Japan, baby!
(So what if it was a year ago…)
And now for the glorious tale of
Heflyn’s Journey to the Orient!
I carried out my villainous threat and did in fact actually embark for that mysterious island of samurais and industrialized commercial excellence.
On March 22nd 2006 I traversed the small distance to Fullerton via Amtrak to meet Sean and Van.
The next morning we caught a United Airlines flight that lasted approximately 12 hours and transported us another 16 hours into the future. Though it promised to be no Delorean ride, I availed myself of Doc Brown’s advice and kept the melatonin pills near anyway, in anticipation of a certain temporal displacement sickness he referred to as “jet lag“. Arriving in Tomorrowland on Friday, March 24 I marched boldly into a strange new world of squinty strangeness….
But of course, I must introduce my fellow travellers!
More on them later. For now, content yourself with the fact that they are a right hoopy bunch of froods. I could not have traveled with a better group of sojourners. Well, technically I would have preferred the company of an elite bodyguard troupe and a well endowed harem . Also, a minstrel. But otherwise, I could not have traveled with a better group of- Oooh and a personal accountant would have really simplified things!
Now where was I?
oh yes-
After retrieving our valued luggageables, we made haste to rendezvous with our soon to be much more valued tour guide and companionable Josh. (Short for Joshuawesome, I believe.)
Who is he?! From whence does he come?! What powers of darkness await the slightest tremor of his will?! What is the untold story behind this man, this enigma, whose first tentative forays into the strange world of Japanese linguistics took the form of random Asian market movie rentals that would eventually lead him to the halls of academia and the community surrounding the Japanese Student Association of California State University Fullerton where he would eventually find love with a young TA studying far from the Japanese island of her home to which she would soon return; a journey shared by a young man who would go on to establish himself among her people as a teacher of the English language over the course of two years at the end of which he would be called upon to perform the menial duties of a tour guide for a cadre of determined American tourists… His story may forever remain a mystery…
What I do know is that this guy has a mean talent for karaoke, and he tried to sell me a cell phone right when I met him.
(Not really.)
It wasn’t long before I was introduced to another long lost member of the Fullerton Asian Brotherhood (the FAB 400,000). They call her Nori. She immediately attempted to sell her phone to me.
(Not really.)
Meeting Nori reminded me that there is a very small population of females in the world who are really quite incredibly nice and good and sweet. My standing theory on the overwhelming sweetness that such women possess is that this trait developed as a means of dissuading predators from eating them, thus preserving their existence long enough to mate (usually with engineers of some kind) and propagate a new generation of too-sweet-to-eat larvae.
It’s obviously a developing theory with lots of details to hammer out. I regret not having had more time to study this particularly rich-in-sweetness specimen who also smells very nice.
Josh and Nori lead us through a continual labyrinth of train and subway stations, stopping only long enough for us to expend a few hundred Yen into electronic ticket vendors at each new branch of the system. (It would take several days before some of us could make enough sense of the machines to operate them ourselves.) We would soon reach our hotel. Our love hotel. It wasn’t a love hotel in the classic revolving heart-shaped-vibro-waterbed with a bumper-car-bondage-dungeon-sauna complete with condom-producing pachinko-slot machines sense… but they had free pornographic content on channel two and renting by the hour was an option.
When we got to the hotel (the love hotel), Josh checked the five most attractive members of our group into rooms and took the remaining four back to his place, wisely removing himself from a degree of temptation he was incapable of resisting. Our shower was hobbit sized. Tall-hobbit sized to be sure, but considerably less than roomy.
We slept. I had marvelous dreams of adventures throughout Japan for the first three nights. I am quite sure that if I could remember those dreams, I would be fluent in the Japanese language.
Day 2: Saturday, March 25
The next morning the five most attractive members of our party got up extremely early (sometime before noon) and walked the excruciating block and half to the location designated for meeting the fuglies. Enroute we stopped at a combini or convenience store as a yankee might call it, and obtained our breakfast materials. Having already been warned of the wondrous quality of combini food by Sean and Van, I was quite surprised that their descriptions of egg salad sandwiches approaching actual edibility were not vicious, vicious lies. I suppose that I’m just not a trusting person. Ask my mother-if that is her real name-and she’ll tell you-as if anything she says can be trusted. No really though, they had actual fresh, homemade egg salad sandwiches sliced triangularly and packed sansundesirable crust! Just like mom used to make-not that I would eat anything that woman gave me- and for a negligible pile of coins. Every morning thereafter we gorged ourselves combini style, saving our precious Yennage for fine dining in the evening. I found myself particularly enamored of onigiri or “triangular balls of rice wrapped in seaweed containing a mystery filling-usually something that died very recently and hasn’t experienced a cooking flame of any kind.” Very tasty. Especially when you get one with an actual recognizable filling, like tuna or salmon. There are quite a few pictures in the trip archive of yours truly totally pigging out on those friggin things- I made a quickie collage. Also worthy of mention are Kirin Koiwai Milk & Coffees which are something akin to frappuccinos only cheaper and not so sickly sweet.
After meeting up with the rest of the group we began the desperate search for an appropriate currency exchange location. Much thanks to Van for carrying me financially up to this point.
And for spotting me on my JRail Pass.
And for generously fronting the money for the hotel in Kawasaki.
And the one in Osaka.
Also, the inn in Kyoto.
I think I might have a sugar momma.
Currency exchange really shouldn’t have been that big of a deal, and it wasn’t for those among us who were already loaded with American dollars. Others of us, whose credit union/credit card companies had assured that their respective cards would work just fine in Japan….had to spend some time looking for an ATM that would actually take foreign devil cards. We found one eventually, thanks to my totally wandering down a stairwell NEXT to the ATM we had been directed to. Yay!
