Later, he'd compose a deer-inspired haiku.

Jay: Those mangy deer will take you down!
Richard, looking at the photo of the sign: It says “knock down,” not “take down.” The deer are not going to take you down.
Jay: There was deer poop everywhere.
Susan: How was the giant Buddha?
Jay: Oh, it was awesome. Buddha's house was neat, too.
Richard: “Buddha’s house”? "Next week on Buddha’s crib...”
[Laughter]

You can see how the prefecture of Nara, wanting to honor both Buddha and its deer, would opt to combine the two into one, tacky mascot. I mean, hopefully, you can't. But now you know where they were coming from.

Hiroshima, Miyajima and Okayama

As we made our way from our hotel to Kyoto station, Jay asked if I wanted to piggy-back my duffle bag atop his rollerboard suitcase. I accepted, and offered to pull the suitcase whenever, but he said it would suffice to watch it to ensure it didn’t fall off.

A.: Isn’t there some way to secure it?
Jay: Yeah, but we don’t have the equipment, so you have to mind it.
A.: That’s what she said.
At one point, there were stairs, so I took my bag back. It didn’t take long before I felt it on my shoulder.

A.: I forgot how big this bit&h was.
Jay: Me, or the bag?
A.: The station!

Richard: What does that sign say?
Jay: Tsk! Haven’t you people learned to read yet?

We found our platform and waited for our train. And waited. The time of departure came and went, and we were still waiting.

Something happened. We saw people in uniform—police or Japan Rail officials—running around on the opposite platform. There was a suggestion that someone might have fallen on the tracks, but I thought there would be a lot more drama and scurrying had that been the case. In any case—and we never did find out what happened—no trains were coming into Kyoto station.

Jay: Maybe someone dropped his or her ticket onto the tracks. They’re magnetic, after all.

Realizing we would miss our already-tight connection at Shin-Osaka, we discussed alternate routes to Hiroshima. We concluded it would be best to take the same train, only later.

A., indicating the departures sign: Does that go to Shin-Osaka?
Jay: No! Haven’t you learned to read yet??

Finally, our train arrived. Jay would always board where there was space for large luggage, which was often at the opposite side of the car. I tended to go with him. We waited as people poured out of the train. Finally, we boarded, dropped our stuff, and walked toward the front of the car. We saw Richard board. And then we felt the train move, and saw Susan standing on the platform.

Cuss.

We get to Shin-Osaka in less than twenty minutes and hope that Susan knows to take the next train there. She would have heard us talking about it. We figure out which platform she’d exit to, and I leave my stuff with the guys and go to look for her, but there are so many people. Then, I see it: the white jacket and Hello Kitty! suitcase! Never have I been so happy to see a Hello Kitty! suitcase.

Susan turned to another group of gaijin who had been waiting on the platform, and who were also left behind as the door suddenly closed. They all made it to Shin-Osaka. We were all relieved, but our hearts were pounding for hours afterward. There’s an argument for each person knowing where to go—as tempting as it can be to just follow other people—and for having your own stuff on you. And for having contingency plans for meeting if separated.

Shin-Osaka was particularly bananas in light of the Kyoto station delays. We made a reservation for the next Hikari to Hiroshima and had some time to shop for bento and pastries for the road.

It was raining when we got into Hiroshima, which was just as well, because we would head to the peace museum once we checked in. Unlike much of Kyoto, Hiroshima was anything but fugly, perhaps because it had to be entirely rebuilt and was actually planned. Even though its bombed-out history permeates Hiroshima’s identity, there’s so much more to it (and I don’t just mean it’s baseball team, the Carp). We took in the city’s streets from the windows of the trolley from the station.

When I checked in, the hotel staff handed me a towel to wipe the rain off my heads. Jay’s vending machine instincts led him to a vending corner not far from the front desk, where he got a Pocari Sweat.

Jay: Do you want to try some?
A.: No.
Jay: It’s just like Gatorade, but better.
A.: Gatorade’s gross.
Jay: Just try it.
A.: That’s disgusting! I need to eat something just to get that taste out of my mouth.
Jay: That’s what she said.

We cleaned up and headed over to the Peace Museum. Susan originally did not want to join, but decided to go for it. She was glad she went, in the end, but she didn't feel that the museum devoted sufficient attention to Japanese aggression. Jay and I didn't think that was the point, in any case, but the museum did acknowledge Japanese aggression and its role in triggering the war in the Pacific. Was Susan looking for some kind of “we brought this on ourselves” statement? It’s an important, complex debate to have, and she’s entitled to her opinion on the matter, but the museum’s message was that the bombing was horrific. I was the only one who took my time through the more graphic exhibits—not because I wanted to, or found it any easier to stomach them, but because I thought it was essential to read the individual stories ( eg., "these are the clothes of this child [name]. He was coming home from school when the bomb fell. He managed to make it home, but died the next morning. His parents donated the clothes"). Without that, it's easy to get lost in statistics and not appreciate the impact on actual people, which just makes it easier to argue that the bombing was justified. If you’re going to make that argument, the least you can do is look at the pictures and read the stories.

