Playin' Keep Away

The Geisha of Tofukuji Temple, Kyoto

Osaka

Yeah, he's pushing a cart of garbage across the street.
-Ken

Late Night in Kyoto

I'm in our tiny room. Back from 'A Bar', Lonely Planet's favorite Kyoto hangout. Long story short, it sucked. Lousy food, too many white people and overall underwhelming. I just drank from a beer can that I ashed a cigarette in a second ago. Didn't care for it. Davida's passed out and I've got half a mind to venture out again, but I'm too damned tired.

Today, we saw some temples, ate some very spicy noodles in a private booth kinda place that made me feel like a stripper was gonna show up at any second, and napped for a spell. Total success in my book.

Japan is starting to confuse me somewhat. The worldview here is very structured, very polite. The restaurants all close in the afternoons at the same time and everybody works way too much. I'm from Philly, dammit! I'm used to nasty, insensitive and lazy. I apologize alot for being an ignorant gaijin. I suspect China will be more my speed... if I can decipher the place in any way at all. I've heard they're rude, pushy and unconcerned with my problems. Sounds perfect.
-Ken

Bob and Lily

We rolled into Bob and Lily's place in Nara last Friday. We found them on airbnb and they boasted a western style house complete with all the trimmings. We were not disappointed. With the softest bed, the swankiest kitchen and biggest shower we'd seen since landing in Japan, we knew we were in for a few days of relaxation. Our room had a veranda with a view of the quiet neighborhood, and the scented nightlight made everything seem like home, wherever that might be. But the most comforting amenities were Bob and Lily themselves. The moment we crossed their threshold, they seemed less like hosts and more like the long lost cousins we remembered from childhood.

Bob is from Colorado, Lily grew up about an hour outside Shanghai. She dances salsa, he makes bagels. I'm not kidding. We're talking handmade dough, boiled on the stovetop and baked. I cried when the hot circles of joy came out of the oven.

They are knowledgeable about the area and extremely helpful. They print maps, give detailed directions, stock the fridge with your favorite breakfast foods and will happily dine with you at any one of their favorite haunts. If you ever happen to find yourself in Nara and need to kick back with members of the family you never knew you had, stay with Bob and Lily.
-Ken

Osaka Day 1

We spent Thanksgiving, also Davida's birthday, in Osaka. Cool town. Kind of dingy, rather unrefined, we learned that we were staying in the day laborer/ghetto part of town- if there is such a thing as a ghetto in Japan. Our place was part hostel part frat house. It was filled with Swedes and other uptight European types, many of whom had been living in that spot for months or longer, studying Japanese or working in IT. Every white person in Japan seems to be an IT guy.

On the first night, Wednesday I think, we went out for a drink with Simon from Leeds, the superintendent of the property, Mike the Canadian and some cat from San Diego. After quite a tour of the touristy area full of electronic shops and shoe stores, we wound at The Hub, an English pub style joint which apparently had no beer... or it just wasn't on the happy hour list... or they didn't like us. Who can say? We split as soon as we sat down and kept walking. Still without a drink, mind you we'd been on and off trains all day from Takayama, I called an audible and directed us toward the nearest eating/drinking establishment. As it turns out, it was a yakatori-ya. We were seated in a small room with rice paper screen doors. Very Japanese, very cool. The main problem, however, was that though we had a server, we also had a big touch-screen iPad looking thing from which we were told to order. Of course, everything is in Japanese so none of us could make heads or tails of the menu and the waitress won't let us order directly from her.

Then things went a bit sideways. We got beers, sort of figured out our computer ordering machine, selected some food on a stick and waited... and waited... and waited. Totally being ignored by our girl, Mike the Canadian started looking through his Japanese phrase book and began to make a scene, shouting "sumimasen" whenever the server came anywhere near our table. When she did show up, he didn't know what to say next. San Diego went south with low blood sugar and started cursing and threatening. "This is bull$&!/!. Let's get the f@*{ outta here! I'm gonna walk out on this muth€?£&;%¥ check right now! Thinking our food was forgotten, we asked for the check. As soon as our girl dropped it, the food arrived. Coincidence? We thought not.

The food looked like it might have been tasty when it came off the grill. As it had been forgotten under a heat lamp, however, it was Alpo. We were bummed. We tried to explain to the girl that this was unacceptable, but all attempts to communicate our dismay were met with polite nodding and smiling. At the register, Mike the C tried one more time for a comp. The girl there gave us 20% off the exorbitant bill and we left considering that the one small victory in an otherwise unmitigated culinary defeat.

