J114 Tuesday August 14th 2007
Right. Continuing recap.
My first day back in Hitachi after my 4-day adventure felt...surreal. Half-real. It was cooler by nearly 5 degrees Celsius, which was almost shockingly cold to my heat-acclimated body. I enjoyed my air conditioner and a nice, cold shower, reveling in my ability to just not be hot or sticky for a little while.
I was messing around on the internet when Josh contacted me, quite out of the blue. Our last geek-out session was a while ago, but it ended nicely. We conversed via cell phone text messaging for a while, but soon he recommended I install Skype and we talk using that method. A few minutes later I had fished out my headset and was finishing installing the program. A quick configuration had me up and running, and soon Josh and I were talking via the power of the Internets.
We chatted as we both surfed online. Our conversation ranged from comics to games to movies. One topic, though, we came back to, again and again. Food. We were both quite hungry, having not had much in the way of food for the day. I had developed a craving for Mexican food, and communicated my plight to my friend. He claimed to be an excellent cook, his mother having instructed him in the culinary arts "so that any wife of his wouldn't do all the work". God bless her. We plotted to meet up and galavant around Hitachi and Hitachi-Naka, the nearest town, in order to accumulate the ingredients for a truly delicious dinner.
We met at Hitachi station around mid-day and took a bus down toward Hitachi-Naka. Hitachi-Naka is a town slightly smaller than Hitachi, directly to the south. Our first stop was Wonder Goo, given that the bus stop nearest to our final destination, a food shop called Yamaya, was literally in front of the media store.
We browsed the shelves of games and DVDs together, marveling at the sheer volume of pristine, yet used, media for super-low prices. I found a copy of the first Conan movie, something I'd been longing to watch for quite some time, and a copy of Nightwatch, a movie I hadn't seen in ages. Josh procured a used PS2 game and a DVD of...ill repute.
We'd spent a few hours just browsing and chatting, and felt the turning of the world. We hoofed it to Yamaya, a brisk 20 minute walk from Wonder Goo. Yamaya is a truly wonderful place, because it sells Western food. Cheap, delicious, Western food. Tortilla chips. Salsa. Pasta. All with English labels, too. So much of it was unhealthy, but then again some of it wasn't. I got a lot of stuff, including some tasty wannabe Wheat-Thins and some dried banana chips.
We purchased our consumables and exited to wait for the bus. Alas, our lack of Japanese language knowledge did not allow us to realize that this particular bus was not running that night. We caught another bus at a (relatively) near-by bus stop and rode back to the Hitachi-Naka train station. We had to wait nearly an hour for the next train, due to the lack of local service this far out in the sticks.
We finally got back to Hitachi and made our way back to my apartment. I had cleaned before I met up with Josh, resulting in a kitchen usable by someone other than me since I moved in. We set about cooking, preparing beans, cooking up a maker full of rice, cutting and cooking chicken, chopping veggies and slicing cheese. I warmed up the laptop for some entertainment. Within an hour, we sat down to a pile of home-cooked burritos.
The original plan was to watch Firefly, which Josh owned but had never seen. The original plan had to be changed, due to the lateness of our dinner's preparation. We tucked in whilst I loaded up some of my prime YouTube favorites.
After eating our fill of burrito, we lounged in Internet Media bliss for an hour or so. The time grew late, and our bellies did a good job of anchoring us to the spot. I offered my couch to Josh, given that I'd taken to using my futon once again, which he happily agreed to. We drifted off to sleep staring at the ceiling, talking softly over the hum of the air conditioner. We watched the dark surfaces of my apartment become briefly painted by silvery light by passing cars as we talked. It was, almost perfectly, like a sleepover from my childhood.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Thursday, August 23, 2007
I'm getting caught up *today*
J113.2 Monday August 13th (again, damnit)
Up I traveled. Up and up a hill that grew steeper with every dozen meters or so. There were many people traversing the road I was on, and many more taking small side streets or ducking into shops. I ran into two middle-aged couples from Connecticut. One of the couple's son was an English teacher in Nara, and they were in town to visit him and see Japan. He had settled down some years ago, marrying a local girl and starting a family. They seemed like travel veterans, though I couldn't help but detect a certain...I'm not quite sure. Not quite like they were looking down on me, but maybe they were...unimpressed? It was strange; neither of the men looked at me directly for more than a few seconds. Nothing negative happened, or was said, but it was still a weird vibe I got from the encounter.
But, nothing could dampen my enthusiasm for the hill. I neared the top of the hill, as indicated by a large swath of trees and greenery that lined where the buildings ended. The street stopped at the foot of some large switchback stairs. I scaled up, catching tantalizing glimpses of old Japanese architecture and bright colors, telltale signs of temples and shrines in this country.
I climbed to the top of the stairs, and beheld the first of many wonders of the Kyomizu temple. A massive gate, painted bright red, shone in the sun like a beacon. Through its shaded arch passed dozens of people every few seconds, and the hilltop was buzzing with people. Hundreds of people sought shelter from the sun in the shade of trees. Many more perused shops, built to resemble Edo/Meji era store fronts, but sporting such modern conveniences as electricity and air conditioning.
Looking down the hill, along a street I had paralleled as I climbed, I saw shop after shop, stretching off into the distance and ultimately disappearing behind the gentle curve of the street. Amongst the crowd was a Buddhist monk, standing quite still with her begging bowl in her praying hands. Her face was hidden by her wide straw hat, but her mouth was visible. She was constantly praying, repeating mantras and sutras in a never-ending half whisper of devotion. Every once in a while someone from the crowd would give her a few coins. She would reciprocate with a long, low bow. I gave some money of my own and joined her in prayer for a few seconds. I turned to the temple complex.
I passed through the gates, enjoying the view of Kyoto the mountainside temple had to offer. Every other person had a camera, and people were always stopping for good shots. It's nice being a photography enthusiast in a country where the camera is so loved; people don't mind when you snap a quick picture or two. In the States, I'd sometimes be met with an odd stare or two, but in Japan people accept my actions without a second thought.
The path I walked along was very broad; wide enough to accept 10 people walking shoulder to shoulder. There were many people, but it never felt crowded thanks to the wide walkways and large amounts of space devoted to pedestrian movement. The first large temple I came to was nice, very low and very wide. Near the donation box was a small set of stairs that went down into darkness. At the top of the stairs was a barker explaining the attraction below the temple.
Carved into the mountain's rock, beneath the temple's floor, was a small cave. Within the cave was a wishing wheel, a large, smooth boulder that had been carved and balanced so as to rotate easily around, like a Lazy Susan. The tunnel was quite dark, and one had to find one's own way. When you found the stone, you were supposed to turn it three times and make a wish. Admission was 100 yen. I was so on that.
I shucked my shoes, carrying them in a plastic bag provided by the temple, and descended into darkness. Just a few feet down, the cool, damp atmosphere of the cave was shockingly different from the heat of the day. It was like wading into a pool of cold water. The cave was also very much pitch black. I heard the hustle above, though, and voices before me, so I knew I wasn't alone. I put my hand to the right wall and walked forward slowly, my left hand held out in front of me so as to feel for incoming objects or people. I stooped a bit, but after lifting my free arm to feel for the ceiling and finding nothing, I stood to my full height, determining the roof to be quite tall.
Around and around I twisted through the inky blackness. The darkness was so complete that I could literally see nothing. No light reflected off of my surroundings. No guide lights or ushers lit my path. The sounds of the temple above were muted by feet of stone and soil and wood. It was quite comforting. The experience was built to evoke being within the safety of the womb, and I must say I certainly felt safe within that darkness.
After a few minutes of walking, I finally came upon the stone. It was lit from above by a single light, hidden by a clever, sharp turn of the tunnel. It seemed to float before my vision as if suspended by magic. It was like I had been blinded and then miraculously cured, and the first thing I saw was this stone. I made my wish and turned the rock, easily done given its size, and felt my way along the tunnel once more.
I found the stairs up, a twin set to the ones I had used to descend, and was greeted by the barker. I used a complimentary stool to put my shoes on, and once again ventured out into the sun. The temple's path lead up to the foot of a tall pagoda, and wrapped around a set of large temples. I followed the crowd, walking onto a large, open-air covered platform suspended above a small mountain valley. Below I saw more people meandering, and across the valley I saw a few small structures poking their spires above the treetops.
The platform was quite wide. In fact, at first, I didn't realize it was a platform; I thought it was just another temple with a large porch, but when I looked over the edge, I saw the massive support beams. The platform fed two large temples, both of which sported rest areas for pilgrims to sit, catch their breath, and recite extended prayers or devotions to the resident kami.
I walked on, finding myself in what almost looked to be a shopping district. A dozen small shrines and other builds had been built into a tiny space. The path split, going ahead in one direction, and doubling back to a higher platform with even more temples in it. I took the high road first, where I was greeted by an interesting sight.
The upper ridge was dominated by a medium-width path of smooth stone tiles. On opposite sides of the path rested two small boulders. According to a sign I found on the far end of the avenue, if a person can walk a straight line from one stone to the other, then they are destined to be with that person forever. If not...well...bad things. I watched several couples attempt it. I say couples, but in reality is was almost exclusively females, with the exception of one male who made the attempt as I watched.
The upper ridge and the lower path met with a modest ridge between them. On this middle ridge were several shrines and temples, but most eye-catching was one building where maiko kept entering and exiting. Maiko are temple maidens in Japan, young women who tend shrines and in general do neat stuff for the temple. It doesn't hurt that their outfit tends to be kind of retro, and just a little bit cute.
After taking a few pictures of a maiko and the surrounding shrines, I moved along. The crowd I was in passed two more temples, these in the shade of the tall trees on the far side of the valley, thanks to the early-setting sun. I forged ahead, thankful for th cool shadows. Alongside the temples in this area were little restaurant-style food shops. Open air tents had been set up to provide shade to patrons whilst they munched on a variety of delicious and cool treats. I decided to save my money, given that I was still possessed of a good bottle of water, and I wasn't that hungry yet.
I next came to a large bridge that spanned another stretch of the valley below. This was the first place that had an entry fee, which I readily paid. 500 yen later, I crossed through a small brass and wood gate, and found myself at the mouth of another temple. A crowd had gathered around some odd instruments, and I investigated. Set within an odd apparatus of wood were three iron implements of...something. Two monk's staves, a small one and a big one, and an over sized pair of geta, were fashioned out of solid iron. These objects were chained and locked in place to their display case, but were exposed to the crowd, allowing people the chance to lift the objects.
I could lift the smaller of the two without too much difficulty. The larger one didn't budge an inch, though; it was like trying to lift a car. The shoes were weighty, but were by far the lightest of the trio, and I could lift them too. A large contingent of Italian (I think) grad students were among the crowd, and amongst the strongest of their number sought to lift the massive implements of faith. The biggest man of the group managed to lift the larger of the two staves about a 4 inches off of the ground, to much applause.
Finally, the path curved to descend into the valley. The crowd passed shrine after shrine, pagoda after temple after graveyard. At the bottom of the valley I looked up and saw the wooden platform I had been perched atop. Crowds still gathered at its lip, looking down on the people below. Rounding a bend, I finally came to the main attraction of the temple: the Kyomizu shrine.
In a small crevasse of the mountain was nestled a stone temple. At its base was a square pool, also fashioned of carved stone. The pool was filled by three spigots that poured never-ending streams of water from the temple's roof. A small line lead up to the temple's body, where I saw people using long-handled ladles to collect the water. Some people drank it, others washed their hands in ritual cleansing. Still others collected it in cups or bottles. People took their time, but the line moved quickly enough.
I drank the rest of my bottled water, so as to have a container of my own, and I stood in line. A booth at the foot of the temple was selling traditional-looking plastic cups, but my water bottle would do nicely. After a few minutes of waiting I got to the front of the line. The ladles were stored in a rack of sterilization chambers. The little boxes used high-powered UV light to quickly kill any and all critters that clung to the dippers, for which I was thankful. I pulled a ladle from the rack and positioned myself under the temple's overhang. With a bit of wrangling, I managed to fill my bottle with the cold mountain spring water. I took a long pull from my ladle after filling it, enjoying the taste of untreated spring water. It had a slight mineral taste, with a hint of sulfur to it, but it was quite refreshing.
I tried to make my way back to the UV rack, but my passage was blocked by the crowd. A Japanese man further back in the crowd saw my plight and kindly took my ladle, replacing it himself. I thanked him and walked on.
The path turned downhill quickly, returning me to where I had first climbed the steps at the top of the mighty hill. A small snack stand, similar to the ones I'd seen within the temple, was off to the side, and I decided to get some food. It had been a long time since I'd eaten, and I was feeling it. I ordered a bowl of shaved ice (lemon flavored) and a plate of dango. Dango is a traditional Japanese treat; little, chewy balls of dough served on long bamboo skewers, slathered in a semi-sweet sauce.
The treats were delicious, but extremely sweet to my sugar-starved tongue. I've given up most sugary foods now that I'm here, and eating these confections was like drinking corn syrup from a hose.
I climbed the stairs once again and walked down the shop-lined hill I had missed on the way up. Tons and tons of tourist merchandise was for sale in these shops. I stopped at a confectioner's shop and bought a box of sweets for the office. Thin sheets of rice goo folded over small dollops of dark, sweet chocolate. Delicious.
The crowds were thinning, but the shops were still open. I saw book shops and souvenir stands. Several shops sold prayer beads like the one I had purchased at the mausoleum. The beads ranged from the affordable and simple to the ornate and expensive. They also had massive recreations of prayer beads, both short bracelets and long necklaces, that were as tall as a child. The wooden beads that composed these behemoths were easily the size of my fist. For the goth crowd (though I'm sure such is not the target audience of the original designer) there were prayer beads made from tiny skulls.
I meandered my way down the hill, pausing to catch pictures of the people and structures I saw. A pair of geisha were decked out in their full attire, posing for pictures with what looked to be a professional photographer. I snapped a few shots of my own, along with a small crowd. A large pagoda sprung from behind a building, dominating the hillside. At long last I left the fantastic area of old-fashioned shops and found myself once again on the mundane streets of Kyoto. It was getting late, now, nearing 5 PM, and I knew that I had to get to the station soon to book a trip back home.
I started walking toward the station, realizing that I'd wound up not too far from where I'd exited the overcrowded bus earlier that morning. It felt like years had passed since then. I walked along, knowing roughly where I was going, but not quite sure. I asked a passerby, a young man in a motorcycle jacket carrying a helmet, for directions. He said that he was going to the station himself, and that I could follow him. I fell in beside him, pausing every few minutes to snap a few shots of a cool monument or building. We were walking toward the setting sun, making for striking photo opportunities.
After 20 minutes of walking, we arrived at Kyoto station. I thanked my guide and hurried to the coin lockers to retrieve my blue duffel once again. I made my way to the station's ticket office and was able to get an attendant who spoke a little English. I still try to use as much Japanese as I possibly can when I talk to English speakers, but it's nice to know that they can help if I can't remember the right words.
I purchased a Shinkansen ticket that would take me to Tokyo, and then a local ticket that would take me home to Hitachi. I lugged my baggage to the platform and waited for my train. The platform was open to the air, and offered a truly majestic view of the city. The wide, low-lipped bowl of the mountains that cradled Kyoto were aflame with the setting sun, and the entire city seemed for a moment fashioned out of brass. Clouds had begun to creep up from beyond the eastern mountains, and made for a dramatic sky to compliment the sun-colored city.
I boarded my train at around 6:30PM, thankful for the lack of crowds. After a few minutes of waiting the train took off, accelerating out of the gate quickly. I got a final view of Kyoto as the dark clouds above quickened the coming night, lit from below by the last rays of the sun. The city was nearing darkness itself, its lights quickly coming on in an aggregate of pinpoints of white.
The mountains beyond Kyoto were wreathed in what looked like storm clouds, providing a dramatic exit to the city. Try as I might, I fell into a light slumber soon after, rousing myself to purchase a few sandwiches from the food cart as the attendant paced the aisle.
I arrived in Tokyo a little more than an hour and a half later, making my way through that city's mass transit system as best I could. A quick hop on the Yamanote line found me in Ueno, where I boarded a crowded Rapid local train to Hitachi. At first there was no room to sit, but as the train shed passengers I found a seat.
For hours more the train made its way north, passing ever-more familiar towns and cities as I neared my home. We stopped for nearly an hour at one point, prompting me to worry somewhat about my travel choice, but we were underway soon enough. A madman sat across from me, muttering in varying volumes in Japanese and practicing his baseball pitching skills whilst the train was stopped. Like all man-children he wore shorts that were too short. Why is that?
Finally, after what felt like years, the train pulled in to Hitachi station. I hailed a cab and dragged my worn out body up the stairs. I collapsed onto my futon and slept, marveling as I drifted off to sleep at my adventure. I had traveled farther than I ever had in Japan before, a trip of over 1000 kilometers. I had done it completely improvisational. And it worked.
Good night, readers.
Up I traveled. Up and up a hill that grew steeper with every dozen meters or so. There were many people traversing the road I was on, and many more taking small side streets or ducking into shops. I ran into two middle-aged couples from Connecticut. One of the couple's son was an English teacher in Nara, and they were in town to visit him and see Japan. He had settled down some years ago, marrying a local girl and starting a family. They seemed like travel veterans, though I couldn't help but detect a certain...I'm not quite sure. Not quite like they were looking down on me, but maybe they were...unimpressed? It was strange; neither of the men looked at me directly for more than a few seconds. Nothing negative happened, or was said, but it was still a weird vibe I got from the encounter.
But, nothing could dampen my enthusiasm for the hill. I neared the top of the hill, as indicated by a large swath of trees and greenery that lined where the buildings ended. The street stopped at the foot of some large switchback stairs. I scaled up, catching tantalizing glimpses of old Japanese architecture and bright colors, telltale signs of temples and shrines in this country.
I climbed to the top of the stairs, and beheld the first of many wonders of the Kyomizu temple. A massive gate, painted bright red, shone in the sun like a beacon. Through its shaded arch passed dozens of people every few seconds, and the hilltop was buzzing with people. Hundreds of people sought shelter from the sun in the shade of trees. Many more perused shops, built to resemble Edo/Meji era store fronts, but sporting such modern conveniences as electricity and air conditioning.
Looking down the hill, along a street I had paralleled as I climbed, I saw shop after shop, stretching off into the distance and ultimately disappearing behind the gentle curve of the street. Amongst the crowd was a Buddhist monk, standing quite still with her begging bowl in her praying hands. Her face was hidden by her wide straw hat, but her mouth was visible. She was constantly praying, repeating mantras and sutras in a never-ending half whisper of devotion. Every once in a while someone from the crowd would give her a few coins. She would reciprocate with a long, low bow. I gave some money of my own and joined her in prayer for a few seconds. I turned to the temple complex.
I passed through the gates, enjoying the view of Kyoto the mountainside temple had to offer. Every other person had a camera, and people were always stopping for good shots. It's nice being a photography enthusiast in a country where the camera is so loved; people don't mind when you snap a quick picture or two. In the States, I'd sometimes be met with an odd stare or two, but in Japan people accept my actions without a second thought.