It had stopped raining by the time we left the museum, which allowed us some much-needed fresh air. We ambled across the Peace Park, toward the A-Dome, which was eerily beautiful, particularly as surrounded by sakura.


We then walked downtown, to a five-story okonomiyaki emporium. We walked around from counter to counter—one was turned down because the fryer smell was overwhelming—and found one with English menus and beckoning staff. Jay and I went out of our way to emphasize that we needed our okonomiyaki sans-pork. Had I known how much food would be in there, I’d have asked for it without udon as well. It was really cool to watch them make the okonomiyaki, and then to watch them make others for an incoming group.

R&S stopped into a toy store on the way back, so Jay and I continued, until we, too, were distracted—in our case, by a 100 yen store. We also found a supermarket, where we got breakfast and dessert. We got what turned out to be a delectable green tea muffin with adzuki paste filling. The four of us reconvened at the hotel and had a little party in our room.

We left for Miyajima early the following morning, in order to catch the Itsukushima Torii at high tide. The trolley we took to the station was a historic one; it had survived the bombing.

It was raining again, but the island was still beautiful. All sorts of statistics are bandied about with regard to the Torii’s status as the most/one of the most photographed images in Japan, and it’s not surprising. It doesn’t seem like much from the pictures, but it looks really cool.


There’s more to Miyajima than Itsukushima, though. Including wild deer, most of which are less mangy than their Nara counterparts.
Jay identified the one he found to have the cutest butt. Daiganji Temple, just past the Torii, is impressive, but it wasn’t until we’d walked up the hill to Daisho-in Temple that I really wanted to kick myself for not having brought more camera batteries. It rendered me speechless. The temple itself was amazing, but the grounds—the surrounding trees, ponds, etc.—made for an incredible atmosphere.

After we took in the temple and its surroundings in all their glory, we were ready for lunch. Nothing like soba to warm you up on a rainy day. Ready to go again, R&S headed back to the ferry, catching the Torii at low tide, and Jay and I set out for our hike on Mt. Misen, which I’ve already told you about in the sakura post. But I’ll tell you again that it was beautiful, even though we couldn’t see much from the top. There were waterfalls and rock formations along the way. On our way down, to a different part of the island from where we’d started, we stumbled upon an incredible view—just when you thought you’d had it with trees and streams.

We found the Torii at low tide, such that we were able to walk out to it. I got a picture of Jay just at the feet of the Torii. At that point, we were soaked and starved. I’d never been happier to see a vending machine. We got our tea/coffee, and then our ice cream, to tide us over until dinner. It was understandable that by the time we got back to Hiroshima, much less to our hotel, we weren’t really up for venturing far, but we tried to find a real restaurant with English menus. We failed, and settled for convenience store fare. R&S didn’t settle for that, so they looked for something else. I think they eventually found KFC.

We checked out the next morning and got to the station with plenty of time to hunt, but for some reason, the offerings were much less exciting than those we saw when we arrived. I settled for a convenience store Nescafe (yes, I know Nestle is of the devil).

We stopped at Okayama—we’d wanted to break up the ride from Hiroshima to Gero, and Okayama Castle seemed like a good bet. It wasn’t a bad stop, but there wasn’t much to do in town apart from walk around the castle (I don’t think they want people to go in, as they charge 800 yen for admission, and the more interesting part is the outside). We walked around. Susan and I both got sakura ice cream. I offered Jay some of mine, and turned to see him stick his tongue out and cover half the cone with it.

A.: ??
Jay: I was trying to [censored]

I had as much of the ice cream as I’d wanted, and didn’t want the waffle cone. I offered the rest to Jay. He dared make a comment about how I’d hollowed out the bottom of what was in the cone.

A.: After you licked the whole thing?
Jay: I was trying to get it to [censored]
Richard: Um, guys…

Until Richard stopped us, I hadn’t registered the innuendo of what Jay had said. Either had Jay. So Jay took to explaining himself, which only made things worse. Everything he said—with genuine innocence—sounded worse than the thing he’d said before. We didn’t even need to say “TWSS.” There was nothing more to be said.

We returned to the station, braking for vending machines on the way, and shopped for lunch. Jay and I found a supermarket, got our bento.

The train ride to Gero was beautiful. I wish I’d been able to better capture it on camera, but I’ll have to settle for just having experienced it.