We split up and Davida and I found a small stand offering takoyaki manned by an old Osakan guy. This stuff is delicious. It's basically a fried ball of dough stuffed with a chunk of octopus. They jam ten of these golfball sized suckers into a small styrofoam takeout container, cover it with mayo, barbecue sauce and spices and hand it over. It cost ¥250; $3. Boom! Take that, overpriced yakitori bi!?€es..!!
-Ken

Osaka and the Best Meal Yet

Our time in the foothills of the Japanese Alps was spent mostly in Takayama, with a fun side trip to the Gifu Prefecture onsen town of Gero, which Ken wrote about a few days ago. Takayama was peaceful, with crisp mountain air and lots of snuggle time, on account of the fact that there's very little to do in a sleepy small town like that. One thing we did enjoy while there was riding Japanese style bikes for the first time. They have built-in locks and large rear-wheel kickstands and nearly every bike we've seen has a basket, another subtle indication of Japanese efficiency, and a stark contrast to all the flashy break-less fixed gear bikes that are everywhere in American cities. Our hosts Amber and Joe, a young couple from Chicago, were super laid back and fun.

We left on Tuesday, and were excited about our first long train ride, a combined length of 4.5 hours on two trains. Again the Japanese rail system impressed- it's simply the most lovely and relaxed way to travel. Food and beer on board, outlets, wifi, super reclining seats, silenced phone policies,.. We have half a mind to leave our last week unbooked (still hammering out the seven days between Okayama in the west and our last weekend in Tokyo starting November 7 when our passes expire) and ride the train whenever we need a nap!

Getting to Osaka was really exciting- it's the city I'd been most looking forward to, and our airbnb stay boasted a rooftop hot tub and sauna. Plus it was my birthday eve! We arrived with minimal trouble, though we took the wrong subway once or twice, and walked the two minutes to the hostel style building where we were greeted by our host, the building manager. Simon showed us around and invited us out for a beer with two other guys who were from San Diego. Our original plan to get settled, do laundry, and have a quiet night was derailed and we joined them. My initial impression, taken from the short walk between the the train and our residence, had been that Osaka, or at least the neighborhood we were in, was full of internationals and younger Japanese people. I was right. We saw more white people in the first five minutes of our walk than I had seen our entire time in Japan thus far. We also saw the first gay Japanese couples walking arm in arm, and tons of mixed race couples, something I probably wouldn't think to comment on had it not been such a rare sight.

After a fairly underwhelming dinner (see Osaka Day 1) we headed back to our spot, only to discover that the hot tub was overflowing with lukewarm water. Foiled by our attempts to enjoy food and amenities, we ventured out again and found a little hole in the wall where no more than five people were sitting at a recessed bar singing karaoke. And imagine our surprise upon discovering that patrons and barmaids alike were all Korean! With more than a modest buzz on, Ken grabbed the mic and belted out "All Night Long" by Lionel Richie, while old drunken men robotically filled in the back up "all night, all night" in quite the monotone. And I'm sure you folks will be as unsurprised as I was to find myself sporting a painful headache on the morning of my birthday.

I tried to shake my nausea all day, bathing in the now piping hot rooftop tub, sweating it out in the sauna, napping in the room, but all to no avail. Perhaps it was this that caused me to have such a strong distaste for the idea of another Japanese dinner, and therein lay the impetus for my brilliant thought. Walking out of a Lawson with a can of hangover cure (most people call it "beer") around 7pm, I saw a beacon of light emanating from a little shop just up the block. Drawing near to it, we saw, like an inscription from the gods, the words "Nepali Indian Restaurant". We went in and our senses were exalted by the smell of curry, the smattering of bright greens, purples and glittering pinks adorning the walls, and our favorite 1960s Bollywood tunes screeching and thumping from a pair of old beat-up speakers. For the tiny price of 1200 yen, 14.60 USD, we ate like kings. Naan the size of a cat, two curries, tandoori, rice and salad, with a mango lassi to wash it all down. It may seem like sacrilege to eat Nepali food in a country so rich and diverse with food options, but it was the best damned Indian food I've ever had, and I'm not sorry!