We spent the rest of the day in various areas of Tokyo, which is really G.I.Normous. I still do not even feel that I can say I have been to Tokyo, just because of the sheer number of cities actually existing within the megatropolis of Tokyo that I never saw a shadow of. To be honest, even the areas we went to are largely a blur, so culture shocked I was from the 
relentless presence of the crowd and the sort of ever-existent commercial and industrial DOMINANCE of my peripheral vision. Looking at my schedule I see that on that day we visited Shinjuku and Akhibara. These are pictures of Shinjuku, I believe.
Several members of our group wanted to purchase Japanese cell phones (which are totally awesome); we were told these could be come by cheaply via entering a contract with no penalties for cancellation. Well, the contracts have changed over the years so this wasn’t quite the simple fleecing of Japanese vendors it was thought to be. This did not keep us from scouring the cityside for good deals. I didn’t mind following along, since I was keeping my eyes open for a Super Famicon in every videogame or discount electronics store we passed. Long story short, I had some time ago purchased original SF cartridges of Final Fantasy III & IV, mainly for the artwork by my favorite artist Yoshitaka Amano and partly in the vague hope that someday a Japanese-vampire-schoolgirl-temptress would teach me enough of the language through the act of intercourse that I would actually be able to play them. While I have taken excellent care of my Super Nintendo console along with my other, more vintage systems, I was under the impression that Super Famicon cartridges were not compatible with their yankee counterparts due to the fact that they do not actually fit in SNES systems. During my quest to locate one in Tokyo, Alan was kind enough to inform me that No, I am a total idiot and yes, SF & SNES cartridges are counter compatible. Apparently all one needs to do to enforce the natural harmonization of the consoles is to forcibly remove some plastic obstruction or other from within the belly of the SNES. THANK YOU, ALAN. Now I must simply muster the courage to mutilate my beloved not-yet-vintage entertainment appliance.
While shopping, we met up with yet another exiled FAB member:
Truth be told I was not fortunate enough to enjoy Marcos’ company for very long during this trip, but our brief conversations led me to believe that he is an excellent fellow and much loved by the others in our group.
It wasn’t long before we found the inevitable world famous SEVEN STORY anime store, ANIMATE.(The freakishly unnatural length of my neck is used for scaling purposes.)
At this point I feel it is appropriate to rant about Japanese consumerism. They don’t have old things. At least, they aren’t prevalent. I mean finding slightly older electronics, appliances or products (Super Famicons por ejemplo) is nigh imposible. Pornography stores they keep out in the open and second hand stores they hide away for perverted technoconsumerist enthusiasts like myself. I found ONE (1) store containing out of date electronics and it was tucked neatly into the back of a seedy alley I mistakenly stepped into while searching for a trash can.
At this point I feel it is appropriate to rant about the Japanese aversion to trash cans. SERIOUSLY, ONE(1) horrific, unforgettable terrorist attack and suddenly trash cans are utterly verboten. Considering the way the US reacted after 9/11 I shouldn’t be surprised, but I strongly recommend to anyone considering a visit to Tomorrowland that they take an extra carry-on just for trash. The entire trip I only saw ONE (1) trash can inside of the subway/train system, and only a handful of public trash receptacles on the street. One little old lady actually screamed at me and swatted repeatedly at my hand when I brazenly attempted to dispose of a small styrofoam platter just inside the door of her vending booth. I very nearly did something quite violently impolite. The lack of trash cans is compensated for by the abundance of vending machines. Japan has more vending machines than it has pornography shops. For those of you unfamiliar with the eastern penchant for perversion, that is quite alot. Quite a lot indeed. In fact, many restaurants utilize vending machines placed outside of their businesses to make ordering more efficient. When you insert your payment and select your entree, it prints a ticket which you then take inside to claim your meal. Clever, no? This method minimizes exposure to other human beings, so you can figure out the reason for its popularity.
Anyhoooooo…..
When everyone had tired of shopping, we stopped to eat at an Indian restaurant on Josh’s recommendation. Being a big fan of curry, I did not object in the least to one of our first organized meals being non-Japanese in origin. I was not disappointed as this turned out to be a new experience, even for someone who has had as much curry as I have in the states. Forsaking the traditional curry-over-rice method familiar to multicultural poserboys like myself, we delved into the mysteries of fresh bread dipped in curry with relish. (The emotion, not the condiment.)
After the delicious meal the party returned to shopping, while I was whisked away by a samurai in shinning armor:
One of the reasons I was excited about my trip to Japan was the opportunity to hang out with Shigesaka. We go way back. All the way back to high school, when my parents and I entertained him as his host family for a year. It is because of Shige that I grew a third nipple for six months. Long story.