The path I walked along was very broad; wide enough to accept 10 people walking shoulder to shoulder. There were many people, but it never felt crowded thanks to the wide walkways and large amounts of space devoted to pedestrian movement. The first large temple I came to was nice, very low and very wide. Near the donation box was a small set of stairs that went down into darkness. At the top of the stairs was a barker explaining the attraction below the temple.
Carved into the mountain's rock, beneath the temple's floor, was a small cave. Within the cave was a wishing wheel, a large, smooth boulder that had been carved and balanced so as to rotate easily around, like a Lazy Susan. The tunnel was quite dark, and one had to find one's own way. When you found the stone, you were supposed to turn it three times and make a wish. Admission was 100 yen. I was so on that.
I shucked my shoes, carrying them in a plastic bag provided by the temple, and descended into darkness. Just a few feet down, the cool, damp atmosphere of the cave was shockingly different from the heat of the day. It was like wading into a pool of cold water. The cave was also very much pitch black. I heard the hustle above, though, and voices before me, so I knew I wasn't alone. I put my hand to the right wall and walked forward slowly, my left hand held out in front of me so as to feel for incoming objects or people. I stooped a bit, but after lifting my free arm to feel for the ceiling and finding nothing, I stood to my full height, determining the roof to be quite tall.
Around and around I twisted through the inky blackness. The darkness was so complete that I could literally see nothing. No light reflected off of my surroundings. No guide lights or ushers lit my path. The sounds of the temple above were muted by feet of stone and soil and wood. It was quite comforting. The experience was built to evoke being within the safety of the womb, and I must say I certainly felt safe within that darkness.
After a few minutes of walking, I finally came upon the stone. It was lit from above by a single light, hidden by a clever, sharp turn of the tunnel. It seemed to float before my vision as if suspended by magic. It was like I had been blinded and then miraculously cured, and the first thing I saw was this stone. I made my wish and turned the rock, easily done given its size, and felt my way along the tunnel once more.
I found the stairs up, a twin set to the ones I had used to descend, and was greeted by the barker. I used a complimentary stool to put my shoes on, and once again ventured out into the sun. The temple's path lead up to the foot of a tall pagoda, and wrapped around a set of large temples. I followed the crowd, walking onto a large, open-air covered platform suspended above a small mountain valley. Below I saw more people meandering, and across the valley I saw a few small structures poking their spires above the treetops.
The platform was quite wide. In fact, at first, I didn't realize it was a platform; I thought it was just another temple with a large porch, but when I looked over the edge, I saw the massive support beams. The platform fed two large temples, both of which sported rest areas for pilgrims to sit, catch their breath, and recite extended prayers or devotions to the resident kami.
I walked on, finding myself in what almost looked to be a shopping district. A dozen small shrines and other builds had been built into a tiny space. The path split, going ahead in one direction, and doubling back to a higher platform with even more temples in it. I took the high road first, where I was greeted by an interesting sight.
The upper ridge was dominated by a medium-width path of smooth stone tiles. On opposite sides of the path rested two small boulders. According to a sign I found on the far end of the avenue, if a person can walk a straight line from one stone to the other, then they are destined to be with that person forever. If not...well...bad things. I watched several couples attempt it. I say couples, but in reality is was almost exclusively females, with the exception of one male who made the attempt as I watched.
The upper ridge and the lower path met with a modest ridge between them. On this middle ridge were several shrines and temples, but most eye-catching was one building where maiko kept entering and exiting. Maiko are temple maidens in Japan, young women who tend shrines and in general do neat stuff for the temple. It doesn't hurt that their outfit tends to be kind of retro, and just a little bit cute.
After taking a few pictures of a maiko and the surrounding shrines, I moved along. The crowd I was in passed two more temples, these in the shade of the tall trees on the far side of the valley, thanks to the early-setting sun. I forged ahead, thankful for th cool shadows. Alongside the temples in this area were little restaurant-style food shops. Open air tents had been set up to provide shade to patrons whilst they munched on a variety of delicious and cool treats. I decided to save my money, given that I was still possessed of a good bottle of water, and I wasn't that hungry yet.
I next came to a large bridge that spanned another stretch of the valley below. This was the first place that had an entry fee, which I readily paid. 500 yen later, I crossed through a small brass and wood gate, and found myself at the mouth of another temple. A crowd had gathered around some odd instruments, and I investigated. Set within an odd apparatus of wood were three iron implements of...something. Two monk's staves, a small one and a big one, and an over sized pair of geta, were fashioned out of solid iron. These objects were chained and locked in place to their display case, but were exposed to the crowd, allowing people the chance to lift the objects.
I could lift the smaller of the two without too much difficulty. The larger one didn't budge an inch, though; it was like trying to lift a car. The shoes were weighty, but were by far the lightest of the trio, and I could lift them too. A large contingent of Italian (I think) grad students were among the crowd, and amongst the strongest of their number sought to lift the massive implements of faith. The biggest man of the group managed to lift the larger of the two staves about a 4 inches off of the ground, to much applause.
Finally, the path curved to descend into the valley. The crowd passed shrine after shrine, pagoda after temple after graveyard. At the bottom of the valley I looked up and saw the wooden platform I had been perched atop. Crowds still gathered at its lip, looking down on the people below. Rounding a bend, I finally came to the main attraction of the temple: the Kyomizu shrine.
In a small crevasse of the mountain was nestled a stone temple. At its base was a square pool, also fashioned of carved stone. The pool was filled by three spigots that poured never-ending streams of water from the temple's roof. A small line lead up to the temple's body, where I saw people using long-handled ladles to collect the water. Some people drank it, others washed their hands in ritual cleansing. Still others collected it in cups or bottles. People took their time, but the line moved quickly enough.
I drank the rest of my bottled water, so as to have a container of my own, and I stood in line. A booth at the foot of the temple was selling traditional-looking plastic cups, but my water bottle would do nicely. After a few minutes of waiting I got to the front of the line. The ladles were stored in a rack of sterilization chambers. The little boxes used high-powered UV light to quickly kill any and all critters that clung to the dippers, for which I was thankful. I pulled a ladle from the rack and positioned myself under the temple's overhang. With a bit of wrangling, I managed to fill my bottle with the cold mountain spring water. I took a long pull from my ladle after filling it, enjoying the taste of untreated spring water. It had a slight mineral taste, with a hint of sulfur to it, but it was quite refreshing.
I tried to make my way back to the UV rack, but my passage was blocked by the crowd. A Japanese man further back in the crowd saw my plight and kindly took my ladle, replacing it himself. I thanked him and walked on.
The path turned downhill quickly, returning me to where I had first climbed the steps at the top of the mighty hill. A small snack stand, similar to the ones I'd seen within the temple, was off to the side, and I decided to get some food. It had been a long time since I'd eaten, and I was feeling it. I ordered a bowl of shaved ice (lemon flavored) and a plate of dango. Dango is a traditional Japanese treat; little, chewy balls of dough served on long bamboo skewers, slathered in a semi-sweet sauce.
The treats were delicious, but extremely sweet to my sugar-starved tongue. I've given up most sugary foods now that I'm here, and eating these confections was like drinking corn syrup from a hose.
I climbed the stairs once again and walked down the shop-lined hill I had missed on the way up. Tons and tons of tourist merchandise was for sale in these shops. I stopped at a confectioner's shop and bought a box of sweets for the office. Thin sheets of rice goo folded over small dollops of dark, sweet chocolate. Delicious.
The crowds were thinning, but the shops were still open. I saw book shops and souvenir stands. Several shops sold prayer beads like the one I had purchased at the mausoleum. The beads ranged from the affordable and simple to the ornate and expensive. They also had massive recreations of prayer beads, both short bracelets and long necklaces, that were as tall as a child. The wooden beads that composed these behemoths were easily the size of my fist. For the goth crowd (though I'm sure such is not the target audience of the original designer) there were prayer beads made from tiny skulls.
I meandered my way down the hill, pausing to catch pictures of the people and structures I saw. A pair of geisha were decked out in their full attire, posing for pictures with what looked to be a professional photographer. I snapped a few shots of my own, along with a small crowd. A large pagoda sprung from behind a building, dominating the hillside. At long last I left the fantastic area of old-fashioned shops and found myself once again on the mundane streets of Kyoto. It was getting late, now, nearing 5 PM, and I knew that I had to get to the station soon to book a trip back home.
I started walking toward the station, realizing that I'd wound up not too far from where I'd exited the overcrowded bus earlier that morning. It felt like years had passed since then. I walked along, knowing roughly where I was going, but not quite sure. I asked a passerby, a young man in a motorcycle jacket carrying a helmet, for directions. He said that he was going to the station himself, and that I could follow him. I fell in beside him, pausing every few minutes to snap a few shots of a cool monument or building. We were walking toward the setting sun, making for striking photo opportunities.
After 20 minutes of walking, we arrived at Kyoto station. I thanked my guide and hurried to the coin lockers to retrieve my blue duffel once again. I made my way to the station's ticket office and was able to get an attendant who spoke a little English. I still try to use as much Japanese as I possibly can when I talk to English speakers, but it's nice to know that they can help if I can't remember the right words.
I purchased a Shinkansen ticket that would take me to Tokyo, and then a local ticket that would take me home to Hitachi. I lugged my baggage to the platform and waited for my train. The platform was open to the air, and offered a truly majestic view of the city. The wide, low-lipped bowl of the mountains that cradled Kyoto were aflame with the setting sun, and the entire city seemed for a moment fashioned out of brass. Clouds had begun to creep up from beyond the eastern mountains, and made for a dramatic sky to compliment the sun-colored city.
I boarded my train at around 6:30PM, thankful for the lack of crowds. After a few minutes of waiting the train took off, accelerating out of the gate quickly. I got a final view of Kyoto as the dark clouds above quickened the coming night, lit from below by the last rays of the sun. The city was nearing darkness itself, its lights quickly coming on in an aggregate of pinpoints of white.
The mountains beyond Kyoto were wreathed in what looked like storm clouds, providing a dramatic exit to the city. Try as I might, I fell into a light slumber soon after, rousing myself to purchase a few sandwiches from the food cart as the attendant paced the aisle.
I arrived in Tokyo a little more than an hour and a half later, making my way through that city's mass transit system as best I could. A quick hop on the Yamanote line found me in Ueno, where I boarded a crowded Rapid local train to Hitachi. At first there was no room to sit, but as the train shed passengers I found a seat.
For hours more the train made its way north, passing ever-more familiar towns and cities as I neared my home. We stopped for nearly an hour at one point, prompting me to worry somewhat about my travel choice, but we were underway soon enough. A madman sat across from me, muttering in varying volumes in Japanese and practicing his baseball pitching skills whilst the train was stopped. Like all man-children he wore shorts that were too short. Why is that?
Finally, after what felt like years, the train pulled in to Hitachi station. I hailed a cab and dragged my worn out body up the stairs. I collapsed onto my futon and slept, marveling as I drifted off to sleep at my adventure. I had traveled farther than I ever had in Japan before, a trip of over 1000 kilometers. I had done it completely improvisational. And it worked.
Good night, readers.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
The dead keep it...
J113.1 Monday August 13th (again)
When last we left our intrepid explorer, he was about to enter the mysterious temple of Nishi Otani.
Through the gates was a wide plaza. I went into what looked like a visitor's center, which was packed, but quickly exited given that there was no information about what exactly this place was. It was different from a normal temple or shrine for two reasons: one, it had a lot more people in it than I'd ever seen, and two, it had modern buildings within the temple grounds. Japanese temples don't have modern architecture within their walls, for the most part, but Otani had two large, linked modern structures.
I went through a second set of gates to find myself facing a familiar style; that of the main temple. Two or three dozen people surrounded the temple's main entrance at any given time, though the crowd was constantly shifting. Some came and others left, but always there was a crowd. Heavy clouds of thick incense-smoke billowed from within the crowd, bringing an oddly soporific feeling to the temple grounds.
As I neared, I saw that people were engaged in a series of devotional activities. Some were lighting prayer candles in massive brass lanterns on either side of the temple's door. Others were lighting incense in a large wooden box situated beneath the temple's awning. Still more were leaving offerings of food, drink, trinkets and flowers on a series of wide tables that flanked the donation box. Still others were casting monetary offerings into the donation box. Everyone was praying, but whereas I'd seen Japanese people pray at temples before, I saw they were sporting a new accessory. They were using bracelets of prayer beads. They would be carried either in a bag or on the wrist, but when it came time to pray, they pressed their hands together in the standard Judeo-Christian method and put their joined hands through the loop of beads.
It was an interesting gesture; at once familiar and alien. The beads were many and varied, with each person sporting a different style.
I took a few pictures of the events, gave my own donation to the temple and prayed, bare-handed. I set off to explore more of the temple grounds. One large, traditional, Japanese building was undergoing repairs or renovations, and was off-limits to the public. Another, located at the far end of the temple plaza, was a building for Buddhist services. On the south side of the plaza was the entrance to the larger of the modern buildings, a twin structure linked by a broad causeway. I ventured forth and into one of the buildings, not knowing what lay within. I stepped into a modest but elegant decor. It was very cool and very quiet, with the occasional whispered word or clear chime of a bell or gong echoing down the many passages.
Elevators serviced what I could only assume were multiple floors, and I walked from the lobby into a carpeted section of person-height rows of shelves. It almost looked like a library, except the shelves had no books. Instead, they sported a series of gilded double doors. I saw a few families there, one of which had opened one set of the small brass doors, revealing what looked like a tiny shrine. Flowers and offerings of sake and food adorned the tiny shrines, and that's when I realized what this place was.
It was a mausoleum.
The remains of thousands of people lay quiet and still in tiny family shrines. Families came here to pay respects to deceased relatives, bringing children to pay respects for grandparents who never met them while they lived.
I was still for a moment, taking in the love that echoed through the years. This was a sacred place, and I could almost feel the familial pride emanating in gentle waves from the miniature tombs that surrounded me. Everywhere was cast in soft, brassy light, and despite the air conditioned interior, I felt a sense of comfort and tranquility.
I left the mausoleum and entered the causeway that linked the buildings with the information center. I tried to find a strand of prayer beads for my own, as there were several stands selling them within the temple grounds, but my hands were a bit too big for the ones I found.
When I entered the visitor's center again I saw a small souvenir shop stuffed into the building's back corner. Amongst the many things to purchase were more prayer beads, and I took my time to see if I could find any that fit. At last, I found one that seemed right. It was still a bit tight, but not prohibitively so. It was also affordable, which is always a nice bonus!
I left the temple via the garden again, this time walking a shaded path that put me back on the street near where I'd met the old man and his family. I consulted my map and determined my location to be near the next place I'd wanted to investigate: Kyomizu Temple.
I followed the crowds once again, up a long and steep hill, not knowing what I would find at the top.
Next time, faithful readers, I'll finish my tale of Kyoto.
When last we left our intrepid explorer, he was about to enter the mysterious temple of Nishi Otani.
Through the gates was a wide plaza. I went into what looked like a visitor's center, which was packed, but quickly exited given that there was no information about what exactly this place was. It was different from a normal temple or shrine for two reasons: one, it had a lot more people in it than I'd ever seen, and two, it had modern buildings within the temple grounds. Japanese temples don't have modern architecture within their walls, for the most part, but Otani had two large, linked modern structures.
I went through a second set of gates to find myself facing a familiar style; that of the main temple. Two or three dozen people surrounded the temple's main entrance at any given time, though the crowd was constantly shifting. Some came and others left, but always there was a crowd. Heavy clouds of thick incense-smoke billowed from within the crowd, bringing an oddly soporific feeling to the temple grounds.
As I neared, I saw that people were engaged in a series of devotional activities. Some were lighting prayer candles in massive brass lanterns on either side of the temple's door. Others were lighting incense in a large wooden box situated beneath the temple's awning. Still more were leaving offerings of food, drink, trinkets and flowers on a series of wide tables that flanked the donation box. Still others were casting monetary offerings into the donation box. Everyone was praying, but whereas I'd seen Japanese people pray at temples before, I saw they were sporting a new accessory. They were using bracelets of prayer beads. They would be carried either in a bag or on the wrist, but when it came time to pray, they pressed their hands together in the standard Judeo-Christian method and put their joined hands through the loop of beads.
It was an interesting gesture; at once familiar and alien. The beads were many and varied, with each person sporting a different style.
I took a few pictures of the events, gave my own donation to the temple and prayed, bare-handed. I set off to explore more of the temple grounds. One large, traditional, Japanese building was undergoing repairs or renovations, and was off-limits to the public. Another, located at the far end of the temple plaza, was a building for Buddhist services. On the south side of the plaza was the entrance to the larger of the modern buildings, a twin structure linked by a broad causeway. I ventured forth and into one of the buildings, not knowing what lay within. I stepped into a modest but elegant decor. It was very cool and very quiet, with the occasional whispered word or clear chime of a bell or gong echoing down the many passages.
Elevators serviced what I could only assume were multiple floors, and I walked from the lobby into a carpeted section of person-height rows of shelves. It almost looked like a library, except the shelves had no books. Instead, they sported a series of gilded double doors. I saw a few families there, one of which had opened one set of the small brass doors, revealing what looked like a tiny shrine. Flowers and offerings of sake and food adorned the tiny shrines, and that's when I realized what this place was.
It was a mausoleum.
The remains of thousands of people lay quiet and still in tiny family shrines. Families came here to pay respects to deceased relatives, bringing children to pay respects for grandparents who never met them while they lived.
I was still for a moment, taking in the love that echoed through the years. This was a sacred place, and I could almost feel the familial pride emanating in gentle waves from the miniature tombs that surrounded me. Everywhere was cast in soft, brassy light, and despite the air conditioned interior, I felt a sense of comfort and tranquility.
I left the mausoleum and entered the causeway that linked the buildings with the information center. I tried to find a strand of prayer beads for my own, as there were several stands selling them within the temple grounds, but my hands were a bit too big for the ones I found.
When I entered the visitor's center again I saw a small souvenir shop stuffed into the building's back corner. Amongst the many things to purchase were more prayer beads, and I took my time to see if I could find any that fit. At last, I found one that seemed right. It was still a bit tight, but not prohibitively so. It was also affordable, which is always a nice bonus!
I left the temple via the garden again, this time walking a shaded path that put me back on the street near where I'd met the old man and his family. I consulted my map and determined my location to be near the next place I'd wanted to investigate: Kyomizu Temple.
I followed the crowds once again, up a long and steep hill, not knowing what I would find at the top.
Next time, faithful readers, I'll finish my tale of Kyoto.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Pure Water
J113 Monday August 13th
Up and at 'em!
I heard two people coming in the guest house just before I fell asleep the night before; Mrs. Tani had rented out the other room to some guests. I couldn't tell anything from the sounds they made; they were very quiet and considerate. I did know there were two of them, though.
Some time earlier in the morning, before I had woken up, Mrs. Tani had left some breakfast for myself and her other two guests. Ninja-like in her undetectability, she had left a loaf of bread, some jam, and a small basket of pastries. I enjoyed a pastry, not knowing how hungry the other guests would be.
