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.
Showing posts with label heat. Show all posts
Showing posts with label heat. Show all posts
Thursday, August 30, 2007
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.
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
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.
Catch Up! part 2!
J105 Sunday August 6th
I woke up at a leisurely 9AM. I set out an hour later to do things. Important things. I was determined; I wasn't going to just sit in my apartment all day and surf the internet. No, today was going to be different.
First thing I had to do was get my bike fixed. Luckily, about a kilometer (give or take a few hundred meters) away is a bike shop, run by a nice old Japanese guy. I walked my crippled vehicle to his shop, delighted to see it was both open and staffed by its lone employee.
"Pwah?" the old man asked, looking at my bike and making an explosive gesture with his hands. Did your bike's rear tire burst? he asked with gesture and onomatopoeia. I nodded an emphatic yes, and he quickly set about fixing my bike. He wedged the outer rubber skin of the tire off with a short chisel and a turn of his wrist. Then he unscrewed the actual inflatable tube, made of surprisingly thin rubber (or polymer, I wasn't quite sure which) and pulled it free of my bike.
He dragged a small bin of water, where he kept it I knew not, and tested the tire's cohesion. He inflated it and then pushed segments of the tube under the small water bin, looking for bubbles. He found the offending spot, one and only one puncture. He patched it with a healthy dollop of rubber cement and an ovoid patch. The glue set almost instantly, and he set about reinstalling the tube and the protective rubber shell. The entire process took maybe 12 minutes from start to finish. He charged me 1000 yen for the job, which I gladly paid.
My bike felt like it was brand-new. I rode with the serene grace only a pair of well-inflated tires can give. The bumps and cracks of the road were almost unfelt as I streaked down side streets and main roads. I took my time, luxuriating in the ride. I made my way to the barber shop that had been pointed out to me the night before. It was across the street from G-Bros, easily found thanks to its tell-tale barber's pole.
I went in and was told there would be a 20 minute wait. No worries, I said, and hopped back on the old bike-a-roo. I pedaled my way to the nearest conbini to have breakfast. I enjoyed my rice balls and tea on the steps of the big shrine just off of Route 6. Every once in a while a person would walk by. Those that did, the little old ladies at least, gave the shrine a polite bow, stopping to administer the respectful gesture before resuming their walk.
I returned to the barber shop, fortified by my morning meal, and decided to wait in its air conditioned interior, rather than the growing heat outside. The two staff went about their business, happily cutting the hair of two gentlemen who had been before me. One thing you must know about Japanese barbers is that they take their time. Most hair cuts cost at least 3000 yen, with the majority being around the 5000 yen mark. You get what you pay for, though.
When it was my turn, I was delighted to discover my barber, a young man, knew some English. We had a conversation mixed between English and Japanese while he snipped and trimmed. Japanese barbery is like...sculpting...hair. Lots of little cuts, very few big ones. For example; my sideburns had been growing out of control the last few weeks. He spent, no kidding, about 15 minutes on each one, trimming it down to a uniform, smart-looking length. Same with every other bit of my hair.
My barber had been learning his trade for nearly 7 years in another part of Japan, only recently returning to Hitachi. I got a hair cut, a scalp massage (which was heavenly) and shampoo/rinse. At this place, all that would have normally cost 3000 yen. Scandalous, I know, but realize that that is the *cheapest* hair cut I've ever seen in Japan. But, there's a kicker. I mentioned that I had been referred to this place by a friend, Mike, worker at my company's sister company. When the barbers realized this, they immediately knocked off 1000 yen from my bill. I paid only 2000 yen for the entire thing. Amazing.
After that, I was off to Joyful Yamashin, the local Home Center. A Home Center is a big store, kind of like a Home Depot of Lowes. The only difference is that you can find *anything* that you use in your home. This includes lumber and wall paint and light fixtures. It also includes things like car accessories, clothes, bath products, and toys. You can find just about whatever you want there. Myself, I was looking for a good hat. I have only one, a ball cap, which is precious to me. It's a gift from my Dad, and I'd rather not let it get eaten, or lost, or burned in my many adventures. Plus, it's a ball cap, and I've had a hankering for a wide-brimmed hat. Preferably straw.
And, Lo! I found one! It's a good fit, flexible and snug but not brain-killing. A nice dark blue cloth band about the head-perching bit. And only 700 yen. Yoink! I also picked up a bath towel, I'm in need of a new one, and another belt. This one has a bit more slack than my other new one, and it was nearly 1/3 of the price.