Gero and Takayama

Gero was more a stopover on our itinerary than a destination. We were headed to Takayama’s famous Spring Festival—so famous that hotels in Old Town Takayama fill up fast at Festival time, and there was nowhere for us to stay. The Ryokan Association did find us a Minshuku north of Takayama for the night after the first day of the Festival, but we were on our own before that. Richard and Susan, who had wanted to do one splurge/treat kind of thing, found a posh ryokan in Gero, a town half an hour or so from Takayama known for its hot springs and onsens (Japanese baths). I wasn’t convinced (it was really expensive) but I got on board. Chad, who loved—loved—Takayama, told us that Gero was ugly, so we pretty much planned to get in in the evening, take a bath or two, have a Kaiseki Ryori meal and a nice rest, and be on our way first thing in the morning.

The first thing I’ll tell you was that Gero wasn’t ugly, at all. The town was quite pleasant, and the surrounding mountains were beautiful. We got in just before sunset. Richard asked at the Tourist Information booth at the train station what would be the best way to get to the ryokan. Meanwhile, Susan and I checked out the fierce toilet and its control panel (see earlier post). The tourist info people called the ryokan for us, and they would come to collect us.

Jay: I’m worried. This is a really nice place. I’m going to get exported.
Richard: We’ll have to bring all of our Gaijin Power to bear.

We arrived, reached for our luggage—but they took it to our rooms for us (can you tell I don’t usually stay in super-posh hotels? and led us to the lobby for a tea ceremony. I do love my green tea and cookies. Our hostess, Tsuda, had us pick out our yukata and obi, which she showed us how to tie—we would put them on post-bath, just before dinner— once she led us to our bungalow and told us about the various baths on the premises. There was one in our “backyard,” and a few public and private ones throughout the grounds, beside a beautiful Japanese garden.

We settled in and got ready for our respective baths. I was loving this place for a number of reasons, the least important of which was that it was nice not to have to take elevators to and from our room. It saved Jay and I a few rounds of one of our recurring conversations:

Jay: We have to go back! I forgot to put stuff in my hair!
A.: We’re already late!
Jay: But I need stuff in my hair!
A.: You look fine, and in any case, nobody cares.

The elevators were always mirrored.

Jay: I’m fat.
A.: I don’t want to hear it. It’s amazing you’re not fat, given all the crap you eat. I don’t even eat that much crap—I can eat no crap for weeks and still look like this. Besides, I knew coming to Japan that we’d be the fattest, hairiest people in the country. Embrace it.
Jay: I don’t eat that much crap.
A.: You just bought another bag of donuts—and after you said you’d turned a new leaf.
Jay: That was yesterday. Today is a new day.

The elevator was a great place for this conversation, as Susan had banned us from using the word “fat” because we were on vacation. Jay turned to “tubby;” I turned to “futotte,” but they didn’t believe that was a real word. But I digress.

We explored the bungalow. A.: What do you think this does?
Jay: Don’t mess with it—you’ll get us all exported.
Richard: I think that’s the air.

I ran into the bathroom before heading over to the bath. Except that it took me several minutes to find the flush button—too many buttons to choose from. Susan had the same problem.

We scrubbed ourselves off, bathed in our respective baths. Afterward, Jay called Susan into the bath where we’d been to help me with my yukata. Making things pretty is her specialty, and it certainly isn’t mine. It’s not unlike a karate uniform, except that it’s one-size-fits-all so you have to keep pulling it up over a belt to get it to the right length. And in the process of pulling up the bottom part, you have to make sure you keep the top part where it is so as to keep from falling out. Actually, all of us had to be conscious not to flashing anyone during dinner. It took us several tries, but we made it, and headed to dinner. Which was beautiful and delicious. It was amazing. I had plenty of food, since I consumed most of the seafood that Susan wouldn’t touch. Tsuda explained what everything was. They were very kind to accommodate my pescetarianism—it’s a set menu, and they don’t generally do modifications, but I thought I’d ask. They just left meat off my plate, and often replaced it with shellfish.

The tray you saw in the picture was what was on the table when we came in. It was followed by course after course, each as tasty as it was beautiful. The courses included sashimi, soup, a shabu-shabu like dish, tempura and other things I’m forgetting. There was a sakura liqueur, and then dessert. It's hard to compete with 7-Eleven sushi and tempura, but they really stepped up.

Back in the room, we were winding down from our long day of travel. All of the sudden, laughter erupts from the bathroom.

Jay: There's an entire additional control panel to the toilet underneath the main panel!

That was the craziest one yet. There's even a graph that apparently shows you the angle setting for the water.

Breakfast was just as amazing. Susan had opted for Western breakfast, but the rest of us went with Japanese. It was sooo good, and also served to elucidate us as to some of the things we’d seen and eaten in other places.