Ken at the Onsen

Tuesday November 20th. We took a late morning train from Takayama to Gero, a small village in the Japanese Alps known for its many onsen which, in case you're not familiar, are spas with natural mineral hot springs, cold pools and jacuzzi type baths. They can be indoors or out. Unisex or segregated. This is important to note as it is proper to go nekkid during your stay. The protocol is to carry with you a "humility towel", basically a hand towel that you hold in front of your junk as you move from pool to pool. The ritualistic process is as follows: first, you strip down to your birthday suit in the locker room. Then, you proceed to the onsen itself. Ours was outdoors, segregated and nearly empty being early afternoon on a weekday. Once in the hot springs area, you'll find a low row of moveable shower heads, each with a small plastic stool in front. Take a seat, hose yourself down, shampoo and soap up thoroughly, rinse and repeat. You are now ready to bathe.
The order is a matter of personal choice. I went with the medium-hot big pool with bubbly jets first, then a plunge into the icy cold pool, in this case a small cement cistern just big enough for one. It was bracing to say the least. From there, I hit the super hot, super bubbly tub, leaned my head back on a large smooth stone and looked up at an overhanging red and gold leafed Japanese maple in front of a crystal clear blue mountain sky. Bliss.
Back and forth I went, hot to cold, bubbly to still and occasionally hitting the shower stools for a fresh soap and shampooing. After a bit of time in the sauna, a cedar chest into which you close yourself sitting upright with your head poking out, I showered up one more time, crawled rubbery and relaxed out of the joint and called it a day... all for under 7USD.

Japanic

It started out so well. We were fully adjusted to the time change and (gasp!) enjoying getting up at 7 am to greet the day and people watch in the breakfast room. Being that it was Saturday, there was a much more relaxed group of diners chatting and chewing that morning. We stayed the full two hours, taking advantage of our one free meal of the day, and the internet that only worked downstairs. Finally we rolled ourselves, all full of eggs and sausage patties, labeled "hamburg", into the elevator and back to our room to pack. Pained though I am to think of how my family reading along might react to such honesty, I must report that our exodus was not without the urge to imbibe, and weighing the almost empty bottle in my bag, we gave way.

We checked out promptly at 10:59 and were feeling simply stellar. High fives abounding, we made our way to the Tokyo Railway Station to activate our 21-day unlimited rail passes.

At the JR information area we coordinated the transfer of our order forms into real passes and reserved our seats for the Shinkansen bullet train to Nagoya. Nagoya, home to 2 million people, is the fourth largest city in Japan. It was then that the rain started to pick up, but no sweat, surely it would subside by the time we got off in 2 hours.

The Shinkansen was the most thrilling and unfamiliar way I have ever traveled. In addition to the wild, wheel-less magnetic technology used to propel this train at 200mph, the seats are spaced farther apart than a business class flight with more reclining ability and steadier tray tables. Indeed, when the train began to move, I was sure we were preparing for take off. Soon after, lovely uniformed ladies appeared carting beer, tea, and ornate lunch boxes wrapped in delicate cloth and rice paper, priced as opulently as they looked. The comely vendors turned, bowed and smiled each time they left our car. Again we high-fived at being clever enough to get these rail passes, as this train would have cost well over 200 dollars without them.

In no time at all we arrived in Nagoya, and though we had 3 hours to wait before meeting up with our hosts, we were excited to get out of the station and explore the city we fancied would be the Philadelphia of Japan. Again we congratulated ourselves on being so awesome as we hopped between the Sakura-dori and Meijo subway lines and got of at Kurokawa, exactly where we needed to be!

Unfortunately, this was our first moment of disappointment. Not only was it pouring down much harder when we emerged from the station, but it turns out that Japan is a bit like Israel in that entire cities seem to shut down on Saturday. I mean NOTHING was open, save for a takoyaki place that was more of a stall than anything else- an overhanging awning that spilled rain everywhere and had no seats. In case you don't know what takoyaki is, we'll get to that. But not to fear! Behold, yonder, a Mister Donut! We scurried across the busy street between cars sloshing water with their tires and wipers and entered the corner doughnut shop. Now, on any other day we might have been heartily disappointed to have ended up in the Dunkin' Donuts equivalent of shops our first ten minutes out of Tokyo, but we were so cold and soaked at this point that this place looked like Vetri to us. With nothing but time to kill, we broke out the Suntory whiskey and sipped it with a bowl of spicy noodles (because apparently you can get them everywhere, even at a doughnut shop) while playing No-limit Texas Hold'em.