I paid for my new purchases and decided to head home. The day's heat was nearing its peak, and I had finished my to-do list. I came back home and rested, saving my energies for the next day. Golf was the order of the day, and I had to be fresh for it. I did some writing, but not on this blog, and went to sleep around midnight.
I woke up at a leisurely 9AM. I set out an hour later to do things. Important things. I was determined; I wasn't going to just sit in my apartment all day and surf the internet. No, today was going to be different.
First thing I had to do was get my bike fixed. Luckily, about a kilometer (give or take a few hundred meters) away is a bike shop, run by a nice old Japanese guy. I walked my crippled vehicle to his shop, delighted to see it was both open and staffed by its lone employee.
"Pwah?" the old man asked, looking at my bike and making an explosive gesture with his hands. Did your bike's rear tire burst? he asked with gesture and onomatopoeia. I nodded an emphatic yes, and he quickly set about fixing my bike. He wedged the outer rubber skin of the tire off with a short chisel and a turn of his wrist. Then he unscrewed the actual inflatable tube, made of surprisingly thin rubber (or polymer, I wasn't quite sure which) and pulled it free of my bike.
He dragged a small bin of water, where he kept it I knew not, and tested the tire's cohesion. He inflated it and then pushed segments of the tube under the small water bin, looking for bubbles. He found the offending spot, one and only one puncture. He patched it with a healthy dollop of rubber cement and an ovoid patch. The glue set almost instantly, and he set about reinstalling the tube and the protective rubber shell. The entire process took maybe 12 minutes from start to finish. He charged me 1000 yen for the job, which I gladly paid.
My bike felt like it was brand-new. I rode with the serene grace only a pair of well-inflated tires can give. The bumps and cracks of the road were almost unfelt as I streaked down side streets and main roads. I took my time, luxuriating in the ride. I made my way to the barber shop that had been pointed out to me the night before. It was across the street from G-Bros, easily found thanks to its tell-tale barber's pole.
I went in and was told there would be a 20 minute wait. No worries, I said, and hopped back on the old bike-a-roo. I pedaled my way to the nearest conbini to have breakfast. I enjoyed my rice balls and tea on the steps of the big shrine just off of Route 6. Every once in a while a person would walk by. Those that did, the little old ladies at least, gave the shrine a polite bow, stopping to administer the respectful gesture before resuming their walk.
I returned to the barber shop, fortified by my morning meal, and decided to wait in its air conditioned interior, rather than the growing heat outside. The two staff went about their business, happily cutting the hair of two gentlemen who had been before me. One thing you must know about Japanese barbers is that they take their time. Most hair cuts cost at least 3000 yen, with the majority being around the 5000 yen mark. You get what you pay for, though.
When it was my turn, I was delighted to discover my barber, a young man, knew some English. We had a conversation mixed between English and Japanese while he snipped and trimmed. Japanese barbery is like...sculpting...hair. Lots of little cuts, very few big ones. For example; my sideburns had been growing out of control the last few weeks. He spent, no kidding, about 15 minutes on each one, trimming it down to a uniform, smart-looking length. Same with every other bit of my hair.
My barber had been learning his trade for nearly 7 years in another part of Japan, only recently returning to Hitachi. I got a hair cut, a scalp massage (which was heavenly) and shampoo/rinse. At this place, all that would have normally cost 3000 yen. Scandalous, I know, but realize that that is the *cheapest* hair cut I've ever seen in Japan. But, there's a kicker. I mentioned that I had been referred to this place by a friend, Mike, worker at my company's sister company. When the barbers realized this, they immediately knocked off 1000 yen from my bill. I paid only 2000 yen for the entire thing. Amazing.
After that, I was off to Joyful Yamashin, the local Home Center. A Home Center is a big store, kind of like a Home Depot of Lowes. The only difference is that you can find *anything* that you use in your home. This includes lumber and wall paint and light fixtures. It also includes things like car accessories, clothes, bath products, and toys. You can find just about whatever you want there. Myself, I was looking for a good hat. I have only one, a ball cap, which is precious to me. It's a gift from my Dad, and I'd rather not let it get eaten, or lost, or burned in my many adventures. Plus, it's a ball cap, and I've had a hankering for a wide-brimmed hat. Preferably straw.