Jay had suggested we stay in Gero a bit longer, but I wasn’t sure what else we’d do, except bathe some more (we’d taken another bath in the morning, in our backyard onsen). Also, I was concerned about luggage lockers in Takayama, since it was supposed to be bananas. It was also supposed to be freezing: it’s in the Japanese Alps. None of us was especially well prepared for very cold weather, which was fine, because it wasn’t actually that cold, for the most part.

We said goodbye to Gero and headed for Takayama, which was, indeed, bananas. We hit the lockers, then the convenience stores, and set off to walk around town. We stumbled upon the marionette shows taking place on the Matsuri floats. They were cool. The floats were dazzling.



After the shows, we explored the old town and stopped for some sake tastings.
There’s actually a sake shrine in Takayama.
We walked, shopped, took in the cries of “shimase!” and “gozaimas!” emanating from the street vendors. These were the same cries we heard every day, at every department store and convenience store. We stopped at a vending machine, then at a convenience store next to the vending machine, and later split off—R&S to a burger place in town, and Jay and I in search of Other Food. We found a great supermarket, got some good stuff. We paid for it and walked out when Jay reached for his blackberry to find our way to where we’d meet R&S, except that there was no blackberry to be found. Thus began an unfortunate, stressful time in the trip. We went to the Family Mart, where I’d last used it (and specifically remembered giving it back to him, but you never know). It wasn’t there. We went to the park/temple complex where we’d meet R&S, and picnicked, but Jay, for the first time during the trip, couldn’t think of food. We found a payphone, where he reported it stolen, and once we met up with R&S, we continued to retrace our steps. The Post Office, where we’d tried to get cash, told us to report it to the police, which was an experience in and of itself. The police had a picture chart of common occurrences and their descriptions in various languages. I wanted to take a picture but didn’t think it would be appropriate. Between the four of us, we managed to explain that Jay lost his mobile phone. We provided the color and phone number, location last used, and other details. The police officer loved that Jay was from Boston and kept asking him about the Red Sox. It was actually pretty funny.

By that point, it was late enough to check into the minshuku, which was, in a word—Jay’s word—“assy.” We were already tired and wary from living out of our suitcases and changing cities every few days, and hotels even more frequently. We were on the verge of getting Japaned out, and while the ryokan in Gero refreshed us and gave us a little boost, Takayama—its cold weather, crowds, blackberry-stealing properties, and assy minshuku—would undo wear us down again.

Jay: This isn’t as nice as the ryokan.
A.: Right. It’s also $200 less per person.
Jay: Minor detail.

It still had high-tech (shared) toilets. Unlike everywhere else we stayed in Japan, it did not have an electric kettle. But there was a thermos with hot water when we got there, so we made tea. R&S took a taxi back to town, but I wanted to walk, so I could take pictures of the surrounding snow-capped mountains. Of course, my camera died almost as soon as I walked out the door.

My dinosaur-camera had been a subject of mockery since Kyoto, or maybe Tokyo. It only intensified with time.

Jay: Guys, her camera takes AA batteries!
A.: Sigh. I know, I know. I’m ready for an upgrade.

At times, Jay wouldn’t trust me to take pictures. He didn’t think my camera could handle it. Apart from the battery issue, it was fine. I’m still ready for an upgrade, though.

I did manage to get pictures of the outside of the Minshuku the next morning, when my camera batteries had recharged. By then, the snow on the mountains had either melted or become obscured by fog.

Jay and I got lost on our way into town, so we stopped for directions at Uniqlo. The teenagers working at the store did their best to direct us. It took them a minute to figure out where we were on the map we handed them. They were nice about it, though.

We found R&S, emerging from a convenience store, and once again retraced our steps, this time to the supermarket, where the blackberry may have fallen out of Jay’s pocket. We couldn’t find the supermarket. It was time to take our spots for the festival’s parade.

The floats were even cooler at night, and in motion—they’d had massive, golden wheels attached. It was great. And we were freezing. We watched over half the floats go by, musical accompaniments and all, before we called it a night and looked for a place to have dinner before heading back to the minshuku. We found a couple of restaurants, but none were acceptable to all, so we got our dinner from… wait for it… convenience stores.

We got back to the minshuku, where our room smelled awful.

Jay: It’s the tatami.
Richard: Are you sure? It’s awful.
Jay: Shrug.

Jay: I hate Chad.
A.: So do I.
Richard: I don’t even know Chad, but I hate Chad.