I had a quick shower in the tiniest shower ever. My bathroom was about two and a half feet wide and maybe 6 feet long, with the door and the toilet on opposite sides of the room's longest dimension. The entire room was, also, the shower stall. I made sure to keep the water nice and cool, and had a nice, brisk shower.
After I dressed, I walked back out into the kitchen. The other guests had appeared, and were enjoying breakfast. They were an Italian couple, Maulo and Clara. They had gotten in after I did the night before. They, like so many other foreigners I had met in Kyoto, were on vacation. I recommended Kinkakuji and Nijo castle to them while they munched on pastries and toast.
After a few minutes of story swapping, I figured it was time to head out for the day. I donned my swim suit, it being the only clean pair of shorts I had left, and headed out into the day.
The next point I am going to make is very important. It is intended for men, but merely due to the fact of our differing physiognomy compared to the female gender. I am sure, though, given the fact that this is an infinite universe, that women have and will be met with the same, or at least a similar, problem.
Do not wear a swimsuit instead of pants.
There may be exceptions to this rule. Zombie attacks are, perhaps, situations where one's decision time for clothing is hampered. Yeowza.
Weighed down as I was, with my swimsuit doing horrific things to my undercarriage, I sought relief. I hopped on the bus and headed for the big Denki my hotel-finding friends had suggested the night before. I found the place with no problems, thanks to their excellent map-making skills, and found myself in a wonderland of electronic capitalism.
I found the digicam section without trouble, and within I found the perfect card; a nice big 2-gig number for about 3400 yen. It wasn't as good a deal as I could find in Akihabara, but given that that shopping district was over 500 kilometers away, I made do. I purchased the memory card, a memory card case (for the wrong size, but it does the job well enough) and a neck-strap. I had carried my camera by hand the day before, and though that was nice, it made handling anything else, like food or drink, difficult at best.
After acquiring my purchases, I located the nearest bathroom and made some adjustments to my clothing options. I put on my awesome safari shorts. These things are a nice, dusty olive color and have more pockets than God. They're a little loose (best problem to ever have) but my new belt does the trick just fine. I performed the operation whilst straddling a Japanese squatter toilet, which was quite an adventure. Luckily I had no mishaps, and emerged from the stall reequipped and ready for action.
I paused at the exit hall of the denki to swap memory cards and install my new neck strap. I also purchased a Pokemon cellphone strap thingie, 'cause it was cool. I wondered how I was going to get back to the station, to stash my big bag again, and as if by providence, I saw that the denki was, literally, across the street from one of the local train stations.
I strode across and hopped the next train to the station, a local that gave me a cool elevated view of the city. I stowed my bag once again and was ready for sight seeing galore! I wanted to explore the city's eastern side, given that it had a large number of temples and shrines that I'd been urged to visit. I calculated the bus to take and went to the bus platform, but was met with a truly titanic line. I was lucky enough to stand in a patch of shade, but still the day's heat swaddled me like a thick blanket. After nearly 20 minutes of waiting the correct bus arrived, and the line slowly filled it up. I was the last one aboard, with every seat filled and the aisle similarly packed. I myself was standing in the stair well in the rear of the bus.
I managed to hop up onto an equipment casing that was beneath an AC vent, saving my feet, keeping me cool, and providing a little more room for the other passengers. Alas, this was not the best bus ride in the world. Not only was it super-crowded, but traffic was very, very bad. Today was the start of Obon, a week-long holiday that's similar to Thanksgiving in the States, and everyone was going home to visit family (living and dead).
We inched along within the bus, lurching back and forth as the driver navigated traffic. We stopped every once in a while to take on new passengers, and despite the crazed packed nature of the bus others still crammed in. After nearly 30 minutes of this kind of driving, I had figured it would be faster to just walk. I got off at the next stop, where a bus attendant was gathering bus fare in his hat. I was glad to be free of the crush and I examined my surroundings.
I was near a large temple of some sort, hidden within greenery, and saw large crowds streaming in roughly the same direction. Remember what I said about crowds yesterday? So, I followed the lines and found myself staring at a small pond. I took a break in the shade, enjoying some Aquarius (a nice sports drink) and trying to cool off after being in the bus. An older gentleman stood next to me, and started up a conversation in simple English.
He informed me of Obon's beginning and the name of the temple we were looking at, Nishi Otani. I met his family; his daughter and wife, and his toddler granddaughter. I waved hello to the little girl and was met with adorable shyness. Her grandfather told me that I was the first foreigner she had ever seen, which only made me smile more. She and her mom were keeping cool with a big bowl of shaved ice.
I said farewell and headed into Otani. The walkway was being decorated with paper lanterns by a few men on ladders in preparation for the night's festivities, and many people were walking to and from the temple's massive gates.
What did I see within the temple? Only time will tell, faithful reader, for the time has come for me to do my morning calisthenics and head in to work.
Up and at 'em!
I heard two people coming in the guest house just before I fell asleep the night before; Mrs. Tani had rented out the other room to some guests. I couldn't tell anything from the sounds they made; they were very quiet and considerate. I did know there were two of them, though.
Some time earlier in the morning, before I had woken up, Mrs. Tani had left some breakfast for myself and her other two guests. Ninja-like in her undetectability, she had left a loaf of bread, some jam, and a small basket of pastries. I enjoyed a pastry, not knowing how hungry the other guests would be.
I had a quick shower in the tiniest shower ever. My bathroom was about two and a half feet wide and maybe 6 feet long, with the door and the toilet on opposite sides of the room's longest dimension. The entire room was, also, the shower stall. I made sure to keep the water nice and cool, and had a nice, brisk shower.
After I dressed, I walked back out into the kitchen. The other guests had appeared, and were enjoying breakfast. They were an Italian couple, Maulo and Clara. They had gotten in after I did the night before. They, like so many other foreigners I had met in Kyoto, were on vacation. I recommended Kinkakuji and Nijo castle to them while they munched on pastries and toast.
After a few minutes of story swapping, I figured it was time to head out for the day. I donned my swim suit, it being the only clean pair of shorts I had left, and headed out into the day.
The next point I am going to make is very important. It is intended for men, but merely due to the fact of our differing physiognomy compared to the female gender. I am sure, though, given the fact that this is an infinite universe, that women have and will be met with the same, or at least a similar, problem.
Do not wear a swimsuit instead of pants.
There may be exceptions to this rule. Zombie attacks are, perhaps, situations where one's decision time for clothing is hampered. Yeowza.
Weighed down as I was, with my swimsuit doing horrific things to my undercarriage, I sought relief. I hopped on the bus and headed for the big Denki my hotel-finding friends had suggested the night before. I found the place with no problems, thanks to their excellent map-making skills, and found myself in a wonderland of electronic capitalism.
I found the digicam section without trouble, and within I found the perfect card; a nice big 2-gig number for about 3400 yen. It wasn't as good a deal as I could find in Akihabara, but given that that shopping district was over 500 kilometers away, I made do. I purchased the memory card, a memory card case (for the wrong size, but it does the job well enough) and a neck-strap. I had carried my camera by hand the day before, and though that was nice, it made handling anything else, like food or drink, difficult at best.
After acquiring my purchases, I located the nearest bathroom and made some adjustments to my clothing options. I put on my awesome safari shorts. These things are a nice, dusty olive color and have more pockets than God. They're a little loose (best problem to ever have) but my new belt does the trick just fine. I performed the operation whilst straddling a Japanese squatter toilet, which was quite an adventure. Luckily I had no mishaps, and emerged from the stall reequipped and ready for action.
I paused at the exit hall of the denki to swap memory cards and install my new neck strap. I also purchased a Pokemon cellphone strap thingie, 'cause it was cool. I wondered how I was going to get back to the station, to stash my big bag again, and as if by providence, I saw that the denki was, literally, across the street from one of the local train stations.
I strode across and hopped the next train to the station, a local that gave me a cool elevated view of the city. I stowed my bag once again and was ready for sight seeing galore! I wanted to explore the city's eastern side, given that it had a large number of temples and shrines that I'd been urged to visit. I calculated the bus to take and went to the bus platform, but was met with a truly titanic line. I was lucky enough to stand in a patch of shade, but still the day's heat swaddled me like a thick blanket. After nearly 20 minutes of waiting the correct bus arrived, and the line slowly filled it up. I was the last one aboard, with every seat filled and the aisle similarly packed. I myself was standing in the stair well in the rear of the bus.
I managed to hop up onto an equipment casing that was beneath an AC vent, saving my feet, keeping me cool, and providing a little more room for the other passengers. Alas, this was not the best bus ride in the world. Not only was it super-crowded, but traffic was very, very bad. Today was the start of Obon, a week-long holiday that's similar to Thanksgiving in the States, and everyone was going home to visit family (living and dead).
We inched along within the bus, lurching back and forth as the driver navigated traffic. We stopped every once in a while to take on new passengers, and despite the crazed packed nature of the bus others still crammed in. After nearly 30 minutes of this kind of driving, I had figured it would be faster to just walk. I got off at the next stop, where a bus attendant was gathering bus fare in his hat. I was glad to be free of the crush and I examined my surroundings.
I was near a large temple of some sort, hidden within greenery, and saw large crowds streaming in roughly the same direction. Remember what I said about crowds yesterday? So, I followed the lines and found myself staring at a small pond. I took a break in the shade, enjoying some Aquarius (a nice sports drink) and trying to cool off after being in the bus. An older gentleman stood next to me, and started up a conversation in simple English.
He informed me of Obon's beginning and the name of the temple we were looking at, Nishi Otani. I met his family; his daughter and wife, and his toddler granddaughter. I waved hello to the little girl and was met with adorable shyness. Her grandfather told me that I was the first foreigner she had ever seen, which only made me smile more. She and her mom were keeping cool with a big bowl of shaved ice.
I said farewell and headed into Otani. The walkway was being decorated with paper lanterns by a few men on ladders in preparation for the night's festivities, and many people were walking to and from the temple's massive gates.
What did I see within the temple? Only time will tell, faithful reader, for the time has come for me to do my morning calisthenics and head in to work.
Castle!
J112.1 Sunday August 12th (part 2)
Right, where was I? Ah, the katana shop. Every time I'm in a store that sells weapons, I have that fantasy. You know the one; where ninjas or robots or something bursts in? Yeah. They just burst in the glass and demand the deed to the store or something. Then you say some witty one-liner and grab the nearest sword and just go to town.
...
Yeah...I totally do that. It's the kid in me.
Anyway. After I got done drooling over th beautiful swords, I decided to check out the castle. It is huge. Seriously, it must cover a square kilometer at least. I approached it from its south-west corner and snapped a few pictures. A young Japanese woman was there, too, but thanks to the large hedge separating the parking lot from the castle's moat, she couldn't get any good pictures. She looked at me as I took my shots, and I saw the question in her eyes. In partial Japanese I offered to help her take a few pictures. She accepted, grateful.
Hers was a nice camera. Film, with a good zoom/focus lens. I wish I knew more about cameras, honestly. I'm an okay amateur photographer, but my knowledge of the technology doesn't extend beyond the most basic technical aspects. I got three shots for her, doing my best to stand on tip-toe above the hedges.
As I proceeded to purchase my ticket, I was stopped by another person in need of photography assistance. He was a Canadian gentleman of Middle Eastern decent. He said his parents came from Iran, but you couldn't have told it by his accent. He sounded like he came from middle America. He wanted me to get some shots of him at the castle's gates. I got a few good shots of him and we wished each other well.
Nijo castle was amazing. The gates were massive wooden things, about a foot and a half thick, set with broad bands of iron and copper. The hinges were as big as my torso, and had twisted due to the combined forces of time and gravity. I don't know if they still turn or not.
The castle's walls were equally massive. They weren't walls in the classic sense of the word; they were more like hills made of stacked stone. They sloped from bottom to top in a deceptively steep curve. Japanese stone walls are build with all the stones being tilted at a 45 degree angle. Rather than a typical, Western "brick" pattern, the stones look like diamonds. This denies easy footholds to any would-be climber.
The castle's grounds were open to the public. Most of the buildings one could enter, but a few were sealed off. The grounds are divided into two sections. The first was the shogun's main palace, a diagonal stretch of connected buildings where the shogun lived and held court. This area also contained most of the castle's gardens. The second area was a castle-within-a-castle design, built atop an artificial hill. It was the redoubt in case the lower castle fell to attackers. It too had gardens and defenses, but much more spartan compared to the opulence of the lower grounds.
I walked past the first inner wall and saw the shogun's palace. The entry hall had been converted to a shoe station; visitors cannot wear shoes whilst in the castle. Tall shelves held dozens of pairs of shoes, and mine occupied an empty slot quickly. I walked into the cool interior of the castle, and into the past.
The castle retains most if not all of its ancient construction materials. The support beams are massive and exposed, blending in with the interior decor. The corridors and hallways of the palace skirt the "outside" of the structures, leaving the middle of the structure for rooms and halls. Every room was divided from the halls and its neighbors by hand-painted silk and paper sliding doors. All of the doors sported exquisite paintings from grand master painters. Pastoral mountain scenes filled with trees and birds lurked in the dusty shade of the rooms, glittering despite the darkness. Actually, the castle was surprisingly well-lit, despite the lack of modern lighting. All of the corridors had super-thin paper windows, blocking the view from the outside, but not the light.
The coolest thing, though, had to be the nightingale floors. A nightingale floor is a rather cleaver trick of architectural design. The floorboards of the castle are pivoted in the middle of the floor by a tiny amount. Not even half a centimeter, for the most part. Where the ends of the planks meet the walls, a carpenter drives a nail at a specific angle and smooths the wood where the two touch. The effect of all this is a quiet, but noticeable, squeak or chirp whenever someone steps on the floorboard. Not every plank is constructed this way, maybe one out of every three or four, and it's a random pattern. This was an excellent way to guard against intruders, because the noise caries well in the quiet of night.
It was kind of neat, too, because there were so many people. One person sounds like a lone bird, chirping happily away by itself. With dozens of people walking around, though, it sounded like a flock of birds talking.
Visitors couldn't walk into the rooms themselves, but the corridors went everywhere, so there was nowhere in the castle you couldn't see. Upon exiting I walked through the gardens to the upper keep, marveling at the water and stones. The garden ringed a modest pond. In the center of the little body of water was a round island, similar in appearance to a turtle swimming just beneath the water. Slabs of rock were laid from the pond's shore to the island, providing foot bridges for access. The paths were sealed to visitors, but the view was lovely.
The upper keep was nice, but nothing like the lower castle. I climbed one of the higher walls via some steep steps and was treated to a nice view of the city. Kyoto is ringed on three sides by mountains, and the scenery can be quite breathtaking. I walked down and then along a big path ringing the inside of the castle's walls. I got some much-needed liquid refreshment at some vending machines located along the path.
Coming back to near where I began my trip to the castle, I ducked into a small building where more of the beautiful, ancient paintings were on display. It was air conditioned, a mercy given the day's relentless heat, and I enjoyed a few minutes just looking at the wall paintings. The artistic technique is very different from western art. It has some aspects of illumination, but there's a more realistic feel to the paintings. Detail is exquisite and precise. Very amazing. The little museum also had some artifacts recovered from a dig on the castle's grounds. Pots, coins, arrow heads, that sort of stuff.
A little further down the path was the souvenir shop, which I stopped in for yet another drink. Hydration is essential to surviving the hot Japanese summer! I rested for a bit, drinking water and sports drink with equal aplomb, and checking out the shiny stuff, but nothing really leapt out at me. I consulted my map, wondering what to do next. By now it was already 3PM, and I noticed that the castle closed at 5PM, and I was worried that most of the other temples and shrines did the same. I figured Kinkakuji, the golden temple, was my next stop.
I calculated which bus to take and hopped on. Luckily, Nijo castle has a big bus stop, and the bus I wanted pulled up literally as I was walking towards it. I got off a stop early, accidentally, but managed to get some dinner from a conbini. I followed the crowd, always a good idea when you're not exactly sure where something important is in Japan, and found my way to Kinkakuji's entrance.
I followed the crowd in, paid for my ticket, and once again found myself taken somewhere very different than the normal world. Kinkakuji is a very old, very famous temple complex. Shrines and temples line the broad path leading to the main temple. From a small side path a group of monks and priests came walking, and they were kind enough to pose for a few pictures.
I followed the crowd until I saw the sparkle of gold through the trees. I readied my camera and turned the corner, and was struck dumb. Kinkakuji means "The Golden Temple" and I can tell you, that is no lie. Kinkakuji, the actual building itself, is a three-story Japanese-style pagoda. The two top floors are completely covered in gold leaf. The sun was setting quickly now, but even in the near-twilight the temple seemed to glow. The temple was built on a small outcrop of land into a medium-sized lake. The still waters reflected the temple like a mirror. The trees and bushes, the temple, the lake, even the native fauna, combined in a sublime display of Eastern aesthetics. It was beautiful.
It was also at this time that my memory card filled up. I went through what I'd taken that day, getting rid of my duplicate photos and those that were out of focus. I freed up about 30 pictures worth of space, but I was still worried. I needed to get a new memory card before too long.
I followed the crowd up a small mountain path, passing by more miniature shrines. Several points along the path were wish spots; small half-rings of stones surrounding a wooden bowl. If you threw a coin into the bowl, your wish comes true. The bowls were surrounded by a thick layer of coins, ranging from aluminum 1-yen coins to the nickel/copper 100 yen ones.
After a few more minutes of walking, and another gift shop or two, I was back at the entrance to the temple grounds. I wanted to try to visit one more place before everything closed, and there was a nearby temple that sounded cool. Ryoji was recommended by my students. It has famous zen gardens of rock and sand, and it sounded like a cool place to see. I started walking in the right direction. And kept walking. And walked some more. I finally came to the end of the side street I'd turned off onto, and found the temple. Closed for the day.
Sigh.
I turned around and began to contemplate what I would do for the evening. I had two options: one, go home via Shinkansen and sleep like the dead, or two, find a hotel and do it all again the next morning.
I started walking aimlessly. I found a small side street, this one back toward the heart of the city. I figured I would make my mind up on the bus ride to the station. It soon became obvious, though, that I was heading deep into a residential strip rather than a bus-serviced main road. Still, I walked, remembering the pleasure I often feel by just exploring Hitachi.
I came upon a small drinking party being organized. A tiny shrine was perched atop a pillar between two buildings. Before it lay offerings and incense, and in front of the shrine was a low table piled high with food and drink. The ladies guarding the party-to-be said it was a party in honor of the shrine's god.
That's just not something you see every day, folks.
Across the street from this party, and a little ways down, I found an electronics shop. They looked to be still open, so I figured I'd ask and see if they had any memory cards. The proprietor did indeed have some, but it took a while for them to find and then price them. I struck up a halting conversation with one of the store owners while I waited. Standard fare, really. I mentioned that I didn't have a place for the night, though, and that got a response.
The other shop keep came back with the memory card, but it was too small and too expensive for my needs. I politely declined, and was ready to head out the door, when they started helping me. They gave me directions to a big electronics store (Denki) in the city. They also helped me find a place to stay. They even gave me tea!