Having rescued me from more camera/phone/anime shopping, Shige took me to meet his parents and Sachiha for dinner at Sushizanmai, in the center of the world famous Tsukiji fish market. At least, I think that’s where we were. Shige might correct me 
)
This was definitely one of the highlights of the trip. Shige’s family has visited us in the US and has continued to correspond with us over the years but to be able to visit them in their home country and to experience their wonderful generosity was quite a treat. As if the company was not delightful enough, I was force fed the most delicious dishes over the course of the evening. There was a peculiarity to the insistence of the Iimori’s that I keep eating as well as the continual picture taking. I was beginning to suspect I had fallen among cannibals. The code word of the evening was ABUNDANCE. I was full literally less than halfway through the meal.We started with quite a lot of shared sashimi – saba (mackerel), toro (fatty tuna), maguro (less-fatty tuna), hamachi (yellowtail), sake (salmon), unagi (freshwater eel) or anago (saltwater eel)- im not sure which, ika (squid or cuttlefish), some sort of roe (I’ve never really been a fan of the fish eggs)…Again, Shige might have to correct me if I am wrong on any of this. Then we moved on to individual sushi platters. Because we were sitting in a place the sushi chefs wouldn’t see me I wasn’t too concerned with moderating my use of wasabi, but I halved my portions out of politeness anyway. I warned the Iimori’s about my retarded yankee palate before indulging in what they might consider inappropriate amounts of wasabi. Still, Sachiha cautioned me with wide-eyed concern when I actually carried out my threat- “That’s too much I think!”. I tried my best to imitate a knowing smile as I hungrily consumed my first piece. “That’s ok, Sachiha,” I didn’t say, “I am a man!” I’ve always been proud of my ability to handle generous quantities of dangerously spicy foodstuffs such as wasabi or habanero, but seeing Qevin on another night fashion and consume his soy/wasabi PASTE concoction really blew me away. But I digress. After the delicious sushi, I did my best to finish off the tempura in front of me, which was celestial in its flaky goodness. At Mr. Iimori’s insistence, I polished off a piece of eel tempura that was easily 10 inches long. Seeing me attempt to brandish the beast with my chopsticks provided everyone an opportunity to laugh uproariously. The eel probably never looked more alive then in my nimble hands, fried and breaded as it was. After that we had some sharkfin something something and duck liver something else. My inability to recall the dishes might have something to do with the fact that I couldn’t pronounce them or the fact that I had been drinking sake the whole time, or quite possibly a combination of both. All in all, it was an impressive meal that I doubt I will be able to top for a very long time, if ever. After the meal, myself and my gracious hosts made our way back to the railway system where I gave Mrs. Iimori a gift I brought from America and parted ways with them.
Shige walked me back to where I needed to meet my group, which was good because I would have been thoroughly lost.
We stopped in Shibuya, where he pointed out the building where he works and a famous statue of a dog that stands in a square right outside of the railway entrance.
He said, “There is a really great story behind that statue.”
That’s all he said as we stood silent a moment and then continued on our way.
Meanwhile, everyone else was having an extraordinary time Heflynless at a different restaurant.:
So that was Saturday. The five more attractive members of our party again returned to the hotel to sleep and dream about raw fish and geishas.
Day 3: Sunday, March 26
The next morning we packed hurriedly and set off for Osaka. All of our travel between cities was through the railway system, mostly the JR lines.While it’s entirely regulated by the government, the railway system is still largely commercial. JR runs the majority of the crosscountry lines including the Shinkansen Super Express bullet train system and alot of the local lines around Tokyo and other major cities. They even run bus systems. And its all at the disposal of the foreigner armed with a JRail Pass . Not available inside of Japan, a preordered JRail Pass will allow you to use all JR line trains, subways, buses and even ferries for 5 days. It costs about $250 which is really nothing if you plan to travel between cities often. If travelling extensively inside of Tokyo or similarly populated areas, the purchase of a Suica card can simplify travel as well. Much like the parking pass I use at work, Suica cards contain an integrated circuit that can be read through your wallet when passed over a turnstile scanner. They’re sexy looking too. I kept mine just in case I ever go back. The train ride to Osaka was several hours long and gave us all a chance to take in the Japanese countryside/cityscape… or sleep…or check out our shiny new camera or phone we bought the day before.
Our hotel in Osaka was a swanky 10 person joint called the Live Artex:
Our suite was a two story condo style pad on the 8th floor. It was very nice but unlike our previous HQ it lacked free porn. Interestingly enough, free porn or payperview- its always on Channel 2. It’s a mystery for the ages (Ages 13+ in some parts of Japan). Also worth mentioning is the sauna-shower-jacuzzi-bath.
Ah yes, allow me to introduce you to the Japanese improvement on the Western toilet. Electronically warmed, chemically sanitized and equipped with his/her bidet settings. The fact that the Japanese decided that western style toilets needed improvement is extremely ironic considering traditional Japanese style toilets, or Non-Western toilets as Sean calls them due to their use throughout the world (they’re “Japanese style” to me, even in China), consist of nothing more than a hole in the ground. To use them correctly you have to develop muscles in places that most Caucazoids don’t even have places. Personally I’m far too taut to squat. Later, when I successfully used a Non-Western toilet for the first time, I honestly DID want a cookie or medal or something. Like a newly trained toddler, I wanted everyone to know that I had successfully used the potty! I wanted everyone to know, and I never wanted to use a Japanese toilet ever again.
A moment to claim floor/bedspace, strew our luggage about the place and we were off again- this time to explore the wonders of Osakatown.
MMMMmmm….Takoyaki! My first time tasting octoballs was a flaming success. (Sounds like something Tobias would say.) Seriously though, DELICIOUS. As I type this my mouth is watering with the thought of devouring more of these tasty spheres of tentacular, spectacular invertebrae goodness!
After everyone had enough scrumptious Octopus vulgaris, we went arcading.
Then we jumped around a bit.
Tuckered out from all that stupendous leaping about, we followed Josh to a place. I say a place, because at the time I had no idea we were going to do karaoke. If I had known, I probably would have jumped into that canal you see a pane or so above.
On the way, we stopped at the Apple store.
We all took a minute to send email and play the Incredibles vidgame in Japanese. For the curious ones, the prices are pretty much the same there as here.
Next we took a turn through Amerikatown. There were a bunch of Japanese hiphop enthusiasts throwing it down with breakish dancing in the middle a little garden square.
It was extremely humorous the way the black guys would continually single out Alger just because of his classy urban stylings. This requires an explanation I suppose. Black persons in Japan are not like black persons in America, obviously. Their culture is more islander or polynesian. But because of the huge market for American pop culture, their bread and butter is pretending to be down wit da bruthas, selling high priced streetwear to eager Asian youths longing to identify with the American hiphop phenomenon. Knowing they would mistake him for one of these Alger would see it coming a mile away. “Watch this guy- he’s gonna hit me up.” Continually ensuing hilarity!
In Japan karaoke is not bar style. You rent a room by the hour, paying a flat fee for certain services such as ‘all you can drink’ or ‘complimentary ear plugs’. All in all, it was a fun experience. Both Als and Josh have good voices, so it wasn’t too terrible of a listening ordeal. I also had my first taste of Cassius, which is a type of alcoholic beverage but with very little alcohol.