Jay, knees to his chest, rocking on the floor: SHIMASE!
GOZAIMAS!
SHIMASE!
GOZAIMAS!
SHIMASE!
GOZAIMAS!
SHIMASE!
GOZAIMAS!
SHIMASE!
GOZAIMAS!
A.: What the cuss is wrong with you?
Richard: He’s Japaned out, poor guy.
Jay: SHIMASE!
GOZAIMAS!
SHIMASE!
GOZAIMAS!
SHIMASE!
GOZAIMAS!
SHIMASE!
GOZAIMAS!
A.: ??
Jay: SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS!
A.: Okay, that’s enough. I’m sorry you/we lost your blackberry, but…
Jay: SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS!

Even once Jay settled down, there was rowdiness in the minshuku—I was so tired I fell asleep anyway. It died down eventually, and we slept, fitfully. We woke up and started going in and out to wash up and brush our teeth and such. We’d forget how awful it smelled until we left and came back in. We agreed to get out of there as soon as possible.

We headed back to Takayama, locked up our stuff, changed our reservation to the next train out, and explored a bit more.
We couldn’t wait to get the f* out of Takayama. Please understand that Takayama is a cute town--it reminds me of Switzerland, actually. I've lived in Switerland, and I love Switzerland... and I loved Takayama Matsuri.
But we could have made it a day trip.

We got some bento for the road. I got some sushi and some tempura over rice. Jay promised to help me with both. The train came not a minute too soon. It was nice and warm in there, too. We set up our lunches. All of the sudden, I heard Jay laughing hysterically.

In opening his chopsticks, he’d stabbed himself with the toothpick inside the package. He’d been warned!

I started laughing, too. I mean, it was really funny. R&S, sitting behind us, joined in when they learned what had happened. That’s when Susan told Jay he’d become a statistic.

Susan: In spite of the warning!
Jay: They didn't tell you you had to be careful while opening the chopsticks!

The ride to Nagoya was amazingly scenic, and I took as many pictures as I could.
Of course, because of the delay in most digital cameras, not just mine, I couldn’t capture some truly stunning scenes.

We changed trains in Nagoya, ecstatic to head back to Tokyo, and ecstatic to arrive. Our hotel was practically across the street from one end of Tokyo Station—it was our lowest-end hotel in Tokyo, as our priority was the location—and it worked.

It was SO good to be back in the city, and to have an en-suite bathroom/shower. Our travels so far had been amazing, but they’d taken a lot out of us. That evening, Jay and I wandered around—I love the area around Tokyo station. We found a conveyor belt sushi place and noted it for another time, and then found Nihombashi Takashimaya, which is historic, apparently (and even nicer than the Takashimaya we went to in Ginza). I got my sashimi and seaweed breakfast—and it was even half-priced because of the time of day. We stopped at a convenience store or two on the way back to the hotel, so Jay could load up on KitKats and donuts.

We met up with R&S, hunted for food, ended up in an Italian place that we’d walked by early in the hunt. It was eh, but you get to the point where you just don’t care anymore. I was done with convenience store fare. I was also done with rice.

A.: I can’t take any more rice. I had two mega-portions of rice today, because this bi&ch didn’t have any like he’d promised.
Jay, forming a Maneki Neko in one hand and claw in the other: This kitty, not that kitty, please.

We watched some Japanese TV and crashed. By that point, really bizarre commercials had come to seem normal.

Tokyo and Nikko

Jay wasn't alone in his whinging, although his was the most persistent. By the time we got back to Tokyo, he was going on about how he wanted to be exported. I'm not going to tell you that it wasn't annoying, but it was annoying for reasons of tone rather than substance, whereas Susan complained less frequently, but the things she said drove me up the wall. In particular: "I just want things to be like they are at home--I want to be able to order a pizza to the room."

I just don't have time for that kind of thing. I, mean, I, too, was ready for things to be like they were at home--in particular, I was ready for toilets without control panels or burn warnings. I was ready to be able to read the ingredients on food I considered buying. I was ready to stop eating rice. And I was ready to be single again. But I knew that I'd go back to all that in a few days, as well as to a number of things I wasn't looking forward to, and in the meantime, I was going to make the most of things not being like they were at home.

Unexpectedly, I came out of my Japan rut when we got back to Tokyo. The craziness was actually invigorating. I wasn't asking the others to snap out of it, although I did need Jay to tone down the 'wah.' At the same time, I just didn't understand what the problem was. Travel is exhausting, and it's different: that's the point. You accept a certain amount of discomfort--physical, social, etc., as well as uncertainty--in exchange for new sights and experiences. My understanding of travel-related discomfort, and inconvenience, is different from theirs. I started traveling young, and broke; don't get me talking about discomfort.