Now, realize that my recounting of this tale is brief, but the fact that these people helped me, a person they have never met before and will probably never see again for their entire lives, really touched me. They bent over backwards to help me find a place to stay that night. They called up a small Japanese Inn, the proprietor of which spoke pretty good English. She and I made arrangements and I made my way to the train station to get my bag. The bus ride down to the station and back up to the top end of town was very, very long, illustrating Kyoto's vast size. The map I was using made Kyoto look kind of small, but in reality it's massive.
By the time I got to the inn, a small place called Tani House (run by one Mrs. Tani) it was pitch black. I followed one of the four maps the small electronics store owners had given me. After a few turns I found myself on a gravel road, and before me was a cozy looking Japanese home with a sign hanging over the gate: TANI HOUSE. It looked like something out of a fairy tale; a small home tightly packed with stuff. The front yard sported a tiny pond and a babbling water pump. I met Mrs. Tani who greeted me and took me 'round the back to the private room I had requested for the night.
Realize that, essentially, Tani House was Mrs. Tani's house, and that she rented rooms out. I was taken to a separate set of rooms in the back of her house. The small building had two bed rooms and two bathrooms, linked by a common kitchen. Mrs. Tani made some green tea for me (wonderfully cool) and laid out some salted nuts and a tasty snack of mochi. She showed me around the place, turned on the AC, and left me to my own devices.
I relaxed for the first time all day, stretching out and delighting in the cool of the air conditioner. I turned on the TV in my room to see what was on, and found a fascinating program. It was a made-for-TV drama/biography about a famous manga artist, Shigeru Mizuki. The film alternated between the recent past, as Mizuki drew manga, and his tour in the South Pacific as a young man, which part of his manga was based on. It was quite bittersweet.
I soon felt the day's trials weigh on me, so I unfolded my futon and drifted off to sleep. It was hardly 10PM by the time I was unconscious.
Right, where was I? Ah, the katana shop. Every time I'm in a store that sells weapons, I have that fantasy. You know the one; where ninjas or robots or something bursts in? Yeah. They just burst in the glass and demand the deed to the store or something. Then you say some witty one-liner and grab the nearest sword and just go to town.
...
Yeah...I totally do that. It's the kid in me.
Anyway. After I got done drooling over th beautiful swords, I decided to check out the castle. It is huge. Seriously, it must cover a square kilometer at least. I approached it from its south-west corner and snapped a few pictures. A young Japanese woman was there, too, but thanks to the large hedge separating the parking lot from the castle's moat, she couldn't get any good pictures. She looked at me as I took my shots, and I saw the question in her eyes. In partial Japanese I offered to help her take a few pictures. She accepted, grateful.
Hers was a nice camera. Film, with a good zoom/focus lens. I wish I knew more about cameras, honestly. I'm an okay amateur photographer, but my knowledge of the technology doesn't extend beyond the most basic technical aspects. I got three shots for her, doing my best to stand on tip-toe above the hedges.
As I proceeded to purchase my ticket, I was stopped by another person in need of photography assistance. He was a Canadian gentleman of Middle Eastern decent. He said his parents came from Iran, but you couldn't have told it by his accent. He sounded like he came from middle America. He wanted me to get some shots of him at the castle's gates. I got a few good shots of him and we wished each other well.
Nijo castle was amazing. The gates were massive wooden things, about a foot and a half thick, set with broad bands of iron and copper. The hinges were as big as my torso, and had twisted due to the combined forces of time and gravity. I don't know if they still turn or not.
The castle's walls were equally massive. They weren't walls in the classic sense of the word; they were more like hills made of stacked stone. They sloped from bottom to top in a deceptively steep curve. Japanese stone walls are build with all the stones being tilted at a 45 degree angle. Rather than a typical, Western "brick" pattern, the stones look like diamonds. This denies easy footholds to any would-be climber.
The castle's grounds were open to the public. Most of the buildings one could enter, but a few were sealed off. The grounds are divided into two sections. The first was the shogun's main palace, a diagonal stretch of connected buildings where the shogun lived and held court. This area also contained most of the castle's gardens. The second area was a castle-within-a-castle design, built atop an artificial hill. It was the redoubt in case the lower castle fell to attackers. It too had gardens and defenses, but much more spartan compared to the opulence of the lower grounds.
I walked past the first inner wall and saw the shogun's palace. The entry hall had been converted to a shoe station; visitors cannot wear shoes whilst in the castle. Tall shelves held dozens of pairs of shoes, and mine occupied an empty slot quickly. I walked into the cool interior of the castle, and into the past.
The castle retains most if not all of its ancient construction materials. The support beams are massive and exposed, blending in with the interior decor. The corridors and hallways of the palace skirt the "outside" of the structures, leaving the middle of the structure for rooms and halls. Every room was divided from the halls and its neighbors by hand-painted silk and paper sliding doors. All of the doors sported exquisite paintings from grand master painters. Pastoral mountain scenes filled with trees and birds lurked in the dusty shade of the rooms, glittering despite the darkness. Actually, the castle was surprisingly well-lit, despite the lack of modern lighting. All of the corridors had super-thin paper windows, blocking the view from the outside, but not the light.
The coolest thing, though, had to be the nightingale floors. A nightingale floor is a rather cleaver trick of architectural design. The floorboards of the castle are pivoted in the middle of the floor by a tiny amount. Not even half a centimeter, for the most part. Where the ends of the planks meet the walls, a carpenter drives a nail at a specific angle and smooths the wood where the two touch. The effect of all this is a quiet, but noticeable, squeak or chirp whenever someone steps on the floorboard. Not every plank is constructed this way, maybe one out of every three or four, and it's a random pattern. This was an excellent way to guard against intruders, because the noise caries well in the quiet of night.
It was kind of neat, too, because there were so many people. One person sounds like a lone bird, chirping happily away by itself. With dozens of people walking around, though, it sounded like a flock of birds talking.
Visitors couldn't walk into the rooms themselves, but the corridors went everywhere, so there was nowhere in the castle you couldn't see. Upon exiting I walked through the gardens to the upper keep, marveling at the water and stones. The garden ringed a modest pond. In the center of the little body of water was a round island, similar in appearance to a turtle swimming just beneath the water. Slabs of rock were laid from the pond's shore to the island, providing foot bridges for access. The paths were sealed to visitors, but the view was lovely.
The upper keep was nice, but nothing like the lower castle. I climbed one of the higher walls via some steep steps and was treated to a nice view of the city. Kyoto is ringed on three sides by mountains, and the scenery can be quite breathtaking. I walked down and then along a big path ringing the inside of the castle's walls. I got some much-needed liquid refreshment at some vending machines located along the path.
Coming back to near where I began my trip to the castle, I ducked into a small building where more of the beautiful, ancient paintings were on display. It was air conditioned, a mercy given the day's relentless heat, and I enjoyed a few minutes just looking at the wall paintings. The artistic technique is very different from western art. It has some aspects of illumination, but there's a more realistic feel to the paintings. Detail is exquisite and precise. Very amazing. The little museum also had some artifacts recovered from a dig on the castle's grounds. Pots, coins, arrow heads, that sort of stuff.
A little further down the path was the souvenir shop, which I stopped in for yet another drink. Hydration is essential to surviving the hot Japanese summer! I rested for a bit, drinking water and sports drink with equal aplomb, and checking out the shiny stuff, but nothing really leapt out at me. I consulted my map, wondering what to do next. By now it was already 3PM, and I noticed that the castle closed at 5PM, and I was worried that most of the other temples and shrines did the same. I figured Kinkakuji, the golden temple, was my next stop.
I calculated which bus to take and hopped on. Luckily, Nijo castle has a big bus stop, and the bus I wanted pulled up literally as I was walking towards it. I got off a stop early, accidentally, but managed to get some dinner from a conbini. I followed the crowd, always a good idea when you're not exactly sure where something important is in Japan, and found my way to Kinkakuji's entrance.
I followed the crowd in, paid for my ticket, and once again found myself taken somewhere very different than the normal world. Kinkakuji is a very old, very famous temple complex. Shrines and temples line the broad path leading to the main temple. From a small side path a group of monks and priests came walking, and they were kind enough to pose for a few pictures.
I followed the crowd until I saw the sparkle of gold through the trees. I readied my camera and turned the corner, and was struck dumb. Kinkakuji means "The Golden Temple" and I can tell you, that is no lie. Kinkakuji, the actual building itself, is a three-story Japanese-style pagoda. The two top floors are completely covered in gold leaf. The sun was setting quickly now, but even in the near-twilight the temple seemed to glow. The temple was built on a small outcrop of land into a medium-sized lake. The still waters reflected the temple like a mirror. The trees and bushes, the temple, the lake, even the native fauna, combined in a sublime display of Eastern aesthetics. It was beautiful.
It was also at this time that my memory card filled up. I went through what I'd taken that day, getting rid of my duplicate photos and those that were out of focus. I freed up about 30 pictures worth of space, but I was still worried. I needed to get a new memory card before too long.
I followed the crowd up a small mountain path, passing by more miniature shrines. Several points along the path were wish spots; small half-rings of stones surrounding a wooden bowl. If you threw a coin into the bowl, your wish comes true. The bowls were surrounded by a thick layer of coins, ranging from aluminum 1-yen coins to the nickel/copper 100 yen ones.
After a few more minutes of walking, and another gift shop or two, I was back at the entrance to the temple grounds. I wanted to try to visit one more place before everything closed, and there was a nearby temple that sounded cool. Ryoji was recommended by my students. It has famous zen gardens of rock and sand, and it sounded like a cool place to see. I started walking in the right direction. And kept walking. And walked some more. I finally came to the end of the side street I'd turned off onto, and found the temple. Closed for the day.
Sigh.
I turned around and began to contemplate what I would do for the evening. I had two options: one, go home via Shinkansen and sleep like the dead, or two, find a hotel and do it all again the next morning.
I started walking aimlessly. I found a small side street, this one back toward the heart of the city. I figured I would make my mind up on the bus ride to the station. It soon became obvious, though, that I was heading deep into a residential strip rather than a bus-serviced main road. Still, I walked, remembering the pleasure I often feel by just exploring Hitachi.
I came upon a small drinking party being organized. A tiny shrine was perched atop a pillar between two buildings. Before it lay offerings and incense, and in front of the shrine was a low table piled high with food and drink. The ladies guarding the party-to-be said it was a party in honor of the shrine's god.
That's just not something you see every day, folks.
Across the street from this party, and a little ways down, I found an electronics shop. They looked to be still open, so I figured I'd ask and see if they had any memory cards. The proprietor did indeed have some, but it took a while for them to find and then price them. I struck up a halting conversation with one of the store owners while I waited. Standard fare, really. I mentioned that I didn't have a place for the night, though, and that got a response.
The other shop keep came back with the memory card, but it was too small and too expensive for my needs. I politely declined, and was ready to head out the door, when they started helping me. They gave me directions to a big electronics store (Denki) in the city. They also helped me find a place to stay. They even gave me tea!
Now, realize that my recounting of this tale is brief, but the fact that these people helped me, a person they have never met before and will probably never see again for their entire lives, really touched me. They bent over backwards to help me find a place to stay that night. They called up a small Japanese Inn, the proprietor of which spoke pretty good English. She and I made arrangements and I made my way to the train station to get my bag. The bus ride down to the station and back up to the top end of town was very, very long, illustrating Kyoto's vast size. The map I was using made Kyoto look kind of small, but in reality it's massive.
By the time I got to the inn, a small place called Tani House (run by one Mrs. Tani) it was pitch black. I followed one of the four maps the small electronics store owners had given me. After a few turns I found myself on a gravel road, and before me was a cozy looking Japanese home with a sign hanging over the gate: TANI HOUSE. It looked like something out of a fairy tale; a small home tightly packed with stuff. The front yard sported a tiny pond and a babbling water pump. I met Mrs. Tani who greeted me and took me 'round the back to the private room I had requested for the night.
Realize that, essentially, Tani House was Mrs. Tani's house, and that she rented rooms out. I was taken to a separate set of rooms in the back of her house. The small building had two bed rooms and two bathrooms, linked by a common kitchen. Mrs. Tani made some green tea for me (wonderfully cool) and laid out some salted nuts and a tasty snack of mochi. She showed me around the place, turned on the AC, and left me to my own devices.
I relaxed for the first time all day, stretching out and delighting in the cool of the air conditioner. I turned on the TV in my room to see what was on, and found a fascinating program. It was a made-for-TV drama/biography about a famous manga artist, Shigeru Mizuki. The film alternated between the recent past, as Mizuki drew manga, and his tour in the South Pacific as a young man, which part of his manga was based on. It was quite bittersweet.
I soon felt the day's trials weigh on me, so I unfolded my futon and drifted off to sleep. It was hardly 10PM by the time I was unconscious.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Vacation Recap! Part Three!!!
J112 Sunday August 12th
Woke up at a leisurely pace, showered and repacked my bags for the day, and was out the door by 10:30AM or so. Squeezed into the lobby of my hotel was a coffee shop, maybe a Seattle's Best or something similar. The remnants of a Japanese-style continental breakfast, complete with meat-sauce pasta (!?) lay cooling next to the order counter. I bought a maple syrup scone and sat at the bar while my breakfast was prepared.
The hotel had been slowly disgorging its guests while I was seated in the lobby. Both Japanese and foreigners milled about, munching on muffins or sipping hot drinks. Many thumbed through guide books or studied maps. A seat away from me was a young foreign woman. I struck up a conversation to kill time. She was a Nova teacher, and had been in Japan for about 10 months. She'd been in Kyoto for a day or so already, so I asked her for some good recommendations.
She pulled out a map, in English, of the city. It was glossy and well-printed, but extremely thin. She started to point out different locations. Nijo-jyo, the ancient castle at the city's heart. Kinkakuji and Ginkakuji, the Gold and Silver temples, respectively. She gave me the map, stating that she had an identical copy in her bag. I thanked her and retreated to my breakfast, having since arrived, which I nibbled contemplatively as I pored over the map.
The castle and Kinkakuji were on my must-see list; the castle was a freaking Japanese castle (and if you don't know me, understand that I am "down with" such things) and the temple had been recommended by literally every student I'd told my plans to. A few other things stood out as I read over the map. There was an International Manga Museum near Nijo-jyo, which I circled.
One thing you may hear, from foreigners who have visited it or from native Japanese people, is that Kyoto has a lot of shrines. This is an understatement in a class that few understatements can belong to. This is like saying the ocean is big, the sun is hot, or Jupiter is breezy. Kyoto has more shrines, temples, tombs, and ruins per square block than any city I've ever been to. I thought Paris was packed full of old buildings and stuff, but Kyoto blows it away.
The map was covered in a plethora of symbols, each denoting the presence of a shrine or temple. I finished my breakfast, feeling slightly overwhelmed, but determined to see the city. First things first, though; I had to ditch my duffel. I couldn't survive another day hauling it around with me.
I trudged back to the station, the blister I had acquired the previous day making itself quite loudly known to my central nervous system. I found the station's Koban (remember that? police box?). One of the officers on duty actually spoke a little English, and helped me find the coin lockers. In the basement of the station, where the shopping center began and the terminals ended, was a large room where bank after bank of coin lockers stood like soldiers. 300 yen a pop, they were surprisingly deep. I found an empty locker, 1492 (yay Columbus!), deposited my bag and, subsequently, my money, and locked my duffel up tight. The key came with me, and was tucked safely in the depths of my back pack. Considerably lighter than I was, I set off to find adventure.
My first stop would be the castle and the manga museum. They looked very close on the map, and I found one bus stop that serviced them both. Another aside: the Kyoto bus system is a work of art and beauty. Every bus has the same flat rate, 220 yen per adult/110 yen per child, no matter how far you go. If you go one stop, it's 220 yen. If you ride the bus all the way around the entire city, it's still just 220 yen. Normal buses charge you depending on how far you go, with rates slowly but steadily rising as you sojourn elsewhere. Not so in Kyoto. Also, there are over a dozen bus lines snaking their way through the city's streets. You can, quite literally, go anywhere you want to in the city. The lines were so prolific that you could usually get to your destination with no transfers to another line, and even then you could get anywhere without transferring more than once.
Anyway, I boarded a bus bound for Nijo-jyo. The ride was pleasant enough, though the heat of the day was already growing to be immense. Tokyo had been quite hot, and Kyoto was even hotter, but Tokyo lacked Kyoto's constant breeze. Kyoto is built into the seat of a wide valley, which acts as a wind tunnel. Nothing gale-force, the winds are quite weak, but they do help move the air and prevent it from becoming stifling or stagnant.
The bus ride was short, giving me ample opportunity to scope out the city as the bus bumped and rattled along. Kyoto is much like any other Japanese city. Toward the center, where the train station is, it's a bustling metropolis with lots of tall buildings, tons of people, and night-banishing neon. As you move away from the heart of the city, it becomes shockingly less fancy. Houses and buildings seem to shrink into one another, huddling together as if for warmth.
When I arrived at Nijo-jyo, I was amazed by its sheer size. The castle's super-structure is completely intact, having never suffered the ravages of war. The numerous inner buildings have their own stories, many succumbing to that eternal plague of city life, fire, but most have been rebuilt after their complete or partial destruction. Still, magnificent as the castle was, I wanted to see the manga museum first.
I started down a road which, according to my map, was the correct direction of the museum. I walked. And I walked. And I walked. After nearly 15 minutes of walking in the blazing heat, I found a conbini and asked for directions. I was going the right way, they said. I just wasn't there yet. I walked some more, another 10 minutes or so, until I finally turned a corner and was greeted with a curious sight.
I saw a bright green lawn of well-cut grass. A large, boxy, L-shaped building, obviously an old structure, but upkept and repainted. In the middle of the lawn was a small DigiCam mounted on a tripod, staring intently at the sky. I saw a large, stone sign, and sure enough I had found the Kyoto International Manga Museum.
Entry was about 500 yen for an all-day ticket; even if I left the premises, I could return if I showed my ticket stub.
The Kyoto International Manga Museum is built within the remains of an old Elementary school. Its floors, walls, and ceilings are quite old, but well-maintained. What was really cool, though, was the comics. Every wall sported a tall bookshelf. Upon these book shelves, in Japanese-Alphabetical order, were some 200,000 volumes of manga. Entire series, carefully collected and organized, rested upon aged oak shelves. And, once you paid your ticket, you could read them. The Manga Museum is as much a Library as it is a Museum.
I felt momentarily dizzy at the sheer mass of it all. So many stories, all in one place. I've been in libraries before, quite enjoying their church-like quiet and reverence for learning and reading. But this place felt a little different. I couldn't put my finger on it.
The book shelves wound their way through every corridor on every floor, from 1 to 3. I wasn't the only patron of the facility; dozens of people had settled in to comfortable spots with stacks of borrowed manga to read to their heart's content. Young adults perched on stair wells. Older people relaxed in plush chairs. Children squatted on the floor or sprawled on bean bags. Everywhere there was the soft, near-silence of reading.
The museum had several displays. Two booths had been set up where aspiring artist could practice their craft, sketching (in one booth) caricatures of patrons or (in the other) sketching, inking, and coloring (via colored pencil) playing cards depicting colorful and weird fantasy monsters.