Toward the end when the whiskeys came out, things got a little crazy. Then Bill and Lorance decided to finish off all the cassius for us. If it was a contest, Bill definitely won. Its a good thing nobody reads this page, or it might be incriminating.
After Lorance finally finished his pitcher and nearly fell over a few times…I became unnerved as he stumbled toward me with a hungry look in his eyes.
After he divested me of my intestines, lean meats and goodlier bits, he moved on to fairer prey…
Will his hunger never be sated??
Apparently not.
Then he just kinda nibbled on Sean:
After guiding the more intoxicated (read: Lorance) members of our party back to the hotel room, everything went somewhat black with sleep. Good times!
Day 4: Monday, March 27
The next morning we set off for Hiroshima. This was a venture of considerable mental and emotional impact for me, as I suspected it would be. The subject of the nuclear destruction of Hiroshima and Nagasaki has been lately on my mind and frequently referenced in recent conversations. In my mind, the city of Hiroshima has existed primarily as symbol. Not a symbol of war or a simple sign of evil, but of the essential cost of facing evil and ending it. A grave and incalculable cost. I have often said that I will never be happy that the US bombed Hiroshima, and that I would prefer that it had never been necessary. But it was. And if I cannot wish that it had not been necessary then I would go so far as to wish that it occurred sooner.A symbol of the cost. This weighed heavily on my mind as our train sped closer and closer to a place whose existence as a modern metropolis has within my mind’s eye always been overshadowed by an image of rubbled expanse, a level wasteland of ruin and a symbol of the cost of opposing evil. It could be suggested that paying that cost was in itself evil. I myself have never held this view, but as we entered the city of Hiroshima, I expected my views to be tested strenuously.
When we finally arrived, the pictures in my mind exploded into the reality of the living city. Sunlit, unscarred faces carried on upright frames through busied streets banished the images of history and it wasn’t long until I was once again looking at my surroundings through the lense of white anglo-saxon protestant Yankee male Matthew Heflin, tourist extraordinaire.
Josh led us past rows of small nearly identical cafe style establishments until we reached our destination- a world famous okonomiyaki restaurant. I knew nothing of this new delight, but the other members of my group quickly deseminated the fast and dirty details of okonomiyaki cooking. Okonomi-yaki, or literally “as you like it/how you want it”-”grilled/fried stuff”, is like an omelette in general composition, a pizza in the manner its ingredients are chosen and applied, and a sandwichesque pancake in appearance. The style in which it is served is dependent on the city where you get it.
The residents of Hiroshima are particularly proud of their okonomiyaki and apparently many feel Hiroshima-style is the only gospel truth okonomiyaki. The primary marker of Hiroshima style is the addition of noodles, which did make quite a difference. Most of the other restaurants that we had passed also specialized in okonomiyaki but as Josh explained to us, they apparently weren’t as WORLD FAMOUS. (The WORLD FAMOUSNESS of the locations we stopped at would soon become a hallmark of our travelling experiences, and would continue to heavily influence our itinerary. It was a source of much amusement by the end of the trip.) I really cannot effectively communicate how wonderful this meal was. Words like ‘divine’ and ‘wickedly scrumdiddliumptious’ come to mind. I craved Hiroshima-style okonomiyaki the rest of the trip and some time beyond our return, and I don’t think I was the only one. For the curious, I chose squid and pork (bacon, really) as my primary ingredients. Glorious. The effect was long in wearing off…
Next stop: The A-Bomb dome. Here was a sobering vision. Everyone took quite a few beautiful pictures of it, but I will limit my posting, as pictures can easily be found with a simple web search. Besides, no picture could quite capture the haunting majesty of it. Finally here I was at ground zero; the very center of the conflagration, where the shadows of the past still held their dominance over the surrounding bustle. It was as if the explosion had not merely ripped through wrought iron and pavement and flesh but even through time, leaving a scar of rememberence for generations to come. It was beautiful to me for some reason, not as a monument of destruction but as a symbol of the cost that I could have some measure of peace with. Here in the center of the matter was the symbol, not a symbol of a price paid in Japanese lives for American prosperity…but the price paid that the surrounding metropolis could stand at all. Because it would not have stood. Had the war continued as convention dictated “the honorable death of the 100 million” or the yard by yard invasion would have so soaked the nation of Japan (and possibly the US) with the blood of natives and foreigners that nothing could have grown here. But here they were, the survivors of an incomplete holocaust, a case for life beyond war. Sobering.
The pictures I have from Van are all black and white at this point, which is a nice touch. She took pictures of children playing around the site which lended grave perspective to the situation.
Next to the A-Bomb dome is a shrine to a shinto goddess dedicated to all of the civilian workers who died as a result of the bombing. The recording talks about how they died serving the country they loved and only casually mentions that they were actually slaves, many of them Korean, forced to support the military machinations of the Japanese government with their labor. Bad Americans, BAD! The amount of propaganda at the site was unfortunate, a mixture of Japanese rightwing and international UN influence as a result of its World Heritage Site status. I say this mainly because of the not so subtle manipulation of the facts on much of the plaques and informational material. There were no less than 4 different incompatible figures given for the casualties resulting from the A-bombs between the dome, the shrine, the children’s memorial and the museum- all on the same grounds. Much of the material promotes “the spirit of Hiroshima”. This means that they promote the idea that nuclear weapons are inherently evil objects and their use can never be justified and neither can war, for that matter.