***
On our last full day in Tokyo, R&S took off for Ghibli Museum, and Jay and I for Nikko. Our street--Sakura Dori, appropriately enough--was perpendicular to the road you cross to get to Yaesu North. I told you on my first or second post that the Tokyo subway system was a big clusterf*, and what more perfect example of that than Tokyo Station. So many platforms, trains, subway stops. We went into the JR office to make our reservations for Narita Express for the next day, as well as for the first train that we'd need to take to get to Nikko. We had twenty minutes or so, so we reconned the platform for Narita Express. It was good to know that it would be a bit of a trek from the Yaesu North station entrance.

A vending machine or two later, we took the Shinkansen to Utsunomiya, where we'd catch the Nikko Line, after stocking up on tea and KitKats, of course. On train, Jay inquired as to why I hadn't yet learned to read. Once we got to Nikko, I got a real coffee--"charcoal"--out of a vending machine. It didn't even come in a can.

Nikko doesn't want you to get lost--at least not in the lower part of town. There were maps everywhere, with "you are here" signs and all. On our way up the hill, we caught part of Nikko's spring festival, and stopped in Tourist Information, where they served us tea and sweets. We checked out the convenience store offerings--there weren't many, which, at that point, was a welcome change of scene. Then we (unenthusiastically) reached the area with all the temples and shrines. I'd really wanted to go to Nikko, and Jay was pretty sure he did, but, as we've established, we were tired and shrined out. We didn't really know what to expect. We bought a combination ticket to the area's main five temples and shrines and stuff, and walked through the first one.

Jay: I think I've had it.
A.: Me too.

Then, as so many times before, we got to where we were going, and our jaws dropped.

Jay: Wow.
A.: Wow.

The Toshogu Shrine complex was amazing. The whole thing--all its segments as they complemented each other.

I took some pictures. My batteries died; I replaced them. Soon, those, too died. Luckily, on the other side of the square, I found AAs at a kiosk. They served me the rest of the day. The only thing I missed out on being able to photograph was a group of sumo wrestlers making their way down from the shrine. We had just missed sumo season, which was a bummer. I was all over the sumo thing--I'd no reason to hope I wouldn't be the hairiest person in the country, but thanks to those guys, I certainly wasn't the fattest.

Nikko was amazing, and cold. Even colder because we had to take our shoes off to walk through some of the temples and shrines. We took the morning to check out the attractions on our combination ticket. Jason told me the strangest thing along the way.

Jay: Did I ever tell you that my mother asked me if I was inspired by Ellen?
A.: What?
Jay: After I came out, she asked if I'd come out because Ellen did it on national television.
A.: And it was the thing to do??
Jay: Right?
A.: That's more interesting, logically, than my mom's telling me I wear sunblock because it's politically correct.

After exploring the area--and freezing our toes off each time we had to remove our shoes to see a shrine--we found a soba place in town in which to have lunch and thaw out. Afterward, we headed for the Kanmangafuchi Abyss, not without making the requisite stop at 7-Eleven along the way. Jay got KitKats; I got a green tea Oreo bar. It was actually really tasty.

Jay thought the walk over to the Kanmangafuchi Abyss was a little "Deliverance," and said he'd be very upset if the next person we saw walking toward us was missing any teeth. Luckily, that was not the case, and I found Kanmagafuchi worth the trip.
We were, however, in vending machine withdrawal. We found one just past it, but it wasn't very good (we had standards), and the next one was out of hot drinks. We'd have to wait until we got back to town.

Back in town, the spring festival was in full swing. The floats were not as professional-looking as those in Takayama, but the atmosphere around town was really cool. The revelers pulled the floats down the streets, playing their instruments and chanting.
By late afternoon, we were ready to get back. The train deities were with us: we got back to the station just in time to catch the half-hourly train to Utsonomiya, and there just in time for the shinkansen to Tokyo Station.

Since it would be our last night in Tokyo, I was determined that we would have Japanese for dinner. This was complicated, because, since it was our last night in Tokyo, I wanted us to all have dinner together. We crossed into Tokyo Station and set out on our hunt. We hunted on various floors, and various passageways. We came close to giving up. Finally, we found a Japanese place--with menus in English, to boot! It was pretty crowded, but we got a table and ordered food. The waitress wanted to make sure I understood that the dish I'd ordered wasn't a set, i.e. didn't come with rice or anything. I replied that that was just fine.

After dinner, R&S went to a camera store they'd spotted at the other end of the station. Jay and I went hunting for dessert in Daimaru. We went a little nuts, but not so nuts that we didn't also stop in AM/PM on the way back. When else can you go a little nuts at the department and convenience stores, if not on your last night in Tokyo?

I was ready to crash almost as soon as we got back to the room. Jay's back hurt, and his GOZAIMAS!/SHIMASE! demon had returned for another episode of possession. I threatened to beat him. He told me he was just trying to simulate Gracie's presence for me. [Note: If Gracie ever starts yelling SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS!, I may well have to beat her].