There was also a workshop to make your own paper fan, with lots of art materials to make designs and patterns on the fan itself. There was an old man doing hourly shows using an old picture projection system from the Edo period. Guys like him would travel around Japan from town to town, putting on a picture show. Their cart had a gas light, or some other form of light generation, behind a rack. The rack could be slotted with semi-transparent silk screen pictures. When lit from behind, and with enough darkness around, the cart's system could project the image onto a wall. The man would narrate a story, switching plates every once in a while to illustrate new parts of the story.
Throughout the halls were hundreds of drawings, mounted on the walls. Some 600 manga artists had been asked to draw a geisha for the museum, and the pieces were on display here. The art styles ranged the entire gamut of the creative world. Some were Impressionistic or Abstract, others clung quite close to the traditional Japanese manga look. Some were parodies, with plump or ugly geisha, others were aloof, still others were giddy or coy. It was really neat to see so many interpretations of the same idea.
The second and third floors had a few more exhibitions. One was dedicated to a long-running weekly publication, sort of the default kid's comic book in Japan. It was celebrating an anniversary this year and there was a big display featuring tons of old issues, games based off of the properties, and toys. Two other displays dealt with the winners of two different manga competitions. One was an International Manga contest, where 5 winners from different Asian countries had their work on display. The other was a Japan-only manga award, won by three artists.
The three artists differed greatly, but each had a subtle humor to their styles. One worked mostly in water color and ink. The middle one was monochrome ink. The last had dark but vibrant colors over inks. All were fantastic.
The last two displays I saw were on the Third floor. One was a history of manga, stretching back to before World War I to the present. There was little English literature, however, so I couldn't get much out of the display. I read that, post-WWII, paper was so scarce that manga publication almost dried up completely. Osamu Tezuka, the "Father of Manga" revitalized the industry with his groundbreaking titles and brought the art form into the modern times. The other display was a collection of Korean manga, manhwa, that has grown in popularity in Japan over the past decade.
I read and perused to my heart's content, but I knew that I had to get going, lest I miss out on other things. I grabbed a quick lunch at an attached coffee shop. The walls were covered in sketches by famous manga artists; Monkey-sensi, creator of Lupin III and Yoshiyuki Tomino, creator of Gundam.
I hiked back across the scorching city streets to Nijo Castle. The walk was a little faster this time, thanks to the fact that I knew where the place was. Near the castle's southwestern corner I stopped at a shop. In the windows glinted katana and various other ancient Japanese weaponry. The store was smaller than my kitchen, essentially a broom closet with a window. The swords inside were beautiful, though, and appeared to be hand-forged. They didn't look machined like so many katanas that are around these days. Their heat lines were random and chaotic, without the heat-stress of a blowtorch (which some imposters use to give their machined swords a more 'realistic' look).
A Spanish couple were in the store, discussing in mixed Japanese, Spanish, and English the particulars of a set of small daggers. The shop's owner was working with one of the daggers, gently removing the blade from the handle, so as to show the maker's mark on the tang.
I didn't stay long, though I would have liked to. I had to get going to the castle if I was to do anything constructive with my day.
This post is getting huge, and I need to get started on my morning exercise. I'm going to post what I've written so far and finish it tonight.
Woke up at a leisurely pace, showered and repacked my bags for the day, and was out the door by 10:30AM or so. Squeezed into the lobby of my hotel was a coffee shop, maybe a Seattle's Best or something similar. The remnants of a Japanese-style continental breakfast, complete with meat-sauce pasta (!?) lay cooling next to the order counter. I bought a maple syrup scone and sat at the bar while my breakfast was prepared.
The hotel had been slowly disgorging its guests while I was seated in the lobby. Both Japanese and foreigners milled about, munching on muffins or sipping hot drinks. Many thumbed through guide books or studied maps. A seat away from me was a young foreign woman. I struck up a conversation to kill time. She was a Nova teacher, and had been in Japan for about 10 months. She'd been in Kyoto for a day or so already, so I asked her for some good recommendations.
She pulled out a map, in English, of the city. It was glossy and well-printed, but extremely thin. She started to point out different locations. Nijo-jyo, the ancient castle at the city's heart. Kinkakuji and Ginkakuji, the Gold and Silver temples, respectively. She gave me the map, stating that she had an identical copy in her bag. I thanked her and retreated to my breakfast, having since arrived, which I nibbled contemplatively as I pored over the map.
The castle and Kinkakuji were on my must-see list; the castle was a freaking Japanese castle (and if you don't know me, understand that I am "down with" such things) and the temple had been recommended by literally every student I'd told my plans to. A few other things stood out as I read over the map. There was an International Manga Museum near Nijo-jyo, which I circled.
One thing you may hear, from foreigners who have visited it or from native Japanese people, is that Kyoto has a lot of shrines. This is an understatement in a class that few understatements can belong to. This is like saying the ocean is big, the sun is hot, or Jupiter is breezy. Kyoto has more shrines, temples, tombs, and ruins per square block than any city I've ever been to. I thought Paris was packed full of old buildings and stuff, but Kyoto blows it away.
The map was covered in a plethora of symbols, each denoting the presence of a shrine or temple. I finished my breakfast, feeling slightly overwhelmed, but determined to see the city. First things first, though; I had to ditch my duffel. I couldn't survive another day hauling it around with me.
I trudged back to the station, the blister I had acquired the previous day making itself quite loudly known to my central nervous system. I found the station's Koban (remember that? police box?). One of the officers on duty actually spoke a little English, and helped me find the coin lockers. In the basement of the station, where the shopping center began and the terminals ended, was a large room where bank after bank of coin lockers stood like soldiers. 300 yen a pop, they were surprisingly deep. I found an empty locker, 1492 (yay Columbus!), deposited my bag and, subsequently, my money, and locked my duffel up tight. The key came with me, and was tucked safely in the depths of my back pack. Considerably lighter than I was, I set off to find adventure.
My first stop would be the castle and the manga museum. They looked very close on the map, and I found one bus stop that serviced them both. Another aside: the Kyoto bus system is a work of art and beauty. Every bus has the same flat rate, 220 yen per adult/110 yen per child, no matter how far you go. If you go one stop, it's 220 yen. If you ride the bus all the way around the entire city, it's still just 220 yen. Normal buses charge you depending on how far you go, with rates slowly but steadily rising as you sojourn elsewhere. Not so in Kyoto. Also, there are over a dozen bus lines snaking their way through the city's streets. You can, quite literally, go anywhere you want to in the city. The lines were so prolific that you could usually get to your destination with no transfers to another line, and even then you could get anywhere without transferring more than once.
Anyway, I boarded a bus bound for Nijo-jyo. The ride was pleasant enough, though the heat of the day was already growing to be immense. Tokyo had been quite hot, and Kyoto was even hotter, but Tokyo lacked Kyoto's constant breeze. Kyoto is built into the seat of a wide valley, which acts as a wind tunnel. Nothing gale-force, the winds are quite weak, but they do help move the air and prevent it from becoming stifling or stagnant.
The bus ride was short, giving me ample opportunity to scope out the city as the bus bumped and rattled along. Kyoto is much like any other Japanese city. Toward the center, where the train station is, it's a bustling metropolis with lots of tall buildings, tons of people, and night-banishing neon. As you move away from the heart of the city, it becomes shockingly less fancy. Houses and buildings seem to shrink into one another, huddling together as if for warmth.
When I arrived at Nijo-jyo, I was amazed by its sheer size. The castle's super-structure is completely intact, having never suffered the ravages of war. The numerous inner buildings have their own stories, many succumbing to that eternal plague of city life, fire, but most have been rebuilt after their complete or partial destruction. Still, magnificent as the castle was, I wanted to see the manga museum first.
I started down a road which, according to my map, was the correct direction of the museum. I walked. And I walked. And I walked. After nearly 15 minutes of walking in the blazing heat, I found a conbini and asked for directions. I was going the right way, they said. I just wasn't there yet. I walked some more, another 10 minutes or so, until I finally turned a corner and was greeted with a curious sight.
I saw a bright green lawn of well-cut grass. A large, boxy, L-shaped building, obviously an old structure, but upkept and repainted. In the middle of the lawn was a small DigiCam mounted on a tripod, staring intently at the sky. I saw a large, stone sign, and sure enough I had found the Kyoto International Manga Museum.
Entry was about 500 yen for an all-day ticket; even if I left the premises, I could return if I showed my ticket stub.
The Kyoto International Manga Museum is built within the remains of an old Elementary school. Its floors, walls, and ceilings are quite old, but well-maintained. What was really cool, though, was the comics. Every wall sported a tall bookshelf. Upon these book shelves, in Japanese-Alphabetical order, were some 200,000 volumes of manga. Entire series, carefully collected and organized, rested upon aged oak shelves. And, once you paid your ticket, you could read them. The Manga Museum is as much a Library as it is a Museum.
I felt momentarily dizzy at the sheer mass of it all. So many stories, all in one place. I've been in libraries before, quite enjoying their church-like quiet and reverence for learning and reading. But this place felt a little different. I couldn't put my finger on it.
The book shelves wound their way through every corridor on every floor, from 1 to 3. I wasn't the only patron of the facility; dozens of people had settled in to comfortable spots with stacks of borrowed manga to read to their heart's content. Young adults perched on stair wells. Older people relaxed in plush chairs. Children squatted on the floor or sprawled on bean bags. Everywhere there was the soft, near-silence of reading.
The museum had several displays. Two booths had been set up where aspiring artist could practice their craft, sketching (in one booth) caricatures of patrons or (in the other) sketching, inking, and coloring (via colored pencil) playing cards depicting colorful and weird fantasy monsters.
There was also a workshop to make your own paper fan, with lots of art materials to make designs and patterns on the fan itself. There was an old man doing hourly shows using an old picture projection system from the Edo period. Guys like him would travel around Japan from town to town, putting on a picture show. Their cart had a gas light, or some other form of light generation, behind a rack. The rack could be slotted with semi-transparent silk screen pictures. When lit from behind, and with enough darkness around, the cart's system could project the image onto a wall. The man would narrate a story, switching plates every once in a while to illustrate new parts of the story.
Throughout the halls were hundreds of drawings, mounted on the walls. Some 600 manga artists had been asked to draw a geisha for the museum, and the pieces were on display here. The art styles ranged the entire gamut of the creative world. Some were Impressionistic or Abstract, others clung quite close to the traditional Japanese manga look. Some were parodies, with plump or ugly geisha, others were aloof, still others were giddy or coy. It was really neat to see so many interpretations of the same idea.
The second and third floors had a few more exhibitions. One was dedicated to a long-running weekly publication, sort of the default kid's comic book in Japan. It was celebrating an anniversary this year and there was a big display featuring tons of old issues, games based off of the properties, and toys. Two other displays dealt with the winners of two different manga competitions. One was an International Manga contest, where 5 winners from different Asian countries had their work on display. The other was a Japan-only manga award, won by three artists.
The three artists differed greatly, but each had a subtle humor to their styles. One worked mostly in water color and ink. The middle one was monochrome ink. The last had dark but vibrant colors over inks. All were fantastic.
The last two displays I saw were on the Third floor. One was a history of manga, stretching back to before World War I to the present. There was little English literature, however, so I couldn't get much out of the display. I read that, post-WWII, paper was so scarce that manga publication almost dried up completely. Osamu Tezuka, the "Father of Manga" revitalized the industry with his groundbreaking titles and brought the art form into the modern times. The other display was a collection of Korean manga, manhwa, that has grown in popularity in Japan over the past decade.
I read and perused to my heart's content, but I knew that I had to get going, lest I miss out on other things. I grabbed a quick lunch at an attached coffee shop. The walls were covered in sketches by famous manga artists; Monkey-sensi, creator of Lupin III and Yoshiyuki Tomino, creator of Gundam.
I hiked back across the scorching city streets to Nijo Castle. The walk was a little faster this time, thanks to the fact that I knew where the place was. Near the castle's southwestern corner I stopped at a shop. In the windows glinted katana and various other ancient Japanese weaponry. The store was smaller than my kitchen, essentially a broom closet with a window. The swords inside were beautiful, though, and appeared to be hand-forged. They didn't look machined like so many katanas that are around these days. Their heat lines were random and chaotic, without the heat-stress of a blowtorch (which some imposters use to give their machined swords a more 'realistic' look).
A Spanish couple were in the store, discussing in mixed Japanese, Spanish, and English the particulars of a set of small daggers. The shop's owner was working with one of the daggers, gently removing the blade from the handle, so as to show the maker's mark on the tang.
I didn't stay long, though I would have liked to. I had to get going to the castle if I was to do anything constructive with my day.
This post is getting huge, and I need to get started on my morning exercise. I'm going to post what I've written so far and finish it tonight.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Vacation Recap! Part Two!!
J111 Saturday August 11th
Up bright and early with the sun! Well, not that early. My sleep at the Internet Cafe was suitable, but the A.C. kept going in cycles. But other than that, it was okay. Brain and I had made plans for the day; he and I were to meet at 10AM in front of Akihabara station. I tried to purchase shower time, but there was some sort of problem. I think there was a line, and they weren't letting anyone else get in it. Or something.
So, showerless, I headed to Yodabashi Camera to meet Brain. I waited with the crowd to kill the time, informing Brain, via cell phone, of my desire to become clean before doing anything important. When he and I met up, we set about trying to find somewhere that could accommodate me. We walked a good 15 minutes before finding a hotel, but it didn't offer separate shower services. The concierge recommended we look for a hotel elsewhere, and gave us some directions. We hopped the train for one stop and managed to find, after a little more walking, a capsule hotel. Most capsule hotels offer bath and shower services to guests, but you have the option of just purchasing bath time. Brain waited in the lobby while I purchased 20 minutes of shower time.
The setup was really nice. It was, essentially, like a men's locker room in an American gym. Super-slim lockers held your stuff while you bathed, and you were provided with a robe and a towel. The were in and out of the locker room all the time, quite comfortable with their guests' various forms of undress. When in Rome, as they say. In all, it wasn't that embarrassing; I'd been naked in front of plenty of people in my life so far, and this was no different.
There was only one shower stall, but this was a Japanese-style bath. This means that, first, you scrub yourself with soap and shampoo your hair whilst sitting on a stool, rinsing yourself off with a shower hose, but not standing up. The stall is there for those who want a good hose off before soaking in one of several mega hot tubs, each sporting varying degrees of heated water.
I had both limited time and an intense need for cleanliness, so I just jumped right into the stall. There were only two other bathers, both quite engrossed in their stool-mounted cleaning cycles, so there wasn't a line. I enjoyed a nice, cool shower with lots of scrubbing. I exited quickly, refreshed and clean and eager to go out into Tokyo once more. I donned a fresh set of clothes from my duffel. I retrieved my shoes (which are confiscated upon checking in to a capsule hotel, as a security measure that you will not leave before check out) and Brain and I left.
I wanted to see the offices and studio of Gainax. I have long been a fan of their work, and knew that their offices were in the greater Tokyo metropolitan area. Brain had managed to find a map on their website and had plotted a route that would get us in the right neighborhood. We rode the trains for a few hours, almost to the end of the line. We got off at a somewhat desolate area, Brain directing our walking to the north. We walked through rural areas, past a few small gardens and a park, but we couldn't find Gainax's offices.
We looped back and forth several times, sure we were just missing something. Eventually we found the area's koban (Police Box. Super-useful and very polite, the policemen teams of two stationed here will bend over backwards to help you) and inquired as to the location of the city district we were looking for. The police officers informed us that the place we sought was, indeed, to the north, but we were one train stop too far to the south. Oops. Brain and I boarded the next north-bound train with all due speed.
At the next train stop we once again walked north. We passed more apartments and parking lots, until eventually we ran out of road. We looked around in despair, thinking that our map was wrong. Until I saw, in plain, blue letters that were hidden in plain sight, the word "Gainax". We had found it.
At the end of a small, country road, in the outskirts of rural Tokyo, at the far end of what was an abandoned train depot, stood a small, white building. It could have easily been the offices of some municipal branch, the Greater North Tokyo Bureau of Bicycle Repair, or something. But, no, within those simple white walls sat some of the most creative and original minds in Japanese animation the modern times have yet seen. It was a sublime moment.
Brain and I approached the building, wondering what lay within. We entered the first set of doors, electronic sliders that parted for us. We soon realized that their offices were closed for the weekend, however. The lights were dark and all the cardboard cutout displays were tucked away behind the second set of glass doors. These would not open for us, as they were locked by electronic key. We heard the distant sound of a vending machine dispensing a delicious, frosty beverage, but we saw no human habitation. Those few Gainax staff who were working were not aware of our presence.
Brain and I started back to the train station, only to see a Gainax employee returning to his weekend work day with a sack of conbini lunch in hand and a delivery guy making a package drop. As if in mockery of our inability to gain access to the inner sanctum of Gainax, they effortlessly went inside, to pursue activities obscure and unknown.
Not knowing what to do next, we decided to head back into Tokyo proper. We got off somewhere in the heart of Tokyo and, after walking around for a few minutes, we found a Yodabashi. Having yet visited one of the electronics megastores, I suggested we duck in. Brain complied, and we enjoyed some window shopping. We wound up on the toy/model floor and perused the various products. Plans for the rest of the day began to form.
Brain suggested that I travel to Kyoto that night, rather than spend more money in Tokyo's expensive sleeping establishments. I agreed, but stated that I'd need two things before I got underway: food and an ATM. Brain took me to a nice Indian restaurant (a food I'd never really tried until juuuust before I left, which I find I love). I had a delicious chicken curry with a huge piece of nan. Mmm....nan.
Brain surmised, and I agreed with his opinion, that the Shinkansen, the bullet train, would be the best way to get to Kyoto. We retrieved my duffel from Shibuya station, where it had been stored in a coin locker since the morning, after my shower, and we set out to find an ATM at near the Shinkansen station. Alas, the stars were not in alignment, and I couldn't get the damn thing to work.
We trudged back to the station, whence I purchased my ticket to Kyoto. Brain kindly lent me some cash, so that I would be able to pay for a hotel room for the night. Chalk it up to more generosity on his behalf that I must pay back in kind. We parted ways at the station, with a final request from me for him to look up hotel information online while I rode to Kyoto.
I boarded the Shinkansen after Brain and I separated, and settled in for a short nap. I was long-past the point of exhaustion, and was running on a sort of animal core logic. I knew that if I could just get to a comfortable place to sleep, that all would be well.
The Shinkansen is aptly named. It is super fast. Even though it was well into the night, which in Japan is made darker by the lack of light saturation, I could still tell we moved at titanic speeds. I nodded off several times through the ride, desperate for sleep but paranoid of missing my stop. After over 500 kilometers of rapid ground transit, my train arrived in Kyoto.
I stumbled out of the massive Kyoto train station into the night. Brain had had success at finding hotels near the station, and I set out to find them. I exited the station on the wrong end, and had to walk back through the whole thing to get to the correct side. I found the taxi area and requested to be taken to one of the hotels Brain had recommended. It wasn't that far from the station, but I was in a world of hurt.