Down a walkway (alongside a large pool) from the Dome lies a torch dedicated to the “spirit of Hiroshima” along with an entombed registry of all the decedents and victims of the blast. Continuing in the same direction is the memorial, which I really wish we could have taken an entire day to explore. If the A-bomb Dome was sobering, this was incapacitating in its gravity. Lots of propaganda in the museum, but also alot of material on the crimes of the Japanese government. The horrors of the aftermath are well documented and displayed, as well as tokens such as stopped watches and shredded clothing that deepened the visceral impact of the atmosphere. We only had about an hour there, which wasn’t nearly enough time. I left with the distinct feeling that the ghosts of Hiroshima deserved more of our attention.
Not far away lies the Children’s Memorial, consisting of a central sculpted bell and several large glass encasements filled with strings of paper cranes from children around the world. So many cranes. Each string of cranes was enormous and there were numerous strings. Some of them were arranged on a board, with the different colors expressing scapes or letters. Also adjacent to the Children’s Memorial is a garden of specific types of roses. Each rose had a plaque with its title, and I noticed several names of Nobel Peace prize winners and a scientist who had been opposed to dropping the Bomb. Then I noticed the Anne Frank rose, which is either touching or ironic, depending on how you viewed the display.
Afterwards we found a good location and did the only thing that could possibly cheer us up…
Not sufficiently cheered up, I spent the time on the train home methodically assuming control of Algier’s cerebral matrix:
In order to rape Josh when we arrived, through masterful psychic puppetry!
Feeling distracted and exhuasted from the day’s activities, I abstained from going out to eat with the others and took some me time instead. After I had drowned the days images with Japanese television (-I learned Italian in Japanese from the most beautiful Asian woman I have EVER SEEN on a show called Tamaya’s Restaurant-) I was in the mood for comedy. The gang came back from eating to find me in an…er…compromised position…
I had the whole setup: bubblebath, jacuzzi action, facial peel, edible goodies…Mike even got it on video. The comic effect kinda backfired though, because the facial peel reacted to the suds from the bubblebath in the jacuzzi tub, leaving a rather nasty film on my face that took quite awhile to remove.
Day 5: Tuesday, March 28th
We took a train to Himeji. Our day mainly centered on Himeji castle which was absolutely splendid, and the sudden tempremental changes in weather, which positively sucked. Also, we jumped around ALOT. The castle was impressive. It somehow managed to dominate the landscape, even though it was surrounded by a city filled with larger, more modern structures. The large buffer of flat land between it and the rest of the city helped, but still I could not help but be transported in my mind to a time when the sight of the daimyo’s bastion dominating the countryside would have chilled the heart of any invader or potential enemy of the samurai warriors stationed within.The whole time we were approaching the castle and making our way through its stairways and rooms I was totally fantasizing that I was storming the castle…and the whole walk out I was imagining that I was defending or breaking a siege. I’m really not all that grown up, you know.
The plain in front of the castle had such an awesome view, we jumped twice! It’s kinda creepy how Qevin looks exactly the same in both pictures…how does he do it??
Click for a better view:
We also had the pleasure of meeting Mike, an old linguistics buddy of Sean, and his girlfriend Yuko. They were altogether pleasant and a welcome addition to our group. As most of you OGs know its difficult to keep it real when you’re the only cracka up in the hizzy.
Like every white person in Japan, Mike teaches English. I think Sean was relieved that there was finally someone in the group who enjoyed Guinness as much as he does. I swear, the boy was chompin’ at the bit for a frosty mug of the stuff, $10 a glass or no.
When we got out of the castle the temperature had dropped, the wind had picked up and it was starting to drizzle. Alger screamed the order to “FORM TESTUDO!”, and everyone quickly complied. Poor Lorance’s umbrella was the first to die. All the others soon followed.
After we left the castle we ate at a nice little joint across the street, as much to get out of the rain as to fill our stomachs. Eating at an establishment without an interpreter at my table for the first time, I had to make do with my very limited memory of Japanese phrases and an understanding of even the English portions of the menu that bordered on theoretical. I got lucky and pointed at something that turned out good. The place had excellent hot tea, the qualities of which could only have been magnified by its effect on my windnibbled knuckles. When it had calmed down enough for us to be out and about we made our way toward a shopping district. Enroute we chatted about interesting photo opportunities… possibilities that might provide an alternative to ”jumping in front of stuff”. Though everyone agreed that jumping was the greatest idea in the universe, it was mentioned that photos (or slow motion video) of us skipping joyfully down a Japanese street might be equally picturesque. Having been passed several moments before by a troupe of school girls, several of which I had noticed looking at me with an expression uncomfortably reminiscent of a nature special on hyenas, I cleared my throat and suggested that such an arrangement would only truly be picturesque if we could convince a group of Japanese school girls to skip with us. Less hungry looking ones than those that had just passed by, of course. Twenty-three seconds later I was approached by a young Japanese girl named Yumiko (or Umiko, possibly) who asked-with a very thick accent- if I spoke English. I was so surprised that I nearly said “Sukoshi!” – “a little”…then realized she had said ENGLISH and she had said it in ENGLISH. She handed me a flier and read in broken English a prepared statement inviting me to come look at a free art exhibit being put on by her high school. Everyone, some reluctantly, agreed to go see it. Her face lit up when she realized that the tall white creepy guy was part of a posse. JACKPOT! Precious. She led us through into a nearby building, down an escalator and through a short labyrinthe of commercial establishments. Just when were beginning to wonder whether there was a chance this was a ploy to deprive us of our precous internal organs, we came upon the art exhibit. Quite impressive, when you consider the works were produced by high school students. Some of the pieces were extremely good. We didn’t skip with them, but they were only too ecstatic to take pictures with us all.