Jay: Argh! My fat is flabby!
A.: Have another macaron.
Jay: Grrr.

***
That morning, we watched Japanese TV before meeting R&S for breakfast (or in my case, second breakfast--you didn't think I'd pass up my last department store bento?). One channel was showing a sort of Gaijin Real World, where they were having (Japanese-speaking) foreigners in Japan do all sorts of Japanese things (take an onsen; wield a samurai sword; etc.) and seeing how they fared.

We said goodbye to R&S, checked out, and headed to Roppongi. We got lost in Tokyo Station--actually, we unwittingly walked from Tokyo to Otemachi. We boarded the train and transferred, only to have to leave one subway system and board another one. Clusterf*, I tell you. Eventually, we made it to Mori Tower.

We'd kind of talked about going to Ueno, to the Museum of Western Art (which Jay affectionately dubbed the Museum of Western Crap--he meant no disrespect. It's supposed to be excellent). I don't remember what drove our change of heart--I wanted to see the Mori Art Museum. It was raining, so we didn't think we'd get much of a view out of Mori Tower, but it cleared up a bit, and the view came through for us.


Not only that, the museum--highest in the world--was really cool. I found Takamine Tadasu's photo essay, "Baby Insa-dong," poignant and thought-provoking, and loved--loved--Teruya Yuken's Notice-Forest series and Chim Pom's "Art is in the Party" (below)


The theme of the exhibit--and the quotes on its last wall, all about the nature of art, made me revisit the art-food analogy that hit me earlier in the trip. More beauty-food actually, but the essence of it was that there's a perfect portion, past which there are diminishing returns. Is there only so much beauty at a time you can take in? You have to disengage, digest it, before you can appreciate any more. And yet, just when we thought we were done with beauty, something else came along and blew our minds.

After the museum and the tower, we headed back to the Tokyo Station area and hit up the keitan-sushi place we'd had our eye on. It was everything we'd hoped for. We watched the chefs work and the sushi creations whiz by. It hit me that I was sad to be leaving. All the while, I was ready to come home.

We got our stuff, hauled it to the platform, and made our way to Narita. As the train approached the airport, we heard a recorded announcement: Narita Airport has two terminals--Terminal 1 and Terminal 2. The announcement urged us to exit at the proper terminal: if your flight departs from Terminal 1, exit at the Terminal 1 stop; if it departs from Terminal 2, exit at the Terminal 2 stop. Jay and I waited for them to maybe list which airlines used which terminals--we knew which terminal we needed, but we just thought if they're going to make a point of guiding you to the proper terminal, they may as well provide you with helpful information. This was not the case. It reminded me of a message that came with our last hotel keycard: If you lose your key, you will be locked out.

This, in turn, reminded me of David Sedaris' "When You Are Engulfed in Flames," which I have not read. But I heard him talk about it, and he said that the title is based on emergency exit instructions posted inside a hotel room in Japan. They came in steps: what to do when you smell smoke; what to do when you hear a fire alarm; and what to do when you are engulfed in flames.

Anyway, we exited at the proper terminal, checked in, and wandered around the airport in search of a vending machine. We didn't find one, but next to our gate was--wait for it--a convenience store. They had wasabi KitKats! I wanted to try some, but they only came in a pack of eight (which should make anyone suspicious). Jay got us some green tea ice cream. It was heavenly.

Once on the plane, Jay and I had the same thought: we couldn't wait for sentences to not end with "imasu." Disembarking in Chicago accomplished that for us, although it won't last long: I'll soon take up Rosetta Stone again, just because. Returning has been an adjustment; Japan is such a state of being as well as a physical location.

Mom blog forecast: potential for drama

A.: Hey.
Mom: Hey.
Dad: I saw your pictures.
Mom: I haven't. I haven't had time to look at them.
A.: What'd you think?
Dad: They look great.
A.: Thank you.
Mom: Are you ready for roses?
A.: I don't know.
Mom: I suppose I could plant them, and then dig them out again to bring to you.
A.: Are you coming down?
Mom: We thought we were...
A.: When?
Mom: We talked about coming down for your birthday!
A.: This is news to me, but that's great. Are you driving or flying?
Mom: Driving. We have so much stuff to bring you.
A.: [Sigh] Are you coming for real?
Mom: We can not come.
A.: No--I'd like for you to come down, but I need to know for sure so I don't cancel plans and then you decide that the weather's not good enough to drive down.
Mom: If you have plans, we can amuse ourselves.
A.: That won't be necessary. I just need to know one way or another.
Mom: Go ahead, do your own thing.
A.: Mom, it's fine. I just need to know so I can plan.
Mom: Plan how?
A.: Well, I had plans for Saturday, but those are easy enough to change, but I'll also not plan to do anything for my birthday.
Mom: That's what I'm saying: go ahead and plan something else for your birthday.
A.: That's not how it works. All I'm asking is that you let me know one way or another, and if you decide to come down, you actually commit to it.
Mom: Fine. We're coming for your birthday.
A.: Great!