I was delighted to find the concierge spoke excellent English. I was saddened, however, when, while using her excellent English, she informed me that there were no rooms. Their companion hotel, too, had no rooms to rent for the night. They gave me a map with a few ryokan, traditional Japanese inns, marked out, and I set out into the unfamiliar streets of Kyoto to find shelter for the night.
The first place was closed up tight. I investigated, trying to see if one of the doors I spied from the road would grant me access. I set off a motion detector alarm, though, and made as smooth and natural exit from the scene as best I could. No one came to investigate, thank goodness. The next ryokan on my map was still open, but the clerks were no where to be found. It also seemed filled to the brim. Once again, I set out. I found a 7-11 on a nearby main street, and asked for help there, but they misinterpreted my map and directed me in the direction I'd just came from.
Nearing the end of my hope reserves, I walked aimlessly. Providence, it would seem, saw fit to smile on me, for not a block away from the 7-11 I found salvation.
A nice hotel, called the Apa Villa, was built into what looked to be an office building. Its lobby was brightly lit and hewn from beautiful stone and worked with metal. The interior was cool, a relief from the sweltering night-heat. I tottered in on tender legs and found the front desk staffed. I asked, expecting the answer no, if there were rooms available.
"For one?" the concierge asked.
"Yes," I answered.
"For tonight?" the man asked again.
"Yes," I answered.
Silence.
"Yes, we have a room," the man said.
I could have kissed him. For 10,000 yen, I would have my own room in a western-style hotel. Private shower, bath, with a bed and everything. Were I not so beaten I would have danced.
I checked in and proceeded to my room. I cranked the AC down and took a too-perfect shower to cool off and refresh myself. I killed the lights, set the alarm, and fell quite suddenly to sleep.
The hotel room was very interesting, but that will have to wait for tomorrow. I'm quite tired as of this writing, both from the day's activities (or lack thereof, as the case may be) and the retelling of this tale. In an odd example of psychosomatics, I find myself as tired as I was that night.
Up bright and early with the sun! Well, not that early. My sleep at the Internet Cafe was suitable, but the A.C. kept going in cycles. But other than that, it was okay. Brain and I had made plans for the day; he and I were to meet at 10AM in front of Akihabara station. I tried to purchase shower time, but there was some sort of problem. I think there was a line, and they weren't letting anyone else get in it. Or something.
So, showerless, I headed to Yodabashi Camera to meet Brain. I waited with the crowd to kill the time, informing Brain, via cell phone, of my desire to become clean before doing anything important. When he and I met up, we set about trying to find somewhere that could accommodate me. We walked a good 15 minutes before finding a hotel, but it didn't offer separate shower services. The concierge recommended we look for a hotel elsewhere, and gave us some directions. We hopped the train for one stop and managed to find, after a little more walking, a capsule hotel. Most capsule hotels offer bath and shower services to guests, but you have the option of just purchasing bath time. Brain waited in the lobby while I purchased 20 minutes of shower time.
The setup was really nice. It was, essentially, like a men's locker room in an American gym. Super-slim lockers held your stuff while you bathed, and you were provided with a robe and a towel. The were in and out of the locker room all the time, quite comfortable with their guests' various forms of undress. When in Rome, as they say. In all, it wasn't that embarrassing; I'd been naked in front of plenty of people in my life so far, and this was no different.
There was only one shower stall, but this was a Japanese-style bath. This means that, first, you scrub yourself with soap and shampoo your hair whilst sitting on a stool, rinsing yourself off with a shower hose, but not standing up. The stall is there for those who want a good hose off before soaking in one of several mega hot tubs, each sporting varying degrees of heated water.
I had both limited time and an intense need for cleanliness, so I just jumped right into the stall. There were only two other bathers, both quite engrossed in their stool-mounted cleaning cycles, so there wasn't a line. I enjoyed a nice, cool shower with lots of scrubbing. I exited quickly, refreshed and clean and eager to go out into Tokyo once more. I donned a fresh set of clothes from my duffel. I retrieved my shoes (which are confiscated upon checking in to a capsule hotel, as a security measure that you will not leave before check out) and Brain and I left.
I wanted to see the offices and studio of Gainax. I have long been a fan of their work, and knew that their offices were in the greater Tokyo metropolitan area. Brain had managed to find a map on their website and had plotted a route that would get us in the right neighborhood. We rode the trains for a few hours, almost to the end of the line. We got off at a somewhat desolate area, Brain directing our walking to the north. We walked through rural areas, past a few small gardens and a park, but we couldn't find Gainax's offices.
We looped back and forth several times, sure we were just missing something. Eventually we found the area's koban (Police Box. Super-useful and very polite, the policemen teams of two stationed here will bend over backwards to help you) and inquired as to the location of the city district we were looking for. The police officers informed us that the place we sought was, indeed, to the north, but we were one train stop too far to the south. Oops. Brain and I boarded the next north-bound train with all due speed.
At the next train stop we once again walked north. We passed more apartments and parking lots, until eventually we ran out of road. We looked around in despair, thinking that our map was wrong. Until I saw, in plain, blue letters that were hidden in plain sight, the word "Gainax". We had found it.
At the end of a small, country road, in the outskirts of rural Tokyo, at the far end of what was an abandoned train depot, stood a small, white building. It could have easily been the offices of some municipal branch, the Greater North Tokyo Bureau of Bicycle Repair, or something. But, no, within those simple white walls sat some of the most creative and original minds in Japanese animation the modern times have yet seen. It was a sublime moment.
Brain and I approached the building, wondering what lay within. We entered the first set of doors, electronic sliders that parted for us. We soon realized that their offices were closed for the weekend, however. The lights were dark and all the cardboard cutout displays were tucked away behind the second set of glass doors. These would not open for us, as they were locked by electronic key. We heard the distant sound of a vending machine dispensing a delicious, frosty beverage, but we saw no human habitation. Those few Gainax staff who were working were not aware of our presence.
Brain and I started back to the train station, only to see a Gainax employee returning to his weekend work day with a sack of conbini lunch in hand and a delivery guy making a package drop. As if in mockery of our inability to gain access to the inner sanctum of Gainax, they effortlessly went inside, to pursue activities obscure and unknown.
Not knowing what to do next, we decided to head back into Tokyo proper. We got off somewhere in the heart of Tokyo and, after walking around for a few minutes, we found a Yodabashi. Having yet visited one of the electronics megastores, I suggested we duck in. Brain complied, and we enjoyed some window shopping. We wound up on the toy/model floor and perused the various products. Plans for the rest of the day began to form.
Brain suggested that I travel to Kyoto that night, rather than spend more money in Tokyo's expensive sleeping establishments. I agreed, but stated that I'd need two things before I got underway: food and an ATM. Brain took me to a nice Indian restaurant (a food I'd never really tried until juuuust before I left, which I find I love). I had a delicious chicken curry with a huge piece of nan. Mmm....nan.
Brain surmised, and I agreed with his opinion, that the Shinkansen, the bullet train, would be the best way to get to Kyoto. We retrieved my duffel from Shibuya station, where it had been stored in a coin locker since the morning, after my shower, and we set out to find an ATM at near the Shinkansen station. Alas, the stars were not in alignment, and I couldn't get the damn thing to work.
We trudged back to the station, whence I purchased my ticket to Kyoto. Brain kindly lent me some cash, so that I would be able to pay for a hotel room for the night. Chalk it up to more generosity on his behalf that I must pay back in kind. We parted ways at the station, with a final request from me for him to look up hotel information online while I rode to Kyoto.
I boarded the Shinkansen after Brain and I separated, and settled in for a short nap. I was long-past the point of exhaustion, and was running on a sort of animal core logic. I knew that if I could just get to a comfortable place to sleep, that all would be well.
The Shinkansen is aptly named. It is super fast. Even though it was well into the night, which in Japan is made darker by the lack of light saturation, I could still tell we moved at titanic speeds. I nodded off several times through the ride, desperate for sleep but paranoid of missing my stop. After over 500 kilometers of rapid ground transit, my train arrived in Kyoto.
I stumbled out of the massive Kyoto train station into the night. Brain had had success at finding hotels near the station, and I set out to find them. I exited the station on the wrong end, and had to walk back through the whole thing to get to the correct side. I found the taxi area and requested to be taken to one of the hotels Brain had recommended. It wasn't that far from the station, but I was in a world of hurt.
I was delighted to find the concierge spoke excellent English. I was saddened, however, when, while using her excellent English, she informed me that there were no rooms. Their companion hotel, too, had no rooms to rent for the night. They gave me a map with a few ryokan, traditional Japanese inns, marked out, and I set out into the unfamiliar streets of Kyoto to find shelter for the night.
The first place was closed up tight. I investigated, trying to see if one of the doors I spied from the road would grant me access. I set off a motion detector alarm, though, and made as smooth and natural exit from the scene as best I could. No one came to investigate, thank goodness. The next ryokan on my map was still open, but the clerks were no where to be found. It also seemed filled to the brim. Once again, I set out. I found a 7-11 on a nearby main street, and asked for help there, but they misinterpreted my map and directed me in the direction I'd just came from.
Nearing the end of my hope reserves, I walked aimlessly. Providence, it would seem, saw fit to smile on me, for not a block away from the 7-11 I found salvation.
A nice hotel, called the Apa Villa, was built into what looked to be an office building. Its lobby was brightly lit and hewn from beautiful stone and worked with metal. The interior was cool, a relief from the sweltering night-heat. I tottered in on tender legs and found the front desk staffed. I asked, expecting the answer no, if there were rooms available.
"For one?" the concierge asked.
"Yes," I answered.
"For tonight?" the man asked again.
"Yes," I answered.
Silence.
"Yes, we have a room," the man said.
I could have kissed him. For 10,000 yen, I would have my own room in a western-style hotel. Private shower, bath, with a bed and everything. Were I not so beaten I would have danced.
I checked in and proceeded to my room. I cranked the AC down and took a too-perfect shower to cool off and refresh myself. I killed the lights, set the alarm, and fell quite suddenly to sleep.
The hotel room was very interesting, but that will have to wait for tomorrow. I'm quite tired as of this writing, both from the day's activities (or lack thereof, as the case may be) and the retelling of this tale. In an odd example of psychosomatics, I find myself as tired as I was that night.
Vacation Recap!
J110.1 Friday August 10th (Part 2)
My last post was written in the middle of the day, so a few more things happened. I met people!
On my way in to the Internet cafe, I struck up a conversation with an Italian gentleman by the name of Fabio. He used to be a table tennis player for quite some time, but now works for an advertising company. Hearing his Italian origins prompted me to mention my own heritage. For those unaware, I am 3rd generation Italian on my mother's side; my great-grandparents were born in Sicily but immigrated to America before my maternal grandfather was born. So, yay Italian genes!
I've noticed, however, that when I mention my Italian heritage to an Italian person, or someone similarly-descended, it's like I announce that I'm their long-lost brother. A switch goes off, and they turn from jovial, good-humored individuals to very generous, super-friendly people. They go from nice to amazingly nice.
Fabio and I had both purchased an hour's worth of time, and agreed to meet again once our time was up. I relished the air conditioned interior of my cubicle and the respite it gave my already-aching feet and legs. My last post was made at great leisure.
When my hour was up, Fabio was waiting in the lobby for me. We settled our bills with the staff and walked a while, exchanging stories. He told me of his life as a table tennis player for a team in Japan some years ago. I told him of my graduation from college and my job as an English teacher. When I mentioned I had no plans for the rest of the day, he insisted that I accompany him. He was in the market for some digital cameras, both for personal use and as gifts to friends, and we set about to find some good deals.
We walked back toward Akiba station, ending up in a deceptively large electronics store. Fabio educated me on the differences between several models, and while he haggled I browsed the laptop section. Japan's shops offer a large variety of portable computing solutions, and I've had my interest piqued by micro laptops. My current machine is a good computer, but it's somewhat bulky (as laptops go) and it's my only system. It's my link to the outside world, and I only take it out of my apartment when it's absolutely necessary.
I'd love to have a small, rugged machine that I could take with me when I go out. Nothing fancy. Nothing I'd be able to game on. Just something with basic internet connectivity, wireless if at all possible. A small platform upon which I could write, or check email, or display documents and other media to friends and associates. An actual mobile media platform. But not a micro computer. Not some tiny, 7-inch display thing that more resembles a chunky cell phone. A Sidekick or Blueberry would be nice, but either would be too small for my purposes.
The store I was in, and many others in Japan, offer many different models of small laptops. Their capacities range wildly; some use top-of-the-line processors, others use ones half a decade old. Some have only 10 gigabytes of hard disk space, while others boast quadruple that number.
Fabio suggested a few models, citing Toshiba as a good manufacturer. He also recommended another model, one that I scratched the name down, but I can't recall at the time of this writing.
Sorry, tangent.
Fabio purchased two cameras from the store, and we set out into the growing twilight. Akihabara is also known as Electric Town, so night never really comes. The sky darkens, of course, but the streets and alleys are lit by ten thousand shades of neon. LEDs blink from shop windows, warning passerby of alarm systems. Everywhere people check their email or the time from PDAs and cell phones. Akihabara is never dark.
We both felt the pang of hunger, and Fabio offered to buy me dinner at a nearby burger joint. This wasn't fast food per se; the hamburgers were actual grilled meat rather than a lamp-warmed discus of compressed "meat".
We chatted about life, as Italian folk so often seem to do. He shared some insightful advice with me, beseeching me to find my path in life and follow it with gusto. Being undecided about your future, he said, was a tragic thing. Find your goal, and then take steps to reach it. Common sense advice, perhaps, but something you don't hear every day.
In the middle of our meal, the seats next to us (we were sitting at a pseudo-bar in the middle of the eatery) two other foreigners sat down. They were both NOVA teachers from Canada. One, who's name I cannot recall (so let's call him Bob) was a self-proclaimed aboriginal Canadian, hailing from a reservation near Toronto. The other, Nick (that is his name) was of European decent, from a town near the reservation. They were friends, Bob having come to Japan with NOVA two or three years ago, and suggesting Nick come a few years after. Very similar to how I got this job, with my friend Tara suggesting I apply, given her overall happiness with the job.
Nick, Bob and I began to talk. Bob was leaving for Canada the next day, and was gearing up for a sort of last huzzah. Nick was along for the ride. They also work (in Bob's case, worked) in NOVA's Akihabara branch. They both were also unrepentant nerds, easily in my own league of fandom, which was amazing. They teach in a place that is so well-known amongst the Japanophiles of Earth that many would do...questionable things...to attain their position. Nick swore up and down that his post was attained through random chance, and that he in no way assassinated a high-profile target to get it. Honest.
Fabio had finished his meal by the time the two had sat down, and he decided to move on. We swapped numbers as he left; he was going to Kyoto, and wanted me to get in touch with him when I got there. I thanked him for the meal for what was probably the eighth time, and we parted ways.
Nick, Bob, and I soon engaged in full-blown nerd speak. Some of you may have experienced this phenomena. I know I've mentioned it a few times before, but I think I'd like to go into more detail.
Nerds know one another. There is a...sixth sense, I guess you could say...that we have developed. It's a survival mechanism, one developed so as to identify allies in a battlefield rife with hostile opponents. It's subtle things; body language, stance, eye contact. There are obvious signs, of course. One could wear a shirt proclaiming them to be a flaming Dr. Who fan, which is a dead giveaway. But those of us who must suppress our nerdity, lest it become a distraction or a hindrance to 'normal' social contact, must utilize well-honed, social minutiae, ninja-like in subtlety.
When this sense pings, when we catch the vibe, we begin tentative contact. An initial probe, to see if our reading is correct. One usually starts with a quote or reference to something nerdy, but not something super-obscure. This is testing the waters. A Monty Python quote will do, or if you're not adept, something from Star Wars. Most people have seen these media, and have enjoyed them, but nerds have a fundamentally different response to these stimuli. Non-nerds will laugh and say "Hey, that's from Monty Python, isn't it? That was a funny show."
A nerd will say something like "Funny, but I find the Cheese Shop sketch to be better." or "Dude, Star Wars was awesome until the second trilogy."
Success! Initial contact has been established! Warm up the engines!
What follows next is something akin to when a modem connects to the internet. You know that high-pitched squawking your computer made, and then that hissing sound? Well, nerds are like that. We engage in this...information exchange. Through carefully selected references, commentary, and conversation branching, one can communicate volumes about their particular style of nerd. Some nerds only enjoy science fiction, others fantasy. Some enjoy mostly books, while others are suckers for movies. Some enjoy tabletop gaming, or board gaming, or only video gaming. Some enjoy one of these intensely, while others sample from them all.
This establishes common ground. It lays the ground rules for the conversation. You know what to and not to talk about. If you like the latest Star Wars trilogy (and the devil take you if you do) and your newfound friend does not, you know not to talk about it, lest you actively detract from the conversation.
This is what Bob, Nick, and I did. For about 30 minutes, we talked at rapid speed, informing one another of our own tastes, likes, and dislikes. We discussed many things, mostly politics, and decided to quit the eating establishment and get some fresh air. We wandered Akihabara together, finding the RPG-specialized Yellow Submarine. Come to find out, Nick is a very, very big tabletop gaming nerd. This was a joy to discover, as I have been hurting for a good RPG fix, and have made little progress getting a group together. He and I share a love for many systems, though his knowledge is far more deeper than mine. I'm more of a breadth guy, while Nick's love of a few systems has granted him very intense knowledge of those handful. I, for one, salute him. Plus, he really likes Exalted, and that makes anyone awesome in my book.
We walked and walked, talked and talked. At a model shop, Bob and Nick had to call it a night. There were plans a-foot to rent movies and watch them with friends before Bob had to leave, and I didn't wish to interfere with their merriment. I decided to call it an early night, even though it was hardly 9 PM. I'd been walking all day with a full load, and was in desperate need of sleep.
I decided to return to the Internet Cafe. They had sleeper cubes, and was lucky enough to get one for the night. It was around 4000 yen for 12 hours, enough time to let me sleep in the next morning. Showers were available, but there was some sort of...difficulty...that I couldn't quite understand. My Japanese still is far from perfect, and many Japanese people aren't able to speak at a low enough level for me to understand them easily. Nevertheless, I found a place to sleep for the night.
A sleeper cube is a simple thing. It's a little longer than a normal cube, and instead of an office chair, it has a tiny futon. The futon rests on a large wooden cabinet and can ratchet in the middle, allowing the user to surf the internet from a relaxed, reclined position.
No sheets, blankets, or pillows were provided, but that was no problem for me. Something relatively soft and an air conditioned room was perfect for me. I used my handkerchief as a blindfold; the lights were dim, but still bright enough to make sleep difficult. I woke up several times through the night, but always managed to get back to sleep soon. In all, it was a restful night, and I was ready for the next day's adventures.
My last post was written in the middle of the day, so a few more things happened. I met people!
On my way in to the Internet cafe, I struck up a conversation with an Italian gentleman by the name of Fabio. He used to be a table tennis player for quite some time, but now works for an advertising company. Hearing his Italian origins prompted me to mention my own heritage. For those unaware, I am 3rd generation Italian on my mother's side; my great-grandparents were born in Sicily but immigrated to America before my maternal grandfather was born. So, yay Italian genes!