After that, the group spent some time perusing various stores, and if I remember correctly, this was the day I was abandoned like a helpless infant in a completely innavigable horror of a shopping district. Having exhausted all my patience juice and standing-in-one-place muscles I said those famous last words: “I’ll be over in that stationary shop while I’m waiting, don’t forget me.” I purchased a lovely mechanized writing instrument for 1000 yen and exited to find myself alone in a sea of bargain hungry Japanese people. “Damn you, $9 pen!” I shouted helplessly with my stupid English words, “You’ve killed me and I can’t even write a nasty note about it that anyone within 75 miles would understand!” Relying on my conventional wisdom, I knew that if I stayed in the same place my companions would eventually come get me. Fifteen minutes later I realized that this was all Bill’s doing. He wanted the jacuzzi tub all to himself! I set about the business of finding a phone. Another 15 minutes went by without any success. I was carefully preparing the manner of my approach to a hopefully sympathetic shopkeeper when I spotted the bastards. All’s well that ends well, I thought, at least I didn’t cry like that time my mom left me outside her changing booth at the mall! – I’ve grown alot in 3 years…
That night we feasted on okonomiyaki again, only this time we went to a restaurant with the good sense to let us pay for the privilege of grilling it ourselves. As someone who generally fails at attempts to produce edible results through the process of “cooking”, this venture met with a good deal of skeptical pessimism from myself.
[I have in times past exhibited a talent for turning simple food preparation into a sort of unfathomable alchemical process by which perfectly ingestible organic materials are transformed by licks of flame and flicks of wrist into unpallatable biohazardous waste.]
This was not one of those times, I am glad to say. In fact, it was one of the most delicious meals I have ever had.
While I was still suffering from the brutal punishments that putting one foot in front of the other several thousand times too many had enacted on my body, several other people decided it was a wonderful night to explore the phenomenom that is PACHINKO.
It’s like slot machines and pinball only its not actually gambling… How does it work you ask? Well, you see… You buy metal balls.
You put the metal balls into a pinball machine. You turn the knob that determines how quickly the balls go into the machine. All of the balls bounce off of stuff and go down in to holes. Some of the holes are good and produce a feed of more balls or move a digital slot machine at the top. Your balls don’t go into these holes, though, because you didnt purchase enough balls in the beginning to increase your chances of winning.
Huh? Exactly. After you lose all of your balls you turn to see someone else who is probably yakuza walk away with a huge bucket of balls that they won. They take the bucket out of the building and down the street to a vending booth where they sell the balls back to the establishment for cash. How is this not gambling? Because its run by Korean mafia, thats how!
At this point we were essentially split into 3 groups. The Pachinko players inside the parlor, the Tired standing outside talking and trying to understand the bizarre mechanics of the game, and Qevin, who was gorging himself at a nearby ramen eatery. Apparently the okonomiyaki wasn’t enough for him. Qevin, if you are reading this, your new name is the HONG KONG STOMACHE.
After the pachinko players threw away all of their money (and the Tired got stared at and possibly hit on, I’m not quite sure, by a drunken old man), we all went looking for a pub. Apparently there are specific drinks that are simply not legal to sell in the US because of their alcohol content. One such drink that our group was intent on experiencing was “spiritus”. I have never heard of it. They did get totally friendly after they had it though, which was amusing.
Josh even showed us his Emperor’s Seal, which is apparently “world famous”.
(I call it the Spiritus Saunter:)
Another side-effect of spiritus seems to be an insatiable desire for frozen treats. Mike was so happy about his popsicle I think he might be pregnant with frost fetuses now. I contented myself with flan and watched the madness unfold. After 3 servings of flan, I surrendered to the sweet whisperings of lady Nix.
Day 6: Wednesday, March 29th
Took a train to Kobe. Kobe is a seaport famous for its amazing beef. I’m just going to skip to that part because nothing else really matters. I was tempted to skip to this bit at the beginning of the post, but I figured some foreplay was appropriate. The restaurant we went to specialized in Kobe steak and it showed. It was the best single serving of meat I have ever had in my life, and it was not a subtle mile of difference. Just look what it did to Alan!
Just look at that marbling! Oh my bovine goodness… I would eat it if the package read “Soylent Red: Mad Cow Colon Scrapings”. Thats right, I’d be a disease infested cannibal. No hesitation.
Some of you might have noticed that the atmosphere in the pictures is similar to the Okonomiyaki images. For those of you unfamiliar with Teppan style dining, I highly recommend you make a reservation at the nearest Japanese restaurant that offers it as soon as you can. In Bakersfield that would be Akira’s in the Mervyn’s shopping center on California and please- do not hesitate to invite me along. Also, do NOT go to Shogun. Seriously. Don’t do it. Please, I’ll tell you where the rebel base is. Yes, it really is that bad. They aren’t on fucking Dantooine. It’s a decoy. Listen to me. Whatever you do, do not go to Shogun.
I could not help but hum love songs while chewing. Is that so wrong? Those are the eyes of two men forever lost. When I eat steak now I have to bite my lip to keep from screaming some Kobe chef’s name.
Vegetarians are hilarious to me now. Before this they were only mildly amusing, but now my blood stained jowls cannot contain the hilarity of their self-denial. I’ll try though- for those of you, my friends, who walk the leafy path. I’ll try.
On exiting the restaurant we were immediately greeted by more splendid displays of -yes, my favorite- ENGRISH. I delight in it, Alway.
Yes, that is a singles party.
Full of happy fun family sunshine cattle portions, we all followed Josh in a very docile, pacified manner to a nearby internet cafe. Hence my previous post. Four hundred yen for an hour, I believe though we were not limited to net access; Movies, TV, Magazines, Videogames, and the ability to lounge are by-the-hour commodities to our Yamato descended comrades.
The japanese are a perverse people.
Just want to make sure this is firmly established in your minds.
Next, we bussed the whole troupe up to Europetown. Back when Japan finally opened itself up to outsiders, there was a sudden influx of Europeans looking to trade with its mysterious and unadulteratedly ancient peoples. This is most evident in the ports of Japan as the government at the time was resistant to any activity smelling of colonialism. Therefore these older areas in Kobe and other port cities like Nagasaki where European embassies and communities are located are visible segregated from the rest of the city.