The time came for one of us to step out and make a phone call to our hosts, right around 4:30, and I was the first to go. Note: first. We had two cell phone numbers, and I was lucky enough to find a pay phone just 100 or so meters away. After finally figuring out how to use damned the thing, I made four attempts at each number with no success. Okay, no big deal. Our hosts said they'd be home around 5, so I guess I'm a little early- they're probably on the train home right now!

At 5:30 Ken stepped out to try again, and again no luck. We'd now been at this Mister Donut for going on three hours, and it was time to make a move- maybe we could email them, or call them on Skype. The adjacent restaurants all opened at five, so we went into the one with a WiFi sign in the window. But after ordering a beer, we learned, naturally, that they don't know how to use their own wireless. The box had 8 different bar codes and sets of numbers and after several combinations I finally gave up.

At this point, one of the cooks, Katsu, handed me his phone. Okay, one last time, PLEASE pick up! "Hello?" "Maya! Is that you? This is Davida! We are here! Right near the Mister Donut!" A tiny voice on the other end said that she would pick us up there. Phew! Thank you Chef Katsu! We paid and left to wait out front.

Ten minutes. Twenty. Forty-five. She said half an hour, but it's not like a Japanese host to be late. Back to the pay phone. "Hello?" "Yes, Davida, where were you? I already go and come back. I go again, but please to wait." I guess it should have occurred to me at this point that perhaps there was more than one Mister Donut. But no. Another twenty-five minutes went by with no sign of Maya. With an ultimate resolve to get there or go broke trying, we hailed a cab and fervently expressed our desire to go to herokodori. Heerukudory. HE-I-RU-KU-DORI. If our cab driver had spoken English and we Japanese, I'm sure he would have been repeatedly asking us for a cross street, but alas, hindsight is always 20-20. After taking us on a 1400 yen ride ten minutes away to what we thought was their home, but ended up being just another phone booth where we received even more confusing and cryptic information, Ken called an audible and directed the driver back to Kurokawa, where we had been only too excited to arrive six hours prior. The only redemptive part of that stressful and completely unnecessary ride was the driver's refusal to take the fare. "Ser-vi-su".

At this moment, in great desperation, the two years of my Japanese study finally clicked for a brief moment. Kurokawa station's information booth was attended by a man whose English was equivalent to that of a mute person, being conveyed only through signs and gestures. Despite this I was able to extract one thing from all the accompanying gibberish; Hachi-ju San-ju-ni desu. The next bus is at 8:32. And with that, we rushed back to a pay phone, informed Maya of our arrival time, got back in time to board the bus, and got off just in time to see her riding toward us sporting a huge and apologetic smile.

Our time in Nagoya with Koji and Maya was precious, but especially so since it was punctuated by a momentary panic that somehow seems to be the sort of thing we'd do well to get used to.

Flashback To Friday and Before

In 2008, I spent a few days in Tokyo on my way to Thailand. Alone and lonely on my first night there, I braved the chill November mist and happened upon a tiny corner bar in Roppongi. The exterior was so plain and unassuming, I wasn't sure it was open. I poked my head in and saw a man behind the bar and a lovely young woman sitting on a stool opposite him. I asked, "sumimasen, are you open?" The bartender looked at me blankly. The woman said, "yes".
I took a seat at the bar and spent that evening getting to know the bartender/owner/chef Yuta and his college buddy and best customer Aiko. Yuta spoke no English, but Aiko was fluent so she translated for us and before long, we were all communicating clearly.
Several carafes of sake and a bit of shochu later, Aiko broke out some paper, handed me a sheet, started folding and instructed me to do the same. It took me a bit, but I soon realized she was trying to teach me how to make an origami crane. It didn't go very well. My crane looked like an ashtray.
I had so much fun that I returned the next night. This time Yuta prepared some of his mother's specialties courtesy of the house. First, he presented me and Aiko each with a small, smoked fish. It's head was intact, and it's glassy eye regarded me with disdain, "no gaijin would have the stones to eat me." Thinking this was a joke, I hesitated and looked at my friends for some sign as to how I should proceed. Aiko promptly picked up her fish and bit off its head. Yuta did the same. I was afraid this was how it was going to go down. They looked at me and smiled in a way that said, "mmmm, yummy!" Not wanting to offend, I followed suit. The smoky, fishy flavor, along with the texture of crunchy fish skull and squishy eyeballs made my eyes water. I forced a sickly smile as I choked down the mouthful and drained my sake glass in a desperate attempt to eradicate the taste from my palate. Subsequent dishes included pan fried rice balls with fish parts and other fish part based recipes, all from Yuta's childhood.
As the sake flowed, the cuisine seemed to get more palatable until, at long last, it was time to say goodnight...
This past Friday, as we wandered around Roppongi, I tried my best to retrace the route to Yuta's bar. We got turned around once or twice, but ultimately found the small corner address that was home to my warmest memories of Tokyo. It was mid-afternoon and the place looked understandably deserted as most bars don't open until evening. Davida tried the door anyway, and was shocked when it opened easily. Inside, the place was dark, the bar and flooring had been pulled up and all telltale signs of an operating watering hole removed. No artwork, no collectibles, no money taped to the wall indicating that celebratory first sale. Even the small watercolor rendering of the place I had painted which Yuta proudly displayed on the wall behind the bar was gone, an article even the least discerning collector would surely have left behind.
When the door opened and a construction worker stepped in, momentarily scared to death by the white people milling around in the dark gutted space, we were able to learn from him that the place had been closed six months and Yuta's whereabouts were unknown.
In Tokyo, things move quickly and are ever changing. Businesses open and close, buildings are torn down and new ones erected in their place all in the time it takes to order and eat a simple rice bowl. I guess you can't go back.
-Ken