I've noticed, however, that when I mention my Italian heritage to an Italian person, or someone similarly-descended, it's like I announce that I'm their long-lost brother. A switch goes off, and they turn from jovial, good-humored individuals to very generous, super-friendly people. They go from nice to amazingly nice.
Fabio and I had both purchased an hour's worth of time, and agreed to meet again once our time was up. I relished the air conditioned interior of my cubicle and the respite it gave my already-aching feet and legs. My last post was made at great leisure.
When my hour was up, Fabio was waiting in the lobby for me. We settled our bills with the staff and walked a while, exchanging stories. He told me of his life as a table tennis player for a team in Japan some years ago. I told him of my graduation from college and my job as an English teacher. When I mentioned I had no plans for the rest of the day, he insisted that I accompany him. He was in the market for some digital cameras, both for personal use and as gifts to friends, and we set about to find some good deals.
We walked back toward Akiba station, ending up in a deceptively large electronics store. Fabio educated me on the differences between several models, and while he haggled I browsed the laptop section. Japan's shops offer a large variety of portable computing solutions, and I've had my interest piqued by micro laptops. My current machine is a good computer, but it's somewhat bulky (as laptops go) and it's my only system. It's my link to the outside world, and I only take it out of my apartment when it's absolutely necessary.
I'd love to have a small, rugged machine that I could take with me when I go out. Nothing fancy. Nothing I'd be able to game on. Just something with basic internet connectivity, wireless if at all possible. A small platform upon which I could write, or check email, or display documents and other media to friends and associates. An actual mobile media platform. But not a micro computer. Not some tiny, 7-inch display thing that more resembles a chunky cell phone. A Sidekick or Blueberry would be nice, but either would be too small for my purposes.
The store I was in, and many others in Japan, offer many different models of small laptops. Their capacities range wildly; some use top-of-the-line processors, others use ones half a decade old. Some have only 10 gigabytes of hard disk space, while others boast quadruple that number.
Fabio suggested a few models, citing Toshiba as a good manufacturer. He also recommended another model, one that I scratched the name down, but I can't recall at the time of this writing.
Sorry, tangent.
Fabio purchased two cameras from the store, and we set out into the growing twilight. Akihabara is also known as Electric Town, so night never really comes. The sky darkens, of course, but the streets and alleys are lit by ten thousand shades of neon. LEDs blink from shop windows, warning passerby of alarm systems. Everywhere people check their email or the time from PDAs and cell phones. Akihabara is never dark.
We both felt the pang of hunger, and Fabio offered to buy me dinner at a nearby burger joint. This wasn't fast food per se; the hamburgers were actual grilled meat rather than a lamp-warmed discus of compressed "meat".
We chatted about life, as Italian folk so often seem to do. He shared some insightful advice with me, beseeching me to find my path in life and follow it with gusto. Being undecided about your future, he said, was a tragic thing. Find your goal, and then take steps to reach it. Common sense advice, perhaps, but something you don't hear every day.
In the middle of our meal, the seats next to us (we were sitting at a pseudo-bar in the middle of the eatery) two other foreigners sat down. They were both NOVA teachers from Canada. One, who's name I cannot recall (so let's call him Bob) was a self-proclaimed aboriginal Canadian, hailing from a reservation near Toronto. The other, Nick (that is his name) was of European decent, from a town near the reservation. They were friends, Bob having come to Japan with NOVA two or three years ago, and suggesting Nick come a few years after. Very similar to how I got this job, with my friend Tara suggesting I apply, given her overall happiness with the job.
Nick, Bob and I began to talk. Bob was leaving for Canada the next day, and was gearing up for a sort of last huzzah. Nick was along for the ride. They also work (in Bob's case, worked) in NOVA's Akihabara branch. They both were also unrepentant nerds, easily in my own league of fandom, which was amazing. They teach in a place that is so well-known amongst the Japanophiles of Earth that many would do...questionable things...to attain their position. Nick swore up and down that his post was attained through random chance, and that he in no way assassinated a high-profile target to get it. Honest.
Fabio had finished his meal by the time the two had sat down, and he decided to move on. We swapped numbers as he left; he was going to Kyoto, and wanted me to get in touch with him when I got there. I thanked him for the meal for what was probably the eighth time, and we parted ways.
Nick, Bob, and I soon engaged in full-blown nerd speak. Some of you may have experienced this phenomena. I know I've mentioned it a few times before, but I think I'd like to go into more detail.
Nerds know one another. There is a...sixth sense, I guess you could say...that we have developed. It's a survival mechanism, one developed so as to identify allies in a battlefield rife with hostile opponents. It's subtle things; body language, stance, eye contact. There are obvious signs, of course. One could wear a shirt proclaiming them to be a flaming Dr. Who fan, which is a dead giveaway. But those of us who must suppress our nerdity, lest it become a distraction or a hindrance to 'normal' social contact, must utilize well-honed, social minutiae, ninja-like in subtlety.
When this sense pings, when we catch the vibe, we begin tentative contact. An initial probe, to see if our reading is correct. One usually starts with a quote or reference to something nerdy, but not something super-obscure. This is testing the waters. A Monty Python quote will do, or if you're not adept, something from Star Wars. Most people have seen these media, and have enjoyed them, but nerds have a fundamentally different response to these stimuli. Non-nerds will laugh and say "Hey, that's from Monty Python, isn't it? That was a funny show."
A nerd will say something like "Funny, but I find the Cheese Shop sketch to be better." or "Dude, Star Wars was awesome until the second trilogy."
Success! Initial contact has been established! Warm up the engines!
What follows next is something akin to when a modem connects to the internet. You know that high-pitched squawking your computer made, and then that hissing sound? Well, nerds are like that. We engage in this...information exchange. Through carefully selected references, commentary, and conversation branching, one can communicate volumes about their particular style of nerd. Some nerds only enjoy science fiction, others fantasy. Some enjoy mostly books, while others are suckers for movies. Some enjoy tabletop gaming, or board gaming, or only video gaming. Some enjoy one of these intensely, while others sample from them all.
This establishes common ground. It lays the ground rules for the conversation. You know what to and not to talk about. If you like the latest Star Wars trilogy (and the devil take you if you do) and your newfound friend does not, you know not to talk about it, lest you actively detract from the conversation.
This is what Bob, Nick, and I did. For about 30 minutes, we talked at rapid speed, informing one another of our own tastes, likes, and dislikes. We discussed many things, mostly politics, and decided to quit the eating establishment and get some fresh air. We wandered Akihabara together, finding the RPG-specialized Yellow Submarine. Come to find out, Nick is a very, very big tabletop gaming nerd. This was a joy to discover, as I have been hurting for a good RPG fix, and have made little progress getting a group together. He and I share a love for many systems, though his knowledge is far more deeper than mine. I'm more of a breadth guy, while Nick's love of a few systems has granted him very intense knowledge of those handful. I, for one, salute him. Plus, he really likes Exalted, and that makes anyone awesome in my book.
We walked and walked, talked and talked. At a model shop, Bob and Nick had to call it a night. There were plans a-foot to rent movies and watch them with friends before Bob had to leave, and I didn't wish to interfere with their merriment. I decided to call it an early night, even though it was hardly 9 PM. I'd been walking all day with a full load, and was in desperate need of sleep.
I decided to return to the Internet Cafe. They had sleeper cubes, and was lucky enough to get one for the night. It was around 4000 yen for 12 hours, enough time to let me sleep in the next morning. Showers were available, but there was some sort of...difficulty...that I couldn't quite understand. My Japanese still is far from perfect, and many Japanese people aren't able to speak at a low enough level for me to understand them easily. Nevertheless, I found a place to sleep for the night.
A sleeper cube is a simple thing. It's a little longer than a normal cube, and instead of an office chair, it has a tiny futon. The futon rests on a large wooden cabinet and can ratchet in the middle, allowing the user to surf the internet from a relaxed, reclined position.
No sheets, blankets, or pillows were provided, but that was no problem for me. Something relatively soft and an air conditioned room was perfect for me. I used my handkerchief as a blindfold; the lights were dim, but still bright enough to make sleep difficult. I woke up several times through the night, but always managed to get back to sleep soon. In all, it was a restful night, and I was ready for the next day's adventures.
Friday, August 10, 2007
And now we go to Nigel, live in the field...
J110 Friday August 10th
Hah! Internet cafes rule! I'm an internet cafe high above Akihabara, having found it after nearly an hour of searching.
I've been hanging out in Akiba for most of the day, just walking around and checking out shops. It's kind of funny, but because I can't read Japanese, and they don't sell a lot of stuff that has English language options, I really can't buy anything in Akihabara. Nerd capital of the world. Go figure.
It's still fun to walk around, though.
All the lockers filled up at the train stationb efore I got there, so I've been lugging my duffel around with me. I didn't pack super-heavy, but it is a good 15 extra pounds of weight my shoulders and back could do without hauling around. Still, I'm doing okay.
I'm not sure where to go next. I want to hit Asakusa, a big temple district, and I'd like to get out to Gainax if I can. Gainax may have to wait until tomorrow, though. I also want to hit Harajuku tomorrow.
Tonight I plan on staying at a capsule hotel. I don't have reservations for a standard hotel, nor could I afford to stay at one. I've found some good lists of capsule hotels in the Tokyo area, which I plan to use tonight. Most of them have shower facilities, which will be essential to prevent an international incident.
If this post comes across as poorly spelled, I apologize. I don't have my normal spell checker on this machine, and the whole thing is in Japanese. I'll check it when I get done.
I bought an hour here, which will probably come out to be 600 yen or more, depending on the specifics. Drinks are free, but everything else is Tokyo prices, which is to say prohibitively expensive.
I've been trying to get in touch with Brain today, to no (current) avail. I figure he's probably still at work. I'd love to bum around with him tonight and/or tomorrow.
Anyway, I know this entry isn't as polished as mine normally are, but I figured I'd do the best with the time I have. I think I've got about 35-40 more minutes to go on the clock. I need to check up on hotels in Kyoto, either an actual hotel, a capsule, or a ryokan (traditional Japanese Inn).
Hah! Internet cafes rule! I'm an internet cafe high above Akihabara, having found it after nearly an hour of searching.
I've been hanging out in Akiba for most of the day, just walking around and checking out shops. It's kind of funny, but because I can't read Japanese, and they don't sell a lot of stuff that has English language options, I really can't buy anything in Akihabara. Nerd capital of the world. Go figure.
It's still fun to walk around, though.
All the lockers filled up at the train stationb efore I got there, so I've been lugging my duffel around with me. I didn't pack super-heavy, but it is a good 15 extra pounds of weight my shoulders and back could do without hauling around. Still, I'm doing okay.
I'm not sure where to go next. I want to hit Asakusa, a big temple district, and I'd like to get out to Gainax if I can. Gainax may have to wait until tomorrow, though. I also want to hit Harajuku tomorrow.
Tonight I plan on staying at a capsule hotel. I don't have reservations for a standard hotel, nor could I afford to stay at one. I've found some good lists of capsule hotels in the Tokyo area, which I plan to use tonight. Most of them have shower facilities, which will be essential to prevent an international incident.
If this post comes across as poorly spelled, I apologize. I don't have my normal spell checker on this machine, and the whole thing is in Japanese. I'll check it when I get done.
I bought an hour here, which will probably come out to be 600 yen or more, depending on the specifics. Drinks are free, but everything else is Tokyo prices, which is to say prohibitively expensive.
I've been trying to get in touch with Brain today, to no (current) avail. I figure he's probably still at work. I'd love to bum around with him tonight and/or tomorrow.
Anyway, I know this entry isn't as polished as mine normally are, but I figured I'd do the best with the time I have. I think I've got about 35-40 more minutes to go on the clock. I need to check up on hotels in Kyoto, either an actual hotel, a capsule, or a ryokan (traditional Japanese Inn).
Thursday, August 9, 2007
okay, now for today
J109 Thursday August 9th
Ahhhhhh, vacation. That wonderful feeling of waking up and not having to go into work for the next 7 days.
7 days.
I did a lot today, in preparation for my vacation. I stopped at the ATM first, to get some monies. I grabbed lunch and ate it at the steps of the shrine again (I love eating there. So peaceful). I dropped off my dry cleaning, and then went to pick up a bus ticket. My first stop on my vacation is Tokyo, which I'll go to tomorrow morning. I couldn't quite figure out where to purchase a bus ticket, though. I couldn't quite understand the train station employees, and the Lawson's workers were trying to use a multipurpose console to see if I could buy tickets there. Luckily, fate smiled upon me. An American woman and her Japanese coworker stopped in to buy a snack, and I asked for their help. They work in Hitachi, as secretaries for some sort of nuclear research company.
The Japanese woman of the pair led me to the bus travel office, just a little ways down Heiwa street. I thanked her and her American counterpart profusely. They were catching the next bus to Kyoto themselves, so as soon as they showed me where the office was they departed.
I purchased an early morning ticket (the bus leaves at 7:30) and debated my next move. I decided to head into Ito Yokado and see what I could see there.
I wound up purchasing a new shoulder strap for my NERV duffel bag. The strap broke on my flight to Japan, and it's been a pain to lug with just handles. I also purchased a swimsuit, having no such garment here in Japan. It's a nice Airwalk brand, a little expensive, but well put together and festooned with pockets. Festooned! I ran into Greg, K, and Sylvia as I shopped, and we all exchanged pleasantries.
My final stop was the grocery store in Yokado. I've run out of a lot of food, and I haven't restocked much, given that I'll be out of the house for almost a week. Still, a boy needs to eat, so I bought some tofu, a few drinks and some breakfast food.
I biked home, enjoying the summer sun and lovely breeze. Thunder clouds were booming off in the distance, but they showed no signs of coming toward Hitachi.
I spent the next few hours playing Neverwinter Nights. I haven't played a video game, my DS notwithstanding, in weeks. It was wonderful to play something new and exciting. I've never finished the single-player campaign, and I must say it's rather fun. A little dated, but that's never a bad thing. I've also got Deus Ex installed, which I play once in a blue moon.
And that leaves us with now. I need to pack up my bag and get to sleep really soon. My bus leaves in less than 8 hours. My gizmos are charged, which is good, and my laundry's drying.
I want to let ya'll know that I won't be able to post for a few days. I'm not going to have regular access to a computer, which will mean I won't be online. Just remember; I am always in your heart, 'cause you all are always in mine.
That's right. I just said that. Because I'm awesome.
Ahhhhhh, vacation. That wonderful feeling of waking up and not having to go into work for the next 7 days.
7 days.
I did a lot today, in preparation for my vacation. I stopped at the ATM first, to get some monies. I grabbed lunch and ate it at the steps of the shrine again (I love eating there. So peaceful). I dropped off my dry cleaning, and then went to pick up a bus ticket. My first stop on my vacation is Tokyo, which I'll go to tomorrow morning. I couldn't quite figure out where to purchase a bus ticket, though. I couldn't quite understand the train station employees, and the Lawson's workers were trying to use a multipurpose console to see if I could buy tickets there. Luckily, fate smiled upon me. An American woman and her Japanese coworker stopped in to buy a snack, and I asked for their help. They work in Hitachi, as secretaries for some sort of nuclear research company.
The Japanese woman of the pair led me to the bus travel office, just a little ways down Heiwa street. I thanked her and her American counterpart profusely. They were catching the next bus to Kyoto themselves, so as soon as they showed me where the office was they departed.
I purchased an early morning ticket (the bus leaves at 7:30) and debated my next move. I decided to head into Ito Yokado and see what I could see there.
I wound up purchasing a new shoulder strap for my NERV duffel bag. The strap broke on my flight to Japan, and it's been a pain to lug with just handles. I also purchased a swimsuit, having no such garment here in Japan. It's a nice Airwalk brand, a little expensive, but well put together and festooned with pockets. Festooned! I ran into Greg, K, and Sylvia as I shopped, and we all exchanged pleasantries.
My final stop was the grocery store in Yokado. I've run out of a lot of food, and I haven't restocked much, given that I'll be out of the house for almost a week. Still, a boy needs to eat, so I bought some tofu, a few drinks and some breakfast food.
I biked home, enjoying the summer sun and lovely breeze. Thunder clouds were booming off in the distance, but they showed no signs of coming toward Hitachi.
I spent the next few hours playing Neverwinter Nights. I haven't played a video game, my DS notwithstanding, in weeks. It was wonderful to play something new and exciting. I've never finished the single-player campaign, and I must say it's rather fun. A little dated, but that's never a bad thing. I've also got Deus Ex installed, which I play once in a blue moon.
And that leaves us with now. I need to pack up my bag and get to sleep really soon. My bus leaves in less than 8 hours. My gizmos are charged, which is good, and my laundry's drying.
I want to let ya'll know that I won't be able to post for a few days. I'm not going to have regular access to a computer, which will mean I won't be online. Just remember; I am always in your heart, 'cause you all are always in mine.
That's right. I just said that. Because I'm awesome.
oh, crap yesterday was wednesday...heh
J108 Wednesday August 8th
Last day of work for a week!
Dash! Out the door like a flash of lightning!
Zoom! Down the hills of Hitachi!
Zip! Through the doors of my company!
My day went rather quick. I had 5 classes, two in the morning and three in the evening. The group lessons were Speech types, so they're both fun and easy to do.
During my no-class time (not actually a break; just office hours) one of my students took me out to lunch. She and I met a friend of hers while we walked to her car, so the three of us went to a wonderful Italian place for lunch. Japanese-style Italian food is interesting. There is pasta, which is to say at some point flour, milk, water, and eggs are used to make thin strands of dough which are then boiled in hot water. But to claim that Japanese pasta is the same as American pasta would be to submit to madness. Regardless, it was delicious.
I got back to the school in time to teach my last three classes. To make this wonderful day even spiffier, some two students had brought in snacks for the staff. One student brought a bag full of taiyaki, sweet cake-like fish-shaped bread filled with a thick, sweet pudding, while another student brought a bag full of giant creme puffs. These things were, like, the size of a hamburger.
At the end of the day we enjoyed these treats, but were set upon with many leftovers. Still watching my girlish figure, I limited myself to one of each treat. So did everyone else. Did I mention our students can be generous with gifts? We had some leftovers, and no one wanted to take them. I leaped upon a solution.
After work, I headed to G-Bros, with the desserts safely tucked into my bike's basket. G-Bros is nothing but a force of good in the lives of many, many people in Hitachi, and I felt it would be a nice surprise to gift them with the sweets. I presented Hiro and the bar staff (bar bunnies? they're all cute women) with the treats, and was treated in kind with delicious, free beer.
As I enjoyed my adult beverage, I noticed an odd bottle on the wall behind the bar. Perched at the forefront of the various, recognizable liquors, was one that caught my eye. The bottle was a tall, wide thing. The liquor within was a pleasant amber-brown. But what was inside the liquor was what had caught my eye. I requested a closer look, and my initial hypothesis was proven.
Suspended within the liquid was a snake.