And, Lo! I found one! It's a good fit, flexible and snug but not brain-killing. A nice dark blue cloth band about the head-perching bit. And only 700 yen. Yoink! I also picked up a bath towel, I'm in need of a new one, and another belt. This one has a bit more slack than my other new one, and it was nearly 1/3 of the price.
I paid for my new purchases and decided to head home. The day's heat was nearing its peak, and I had finished my to-do list. I came back home and rested, saving my energies for the next day. Golf was the order of the day, and I had to be fresh for it. I did some writing, but not on this blog, and went to sleep around midnight.
Friday, August 3, 2007
Not quite so bad this time
J103 Friday August 4th
The heat this morning was...interesting. It was one of those days where you sweat constantly if you go outside. Ugh.
BUT, that's not important. What is important is that today was Friday, and this week has positively flown by. Next week is just two days long, two work days, before I enjoy a WEEK of free time. I almost don't know what to do with myself. The current plan is to bum around Tokyo for a few days, maybe catch up with Brain, and then head to Kyoto. Claire is going there too, and we may be able to join forces. Like Voltron, but there's only two of us, and she's Scottish. So...that'll be different.
Work was okay, once I stopped sweating. My rear tire is acting up again; this evening I realized it had flattened to nothingness. I'm not sure if the valve is just loose or if I've punctured it. I'll be able to tell tomorrow morning before work when I try to inflate it.
I'll be bringing my AC remote with me tomorrow, in hopes that the Japanese staff can help me figure out how to turn my AC on. The past few nights have been hot enough to render falling asleep a non-trivial matter, which raises some concerns with me.
Took a nice, cold shower when I got home, though, which felt very nice. A good way to cool down after an energetic bike ride home.
I had something else, but I can't remember what. I'm a little sleepy, though, so that's to be expected.
The heat this morning was...interesting. It was one of those days where you sweat constantly if you go outside. Ugh.
BUT, that's not important. What is important is that today was Friday, and this week has positively flown by. Next week is just two days long, two work days, before I enjoy a WEEK of free time. I almost don't know what to do with myself. The current plan is to bum around Tokyo for a few days, maybe catch up with Brain, and then head to Kyoto. Claire is going there too, and we may be able to join forces. Like Voltron, but there's only two of us, and she's Scottish. So...that'll be different.
Work was okay, once I stopped sweating. My rear tire is acting up again; this evening I realized it had flattened to nothingness. I'm not sure if the valve is just loose or if I've punctured it. I'll be able to tell tomorrow morning before work when I try to inflate it.
I'll be bringing my AC remote with me tomorrow, in hopes that the Japanese staff can help me figure out how to turn my AC on. The past few nights have been hot enough to render falling asleep a non-trivial matter, which raises some concerns with me.
Took a nice, cold shower when I got home, though, which felt very nice. A good way to cool down after an energetic bike ride home.
I had something else, but I can't remember what. I'm a little sleepy, though, so that's to be expected.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
*sizzle pop*
J102 Thursday August 3rd
It was hot this morning. So hot I woke up sweaty. At 8AM. After getting to sleep at 2AM.
Ugh.
Work was nice today, if hot.
A few weeks after I got here, one of my students moved away. He was a cool kid, and I wished I had more time to get to know him. Today, months after he and I had said goodbye, he shows up and is in my last class for the evening! He's on summer break, and wanted to drop by for another class. Hooray!
He's been taking lessons at a branch of our school near his apartment. His English really has improved since I last talked to him.
The evening has continued to be hot. The window and balcony are open, but there's very little breeze going through them. I'm going to see if I can get my air conditioner to work, but I don't know if I can, given that it's all in Japanese. Literally.
My vacation is close. So close I can taste it.
It was hot this morning. So hot I woke up sweaty. At 8AM. After getting to sleep at 2AM.
Ugh.
Work was nice today, if hot.
A few weeks after I got here, one of my students moved away. He was a cool kid, and I wished I had more time to get to know him. Today, months after he and I had said goodbye, he shows up and is in my last class for the evening! He's on summer break, and wanted to drop by for another class. Hooray!
He's been taking lessons at a branch of our school near his apartment. His English really has improved since I last talked to him.
The evening has continued to be hot. The window and balcony are open, but there's very little breeze going through them. I'm going to see if I can get my air conditioner to work, but I don't know if I can, given that it's all in Japanese. Literally.
My vacation is close. So close I can taste it.
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