And I meant it.

And then I'd realized that I may have signed on for another birthday of being told how fat and overbearing I am. We may even be in for some "the way you walk is really not sexy." Did I forget how traumatic their last visit was? I'll also get an earful about everything that's wrong with the house.

Speaking of last spring's traumatic times, I was just thinking how this time last year, I'd also returned home from a fabulous vacation, and spent lots of time cleaning up my photos and writing up my travel notes. But this time, there's no idiot in my house who won't stop talking to me.

Saturday morning roundup

Gail Collins parses the upcoming election.

Jon Stewart, pre-eminent fact-checker of Fox News.

Pearl Cleage's new book gets a mixed review. If you've not read it, her classic, "What Looks Like Crazy on an Ordinary Day" is a great read.

Thursday morning roundup

Poverty and inequality in Japan. They charge $700 for those school uniforms??? On a lighter note, how Japanese is it to dream of going to "vocational school to become a voice actress for animation"?

Earth Day has come to embrace corporate sponsorship over the years, but environmentalists remain rightly wary of "green consumerism."

The volcano-that-shall-not-be-pronounced begot some memorable road trips. And yes, you absolutely "need to look more closely at things like your food sources”!

Lotus flower. This is a passionate topic. How f*ed up is it that residents of DC still lack voting representation in Congress??

While Virginia's governor continues his campaign to return the state to the dark ages, the state's DMV draws the line.

Another reason I'm glad I have a push mower. One of my neighbors across the street recently offered me his old motorized one that he's no longer using, but I politely declined, saying I needed the exercise.

Wednesday evening roundup

Oh, Arizona! Really??

Here's something to help you navigate the humane eggs clusterf*, or at least better know what you're paying for.

Wednesday morning roundup

A District student unwittingly carjacks one of his teachers.

A different kind of housing crisis hits North Dakota.

Jamie Oliver's controversial school lunch campaign gets a positive review.

This may be one of the least appetizing food pictures I've ever seen.

Old Navy thinks I'm pregnant

Have you seen that Times article about how online coupons Big Brother you? And do you remember that "King of Queens" episode (or at least the WSJ piece on it), "My Tivo Thinks I'm Gay"? And how we've all gotten slightly off ads in our Gmail?

Well, just before my trip, I stopped into Old Navy for some last-minute shopping. I like to travel with inexpensive, but well-fitting clothes. I'm much too much of a slob (and indeed, I splattered soba broth on more than one shirt--it's quite a challenge not to, even for a more adroit eater) to travel in expensive clothes. Anyway, as I only realized afterward, one of the shirts I picked up happened to be maternity. It's subtle, hard to tell. But I paid with my Banana card, so they know it was me. And now I'm getting Old Navy Maternity e-mails. (Was; I've unsubscribed).

Were you aware...

Did you know that there were trees in Japan? I wasn't sure, so I decided to document as many of them as possible in photos.

Grist roundup

It's been a slow news week (unless you'd like me to link you to ash cloud developments and financial regulatory bill negotiations). I can direct your attention to Frank Rich's brilliant-as-usual column on "Confederate History Month." Apart from that, it's all about Grist. It is Earth Week, after all.

Unless you have your head up your @$$ or know your farmer, you probably already know that you eat meat at your own risk.

Michelle Obama may be getting slammed by military spouses, but people are coming around to her anti-obesity campaign.

Tom Philpott's always-worthy Choice Nuggets.

Don't settle for nutrition claims; read the ingredients label. And if you think Froot Loops is healthy, I have nothing to say to you. Eat it as dessert if you will, but not as a Smart Choice.

An essay

I loved Garrison Keiller's "Sensible Virtues," until he lost me at "vanilla."

Jay guest- blogs a sake-inspired haiku

Deer in Nara park
Mangy scavengers pooping
Bite kick butt knock down

Vacation

Please check back April 18th, or explore the archives linked in the sidebar in the meantime. I organized the best mom stories under the "classics" label. Enjoy!

Thursday roundup

Detaining, indefinitely, evacuees from the Haitian earthquake is really stupid and cruel.

Gary J. Bass reminds Israel, through a cautionary tale, against overplaying its hand.

Sarah Palin's show won't be featuring LL Cool J after all.

Gail Collins loves invoking Seamus on the roof of the car.

In Dana Milbank's examples of prior first ladies' controversial "positions," those positions were contrary to the then-President's platform, so it's really not the same. I don't think it's fair to accuse Michelle Obama of keeping a low profile at the expense of the President's agenda.