Not a small snake. Not some novelty toy meant to frighten children. No, a freaking snake. Once-living. A rather deadly, venomous species that inhabits the islands of Okinawa. Hiro bade me try a shot, which I did with a bit of hesitation. It's not every day you drink something that's been soaking in neurotoxins. Then again, there are a surprising number of Japanese foods that, if not prepared or consumed the correct way, will kill you. So, what are you going to do?
It was delicious. Plenty of herbs and spices made the liquor sweet, and it had a pleasant burning sensation not unlike a smooth whiskey. In all, it was one of the better alcohols I've tasted. I very much wish to purchase a bottle or two and see if I can get them through customs. (EDITOR: Wow, I just, literally just as I was typing this, thought of the snakes on a plane jokes I could do with that situation.)
I consumed my drinks and spoke of my impending vacation plans with the gathered, practicing more of my Japanese than I usually do. It felt good to practice. I've studied a little since I've been here, but nothing as intense as I'd like. Work leaves little time or energy to pursue such goals. But, then again, my students do a heck of a lot more in a day than anyone I know.
I came home and felt sleep calling quicker than I usually do. I decided to roll out the futon again, the first time in months. It brought back some interesting memories, mostly of being really cold and missing home. It wasn't so bad this time :)
Last day of work for a week!
Dash! Out the door like a flash of lightning!
Zoom! Down the hills of Hitachi!
Zip! Through the doors of my company!
My day went rather quick. I had 5 classes, two in the morning and three in the evening. The group lessons were Speech types, so they're both fun and easy to do.
During my no-class time (not actually a break; just office hours) one of my students took me out to lunch. She and I met a friend of hers while we walked to her car, so the three of us went to a wonderful Italian place for lunch. Japanese-style Italian food is interesting. There is pasta, which is to say at some point flour, milk, water, and eggs are used to make thin strands of dough which are then boiled in hot water. But to claim that Japanese pasta is the same as American pasta would be to submit to madness. Regardless, it was delicious.
I got back to the school in time to teach my last three classes. To make this wonderful day even spiffier, some two students had brought in snacks for the staff. One student brought a bag full of taiyaki, sweet cake-like fish-shaped bread filled with a thick, sweet pudding, while another student brought a bag full of giant creme puffs. These things were, like, the size of a hamburger.
At the end of the day we enjoyed these treats, but were set upon with many leftovers. Still watching my girlish figure, I limited myself to one of each treat. So did everyone else. Did I mention our students can be generous with gifts? We had some leftovers, and no one wanted to take them. I leaped upon a solution.
After work, I headed to G-Bros, with the desserts safely tucked into my bike's basket. G-Bros is nothing but a force of good in the lives of many, many people in Hitachi, and I felt it would be a nice surprise to gift them with the sweets. I presented Hiro and the bar staff (bar bunnies? they're all cute women) with the treats, and was treated in kind with delicious, free beer.
As I enjoyed my adult beverage, I noticed an odd bottle on the wall behind the bar. Perched at the forefront of the various, recognizable liquors, was one that caught my eye. The bottle was a tall, wide thing. The liquor within was a pleasant amber-brown. But what was inside the liquor was what had caught my eye. I requested a closer look, and my initial hypothesis was proven.
Suspended within the liquid was a snake.
Not a small snake. Not some novelty toy meant to frighten children. No, a freaking snake. Once-living. A rather deadly, venomous species that inhabits the islands of Okinawa. Hiro bade me try a shot, which I did with a bit of hesitation. It's not every day you drink something that's been soaking in neurotoxins. Then again, there are a surprising number of Japanese foods that, if not prepared or consumed the correct way, will kill you. So, what are you going to do?
It was delicious. Plenty of herbs and spices made the liquor sweet, and it had a pleasant burning sensation not unlike a smooth whiskey. In all, it was one of the better alcohols I've tasted. I very much wish to purchase a bottle or two and see if I can get them through customs. (EDITOR: Wow, I just, literally just as I was typing this, thought of the snakes on a plane jokes I could do with that situation.)
I consumed my drinks and spoke of my impending vacation plans with the gathered, practicing more of my Japanese than I usually do. It felt good to practice. I've studied a little since I've been here, but nothing as intense as I'd like. Work leaves little time or energy to pursue such goals. But, then again, my students do a heck of a lot more in a day than anyone I know.
I came home and felt sleep calling quicker than I usually do. I decided to roll out the futon again, the first time in months. It brought back some interesting memories, mostly of being really cold and missing home. It wasn't so bad this time :)
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
oh god i am so tired
J107 Tuesday August 7th
I had tried to set my AC to timer mode, but to no avail. I woke up to freezing temperatures and congestion, an affliction that, for me, goes hand in hand with the cold.
I prepared for work and dashed out the door, eager to make my normal time of 12:45 PM in time at the office. When I got there, to my disbelief and delight, I found that I only had 2 classes that day, and that they were both in the evening. I was overjoyed, to say the least. It was like Christmas in August. Almost as cool as my birthday.
I helped in the customary way that employees do. I gave out flyers, which here is met with the same attitude as if I offered free stabs to the kidneys or (a favorite saying of my coworker M-sensei) 'coupons for cancer'. After an hour and a half of that, I returned to the office. M-sensei went on his break, as is his custom and wont, and I helped fold some more flyers.
During the folding, time can pass slowly. I love to talk with my Japanese coworkers; they really give me a good insight into Japanese culture and their English is excellent. I entered into an impromptu Japanese lesson with one of my coworkers, which I really enjoyed. My manager praised me for finding such a constructive way to deal with my extra time and the relative boredom of folding. That was cool.
My first class came and went at 7, nothing eventful there. My second and final class for the day had one cancellation and no other students. My last hour was spent interviewing a prospective, a fun and educational task. When the other classes let out, I waited for a while before cleaning up. Japanese companies do not employ cleaning services, except for specialized tasks like copier maintenance or plant(tree) delivery.
After a long while, just waiting for the last students to leave, we were given permission to go ourselves. I bought some conbini dinner, not the best but I was feeling a little under the weather, and headed home.
And here I sit, now, caught up on the blog, and very tired. I'm going to sleep now.
I had tried to set my AC to timer mode, but to no avail. I woke up to freezing temperatures and congestion, an affliction that, for me, goes hand in hand with the cold.
I prepared for work and dashed out the door, eager to make my normal time of 12:45 PM in time at the office. When I got there, to my disbelief and delight, I found that I only had 2 classes that day, and that they were both in the evening. I was overjoyed, to say the least. It was like Christmas in August. Almost as cool as my birthday.
I helped in the customary way that employees do. I gave out flyers, which here is met with the same attitude as if I offered free stabs to the kidneys or (a favorite saying of my coworker M-sensei) 'coupons for cancer'. After an hour and a half of that, I returned to the office. M-sensei went on his break, as is his custom and wont, and I helped fold some more flyers.
During the folding, time can pass slowly. I love to talk with my Japanese coworkers; they really give me a good insight into Japanese culture and their English is excellent. I entered into an impromptu Japanese lesson with one of my coworkers, which I really enjoyed. My manager praised me for finding such a constructive way to deal with my extra time and the relative boredom of folding. That was cool.
My first class came and went at 7, nothing eventful there. My second and final class for the day had one cancellation and no other students. My last hour was spent interviewing a prospective, a fun and educational task. When the other classes let out, I waited for a while before cleaning up. Japanese companies do not employ cleaning services, except for specialized tasks like copier maintenance or plant(tree) delivery.
After a long while, just waiting for the last students to leave, we were given permission to go ourselves. I bought some conbini dinner, not the best but I was feeling a little under the weather, and headed home.
And here I sit, now, caught up on the blog, and very tired. I'm going to sleep now.
Catch Up! part 3!
J106 Monday August 6th
(EDITOR: Just realized that my dates are wrong for the past week's worth of entires. Poo.)
I woke up at 9 again, wonderfully lazy time that it is. My air conditioner is truly powerful, able to chill my room to near-winter levels in mere minutes. I have to ration it: it costs a ton, I don't want to get used to it, and it's wreaking havoc with my respiratory system. But, it's not hot!
I got ready for the day, showering and packing and dressing. I biked down to the station and met up with K and Sylvia. They, myself, Clive, Dan, and Bostian were going to spend the day golfing. I grabbed a quick breakfast at Lawson's, and got about halfway through when Danny rolled up in his new wheels.
Dan is an Australian chap, and a right good soul. He and I get along swimmingly. He's a few years older than most of the other teachers around Hitachi, and he seems to have done everything under the sun. He's a surfer, he once owned a successful restaurant, he sailed, he's a good golfer, and a dozen other things I can't remember. Being Australian, where they drive on the crazy side of the road, he didn't have to jump through the bureaucratic nightmare hoops that are the driver's license tests here to get his license. His car cost 100,000 yen, about 1,000 USD. It's a little van, Honda I think, from the Stone Age. But it's solid, gets good gas mileage, and benefits from a number of power-boosting engine tricks.
We all piled in, myself in the front seat, Clive, K, and Sylvia in the back steet, and poor Bostian in the trunk, perched atop some new wheels Danny had yet to install. Dan drove, of course, and we set off!
To where, we weren't quite sure. We knew the name of the place, and the general direction. After 20 minutes of driving or so, we stopped and asked for directions. We kept going. All this time I'm taking photos and video of the drive, so beautiful is the day. We stop and ask for directions again, this time getting instructions that lead us right to the place.
Now, realize that I've shrunk nearly an hour's worth of driving into a small paragraph. That was a fun time for the gathered (except maybe Bostian's backside).
We got the golf course and proceeded to pay for our game. And clubs. And balls. And carts. It wasn't that bad, though. One golf club we found wanted 10,500 yen apiece from us, nearly 100 USD. This place was over half that, only around 4000 yen per person.
We split into two teams of three. Myself, K, and Sylvia in one cart, Bostian, Clive, and Danny in the other. They went ahead of us, and rapidly expanded their lead. Danny is good at golf. He's also an English teacher. His powers combined to turn Bostian and Clive into golf machines. Clive is a naturally sporty person, easily picking up nearly anything to do with physical motion or activity. His bowling skills are apparently tremendous. After a few holes he was driving like a freaking pro.
My group was not so fortunate. In short, we all kinda sucked. I nailed a nice drive early on, but soon came to the realization that, for all my power, I had neither accuracy nor control, those crucial elements of a good golf game. We three spent the first two holes languishing in the hot, hot sun and being very bad at golf. After the second hole, we decided to catch up with the other three guys. I myself elected to stay in the car. I felt the beginnings of dehydration and heat exhaustion work in me, and I knew I had to cool off, stay out of the sun, and drink a lot of fluids, otherwise I was going to be in trouble. The next two or three holes I sat out, enjoying the shade and a pair of cool drinks I purchased from a vending machine on the course.
Around hole 8 I was back in the game, having felt rejuvenated by my rest, and was willing to give it another go. With some tips from Danny and Bostian I improved my game immensely, and was no longer swinging 8 times to hit the ball once.
After the 9th hole we called it a day. We went back to the lodge and returned our equipment. We sat down in the AC to rest before returning to the car. We found a Go board, and I explained the basics, such as I recalled them, to the gathered. K was my opponent, and did a decent job for a beginning. Realize that this is coming from someone who has played, maybe, 2 games of Go in his life. Still, it was fun. We were run off before too long, though, as our payment only covered our game, not lodge time. We piled in the car again, this time in search of food.
South we journeyed. Ever south we rode. We passed through city and farmland alike. We passed through Hitachi, searching for a Mexican joint that K had been to a year prior. Dan took a slight detour to show us his favorite surfing spots. We saw some beautiful coastlines, the likes of which I'd never seen before. Majestic rock outcroppings and broad reefs and sand bars made the scenery very dramatic.
Night had long since fallen when we decided we weren't going to find the Mexican place. We'd driven through the towns of coastal Ibaraki for hours, and no sign of anything remotely Mexican, save Sylvia, was to be found. We wound up following directions from a friend of Dan's, but unable to find the place he had recommended. We settled for a bar and grill called "Another Space."
Beer was had. Delicious, cool, beer. And pasta. Delicious, multi-cheese pasta. Alas, poor Bostian, though, did not get his food. He ordered when we did, but we suspect something horrible had happened in the kitchen. We'd been at the place over an hour, all of us save the Slovenian man having eaten our fill of delicious food. We inquired to the waiters several times, always polite, but were met with looks of fear and uncertainty.
At last, they provided Bostian with not one, but two chicken dishes, free of charge. Bostian enjoyed the first, and wilst going to the bathroom, the waiters brought out the other. Bostian's double take at the magically re-created food was priceless. He got it to go, we paid, and got back in the car. I switched places with Bostian, feeling that making him sit in the trunk of the van one more time, especially after the lack of food he'd suffered, was too much for him.
My ride was an exercise in calming exercises. Dan is not a bad driver; indeed, he reminds me of myself in driving style and attention to the road. Still, to drive on Japanese roads is to abandon at least some of your sanity. Being 90 degrees from the force of acceleration and lacking a seatbelt, or a seat for that matter, made the experience all the more memorable.
At last, we arrived home safe and sound. Bostian left first, heading out from his apartment to enjoy some billiards. I reclaimed my front seat, happy to have a seatbelt again. Clive, K, and Syliva all got out at the same place. Dan dropped me off last, at the train station, where I'd parked my bike earlier that morning.
I rode home, quite exhausted. I enjoyed a cold shower and then blissful, resting sleep. I worked the next day, though it was not to be as taxing as I anticipated.
(EDITOR: Just realized that my dates are wrong for the past week's worth of entires. Poo.)
I woke up at 9 again, wonderfully lazy time that it is. My air conditioner is truly powerful, able to chill my room to near-winter levels in mere minutes. I have to ration it: it costs a ton, I don't want to get used to it, and it's wreaking havoc with my respiratory system. But, it's not hot!
I got ready for the day, showering and packing and dressing. I biked down to the station and met up with K and Sylvia. They, myself, Clive, Dan, and Bostian were going to spend the day golfing. I grabbed a quick breakfast at Lawson's, and got about halfway through when Danny rolled up in his new wheels.
Dan is an Australian chap, and a right good soul. He and I get along swimmingly. He's a few years older than most of the other teachers around Hitachi, and he seems to have done everything under the sun. He's a surfer, he once owned a successful restaurant, he sailed, he's a good golfer, and a dozen other things I can't remember. Being Australian, where they drive on the crazy side of the road, he didn't have to jump through the bureaucratic nightmare hoops that are the driver's license tests here to get his license. His car cost 100,000 yen, about 1,000 USD. It's a little van, Honda I think, from the Stone Age. But it's solid, gets good gas mileage, and benefits from a number of power-boosting engine tricks.
We all piled in, myself in the front seat, Clive, K, and Sylvia in the back steet, and poor Bostian in the trunk, perched atop some new wheels Danny had yet to install. Dan drove, of course, and we set off!
To where, we weren't quite sure. We knew the name of the place, and the general direction. After 20 minutes of driving or so, we stopped and asked for directions. We kept going. All this time I'm taking photos and video of the drive, so beautiful is the day. We stop and ask for directions again, this time getting instructions that lead us right to the place.
Now, realize that I've shrunk nearly an hour's worth of driving into a small paragraph. That was a fun time for the gathered (except maybe Bostian's backside).
We got the golf course and proceeded to pay for our game. And clubs. And balls. And carts. It wasn't that bad, though. One golf club we found wanted 10,500 yen apiece from us, nearly 100 USD. This place was over half that, only around 4000 yen per person.
We split into two teams of three. Myself, K, and Sylvia in one cart, Bostian, Clive, and Danny in the other. They went ahead of us, and rapidly expanded their lead. Danny is good at golf. He's also an English teacher. His powers combined to turn Bostian and Clive into golf machines. Clive is a naturally sporty person, easily picking up nearly anything to do with physical motion or activity. His bowling skills are apparently tremendous. After a few holes he was driving like a freaking pro.
My group was not so fortunate. In short, we all kinda sucked. I nailed a nice drive early on, but soon came to the realization that, for all my power, I had neither accuracy nor control, those crucial elements of a good golf game. We three spent the first two holes languishing in the hot, hot sun and being very bad at golf. After the second hole, we decided to catch up with the other three guys. I myself elected to stay in the car. I felt the beginnings of dehydration and heat exhaustion work in me, and I knew I had to cool off, stay out of the sun, and drink a lot of fluids, otherwise I was going to be in trouble. The next two or three holes I sat out, enjoying the shade and a pair of cool drinks I purchased from a vending machine on the course.
Around hole 8 I was back in the game, having felt rejuvenated by my rest, and was willing to give it another go. With some tips from Danny and Bostian I improved my game immensely, and was no longer swinging 8 times to hit the ball once.
After the 9th hole we called it a day. We went back to the lodge and returned our equipment. We sat down in the AC to rest before returning to the car. We found a Go board, and I explained the basics, such as I recalled them, to the gathered. K was my opponent, and did a decent job for a beginning. Realize that this is coming from someone who has played, maybe, 2 games of Go in his life. Still, it was fun. We were run off before too long, though, as our payment only covered our game, not lodge time. We piled in the car again, this time in search of food.
South we journeyed. Ever south we rode. We passed through city and farmland alike. We passed through Hitachi, searching for a Mexican joint that K had been to a year prior. Dan took a slight detour to show us his favorite surfing spots. We saw some beautiful coastlines, the likes of which I'd never seen before. Majestic rock outcroppings and broad reefs and sand bars made the scenery very dramatic.
Night had long since fallen when we decided we weren't going to find the Mexican place. We'd driven through the towns of coastal Ibaraki for hours, and no sign of anything remotely Mexican, save Sylvia, was to be found. We wound up following directions from a friend of Dan's, but unable to find the place he had recommended. We settled for a bar and grill called "Another Space."
Beer was had. Delicious, cool, beer. And pasta. Delicious, multi-cheese pasta. Alas, poor Bostian, though, did not get his food. He ordered when we did, but we suspect something horrible had happened in the kitchen. We'd been at the place over an hour, all of us save the Slovenian man having eaten our fill of delicious food. We inquired to the waiters several times, always polite, but were met with looks of fear and uncertainty.
At last, they provided Bostian with not one, but two chicken dishes, free of charge. Bostian enjoyed the first, and wilst going to the bathroom, the waiters brought out the other. Bostian's double take at the magically re-created food was priceless. He got it to go, we paid, and got back in the car. I switched places with Bostian, feeling that making him sit in the trunk of the van one more time, especially after the lack of food he'd suffered, was too much for him.
My ride was an exercise in calming exercises. Dan is not a bad driver; indeed, he reminds me of myself in driving style and attention to the road. Still, to drive on Japanese roads is to abandon at least some of your sanity. Being 90 degrees from the force of acceleration and lacking a seatbelt, or a seat for that matter, made the experience all the more memorable.
At last, we arrived home safe and sound. Bostian left first, heading out from his apartment to enjoy some billiards. I reclaimed my front seat, happy to have a seatbelt again. Clive, K, and Syliva all got out at the same place. Dan dropped me off last, at the train station, where I'd parked my bike earlier that morning.
I rode home, quite exhausted. I enjoyed a cold shower and then blissful, resting sleep. I worked the next day, though it was not to be as taxing as I anticipated.
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