The oldest buildings were of Dutch influence, I would think thats because they were the only foreigners that successfully traded with the Japanese before the borders were forced open by us bastard culture-starved Americans.We were fortunate enough to tour this area, but we only went into one antiquated embassy building because of the inflated cover charges enforced by every establishment in the area. The one we entered was the former Danish consulate, and was surprisingly domestic and personalized for a building of state. This added quite a bit to its charm, resulting in scattered personal effects, pictures, antique household items and ancient liquor bottles scattered throughout the place along with a respectable though peculiar art collection. The top floor had a bay window with a lovely view of the city and the bay beyond it.
It was cold and there wasn’t a lot of room, but we managed a dutiful hop in front of that boar statue in the courtyard.
It began to rain, so of course we bought ice cream at the embassy’s ice cream shop. Official state yumminess, courtesy of a donation to the Netherlands.
Those of our group unwilling to pay 500 yen to take in the views of the marvelous fish scale palace were already enjoying wine and crepes back at the Austrian embassy. Bastards. Or was it Swedish? I can’t recall. Meeting up with them I decided they had an excellent notion with the Banana fudge cream cheese crepes and demanded that we return there before setting off for the bay.
Once more boarding a bus, we headed for the Kobe Port Tower. I was a little confused by the fact that each bus had a woman, directly in front of me in this case, who was constantly talking. It suddenly occurred to me that even the public transporation system was tourist-oriented and utilized guides and scripts. I couldn’t understand a word she was saying, but she was definitely cute. So cute that it prompted a discussion with my seatmate. Always cautious about assuming that those around me don’t understand English I whispered “She has tiny hands.” He responded with a louder, slightly less innocuous comment on her suitability as a potential sexual partner. Two minutes later she turned around, pulled out a map and asked us in perfect English where our stop was. It was all I could do to keep from guffawing aloud.
After paying yet another cover charge, we took an elevator to the top of the Kobe Port Tower. Nice view.
There was a hotel right near the tower called “Hotel Okura”. It had a tall central tower for rooms and a sort of base structure consisting of tennis and minigolf courts, a Christian church, a Buddhist/Shinto Shrine and some quaint pavilon areas for weddings and whatnot. The existence of both Christian and Buddhist temples on site is very indicative of the ultrapragmatic, consumerist perspective that mainstream Japanese culture reserves for religion.
Gathered in front of the tower we did as tradition dictated.
Several times, in fact, looking for a good shot. In this one, if you look closely, you can see my homemade Hipster PDA leaping out of my pocket. When it hit the ground, it exploded and my carefully designed 3x 5 cards scattered with the wind. I only lost one card which was blown into the ocean, but it was my most important one. I had been carefully keeping track of my expenditures which is vital when you are A.) in a foreign country B.) on a budget and C.) working with unfamiliar currency. Oh well. I would have lost more than that if Sean hadn’t dove after some of the floating remnants. My hero.
We were planning on going on a boatride but the ferry operators hated foreigners. Or they weren’t there because they were closed, I forget which.
So we did what is generally done when one’s plans do not come to fruition. We went to an arcade. (Lines 61-84 are definitely Milton’s best description of Guitar Hero ever.)
For dinner we went to Chinatown. It was interesting to ponder how the Chinatowns there parallel those found in the States. Talking to Qevin, who is himself Chinese, and recalling the history of Chinese immigration to America impressed upon me the tremendous hardship that these immigrants endure to make new lives for themselves and their families. In a country where many of us take for granted the fact that we are a nation of immigrants or their descendents, I believe that such reminders are vital. Also vital: Noodles.
The aching of our cold bellies temporarily soothed by the warm soup, the party adjourned to a local karaoke establishment for the remainder of the evening’s activities.
I assure you that the glasses were shared by all, and their proximity is not in anyway suggestive of the manner and parties by which they were consumed.
Alger crooning:
Blissful, not drunk.
Day 7: Thursday, March 30
Packed up and moved to Kyoto via…you guessed it, the railsystem. Everyone was concerned that we might miss the sakura bloom there, seeing as our travels seemed to be trailing the blossoming of Japan’s cherry trees by only a few days. Kyoto changed that, much to our delight. No less a city than any of our previous lodgings, there was something more rural about Kyoto and its surroundings.
It had an organic flare, with bridge crossings over waterways and flashes of fertile greens and vivacious reds everywhere we went.
Our hotel was a traditional Japanese inn or Ryokan This really added to the feudal air of Kyoto. Everywhere in Japan there are signs of its ancient roots, but here it could not be camouflaged with skyscrapers and office buildings.
Our room was elegant and simple. Carpetted with traditional tatami mats…actually everything was traditional. There was a 3 square foot entryway, where one could change into slippers for walking in the 3 square foot entryway before taking them off to keep from damaging the rest of the flooring in the suite. During the day, the room was furnished with a low table which the attendants replaced with bedding in the evening. Traditional japanese food was provided for breakfast in a special room down the hall every morning and was obviously prepared and administered with great care.
Also, there was a giant image of a devil right outside our window.
Our first excursion was to Nijo castle.
I was not quite prepared for the level of artisanship that we encountered there. I expected extravagant and large, which it truly was, but not subtle and ornate which it certainly exhibited masterfully. The outside of the structure is impressive and appealing, with its dark cyprus construction and the bright gold of its engraving. It is a bold sight cast quite intentionally across a carefully nurtured landscape of pines and plum and cherry trees. As usual, I could not help but note the positioning of the walls and the fortifications in addition to some of the modern landscaping that detracts from the defensibility of the fortress. Military function and beauty were not separate ideals to the men who designed Honmaru Palace and its grounds. It is a shame that pictures were forbidden inside because of the need to preserve the ancient and light-sensitive tapestries and wall paintings. I was sure that every surface in the palace that was bare was left so intentionally. What some might not consider appropriate or worth enameling or engraving, I felt certain that the castles designers had designated to remain as is for the purpose of negative space. Such was the sense of perfection that I received from the environment there. The aptly named “nightingale floors” were specially constructed so as to produce a sound not unlike a bird call when stepped on. This was to alert the residents to possible hostiles enchroaching on the manse.