Recalling The Last Three Days

It's Monday night in Takayama, a small historic mountain town north of Nagoya in a part of Japan I've never heard of. The air is brisk and dry, the distant snow capped mountains kissed by the orange light of an autumn afternoon.
Last time I wrote, we were in Tokyo on Friday. Much has happened since then. That night we hit Shinjuku, a brightly lit, noisy part of town where young professionals go to blow off steam after an interminably long week. We sat at a counter and ate spicy noodles, of course, and talked to Toshi, our new friend and surprisingly learned phillies fan.
We proceeded to get lost in the subway, but were bailed out by a charming, scarf wearing Tokyoite named Akio, who walked us through the labyrinthine station to our platform asking no more than an opportunity to practice his English. From there, it was early to bed so we could catch a morning train to Nagoya. I'll let Davida spin that yarn.
-Ken

Tsujiki Fish Market

We woke up at 4:15a to go the Tsujiki fish market on Friday. Having wandered into the wholesale vendors' area, we were accosted by the salty scent of salty fishmongers and the entrails of their wares. We saw everything from cleanly extracted sacks of salmon roe to decapitated six hundred pound tuna. Weaving through the stalls of rubber-clad oyster shuckers for half an hour, we were finally discovered by a bewildered, toothless fish cop. "This section is off limits!"
Free breakfast back at the hotel around 7a and already thinking about going back to bed. No way. We rallied and found ourselves in a stunning park near Roppongi on the sunniest day so far.
Aside from its beautiful cherry blossom trees and peaceful winding paths, this park was host to the first shrines and temples we'd seen thus far. We sat in a cavernous room adorned by golden chandeliers and reflected on the contrast of the setting only hours before. We passed by monks in sandals smoking cigarettes, admired rows and rows of stone cherubs in knit wool hats, and stood solemnly in graveyards flanked by forests of bamboo. Sigh.

Our Breakfast

I don't know what they feed the chickens to make the yolks of their eggs so beautiful and orange but it's definitely not growth hormones.

Tokyo Day 1

First mistake: don't sit down at a restaurant where the prices are only printed in Japanese. You may end up paying $50 for a tempura lunch. Not that it wasn't delicious; the sake was warming, the deep fried goodness hot and delectable, but the check left us feeling cold... s-s-so c-c-c-cold... Lesson learned.
The search for our bank in Shiodome yielded little at first until we wandered into the Ginza and found a branch among the giant multicolored signs and brilliantly shiny shop fronts. Yay! We have cash!! It's amazing how far some people will go to avoid ATM fees.
Evening. Okachimachi station. A seemingly endless maze of stalls hawking everything from carharrts to vans to gyros to girls. We skipped the houses of ill repute and opted for noodles and beer. Excellent choice.
-Ken

First night / Morning in Tokyo

Hello everyone!

We have safely arrived in Tokyo, and are sitting in the "lobby" of our hotel watching dozens of well dressed business men scarf down the free breakfast made available by the hotel between 7 and 9am. Being very proud of ourselves for even being up early enough to catch the breakfast considering our 23 hour day yesterday, I figured I would wear the complimentary slippers that I was provided with. People are sniggering at Me. Today we will go to the Vietnamese Embassy to take care of our visas before we head out of Tokyo, and search for the best ramen in our neighborhood of Minato. Love to all, more soon.

D.