Click for larger view:
Next we headed to Kiyomizu shrine.
Its quite famous. You’ve probably seen it on TV or in a movie.
(Yes, the crane is real.)
The way it is built to withstand earthquakes has attracted international attention over the years from engineering geeks. The grounds were quite gorgeous, but I found the shrines to be very depressing.
While I am not a pluralist or a relativist, I do constantly look for pieces of the truth in philosophies and religions outside of my own. If what I saw at those shrines is religion, than I am very disappointed. Dead ritualism, capitalist spiritualism and luck worship does not give men hope, either terrestrial or eternal. There is something disturbing about vending machines that will print your fortune astride prayer mats and sacred bells. I was reminded of the raiding of the temple and wondered if a living buddha would have reacted as Christ did….Sean echoed my thoughts aloud at one point, convincing me in that my macabre dissatisfaction was appropriate, even in the face of incredible beauty.
We spent alot of time loitering in the shops around the shrine, sampling the various flavors of mochi, while the temperature outside dropped until it began to snow. At the point when the temperature dropped to 3 degrees, everyone decided they simply could not live without ice cream. I abstained, knowing that I simply could not continue living with it.
Apparently, the only thing that one can consume after ice cream in weather that kills the elderly is sushi. Josh led us through “a pretty cool alley” he knew about, full of little exclusive, invitiation only back-door restaurants, bars and lounges. It was pretty cool. We eventually got directions to an excellent sushi restaurant. I don’t know if it was “World Famous” or not, but it should be. Everyone was so expressive while they ate, I thought they had turned into muppets. Several members of our group decided that this restaurant’s provisions meritted larger portions of their travel budget and quickly set about depleting the establishment of its expensive $10/$16 per serving toro/eel. None of us left disappointed. In fact, we demanded that the chefs show themselves and have their pictures taken for enshrinement purposes.
Somewhere between the depressing shrines, the freezing cold and the sake from our last meal, I had sunken to a solitary, if not sullen mood. Happy to be off my feet, I was no sooner back at the inn than I was snug in my bed having some devotion time. Because of this, I totally missed all the fun in the other room:
Day 8: Friday, March 31
Breakfast at the ryokan was wonderful.
It consisted of Miso, salmon, ham, vegetables, tofu w/broth, dried whole minnows and some sort of egg creation, among other things I couldn’t identify.
Following the meal, we bussed off to the Kinkaku-Ji, the Golden Pavilion. Another beautiful landscape, another depressing shrine. There were areas of the shrine that were strongly reminiscent of old martial arts movies.
Click for a larger view:
And then everyone jumped, sansHeflyn:
Next we headed to the Toei Movie Park. I was really looking forward to this, as one of my favorite (if not my very favorite) directors, Akira Kurosawa had made a number of films at the studios located there. It has been transformed into an entertainment park, like Universal Studios, but movies are still being made there.
Among our activities:
-Watching previews for a nationalistic war movie about the WWII battleship Yamato. It was called…..Yamato! surprisingly enough. The themesong was largely in English and the lyrics were a little too romantic for a movie about a bunch of guys on a battleship. You know what they say about submarine crews, “Eighty-eight men go down, 44 couples come up” and all that, but still.
-Witnesssing the filming of a samurai themed film or TV show.
-Cosplay
There’s your early Christmas card.
I chose that costume from a rather large assortment only to find out that I had inadvertently dressed up as my favorite historical samurai, Miyamoto Musashi. I know it’s not very original to prefer Japan’s most popular samurai figure, but I just can’t help myself. Ironically, my favorite fictional samurai is Ukyo Tachibana, a Samurai Shodown character inspired by Kojiro Sasaki, Miyamoto’s greatest opponent (or victim). Like Kojiro, Ukyo’s style of of combat consists of rapid, two stroke attacks with a specialized no-dachi called a “drying pole”. Also, he has consumption (tuberculosis) and is sought by all the ladies, making him the Japanese equivalent of Doc Holiday. Doc Holiday is, consequently, my favorite fictional cowboy (and I am told, my 6th cousin 4 times removed) and tuberculosis is my favorite disease. Completing the circle of favoritism, one of my favorite poems is Der Erlkonig, by Goethe, about a child who (as traditionally interpreted) dies of tuberculosis. Der Erlkonig is also the inspiration in film starring John Malkovich, entitled Der Unhold which I have just recently seen. It is not one of my favorite movies.
What, you don’t have a favorite disease?
Those of you unfamiliar with the pathoscene, I suggest you start off with a good beginner’s affliction, like Ebola.
Well since, everything before this point was written around 6-9 months ago, my memory of the last few days is somewhat stretched. There was one really important thing that happened though and I would be amiss not to explore it, seeing as how next month the seeds that were planted on that trip shall come to fruition.
Sean proposed to Lisa.
It was a really beautiful moment and I am really grateful that I and many of their close friends could be there to ruin it. I doubt there are many more lovely locations in the world that Sean could have chosen than that park in Kyoto. The blossoms on the sakura trees held an alien light to them, making them seem almost like an INFESTATION from some distant celestial plane. Under the glowing lamps of the wooden arches circumferencing this queerly manicured garden of flourescent pink, Sean pulled her close to him…He whispered repeated queries as to the potence of her love for him …and then he dropped to one knee.
Under the glowing lamps of the wooden arches etc. etc…. Lisa Van Vu shouted “shut up! No way!’ and repeatedly pummeled my silly roundeyed companion into giggling submission.
And the two shall become one flesh on the 26th of May, 2007.
We were all feeling giddy and or jealous because of Sean & Lisa’s great joy and potential marital bliss, so Sean, Drunk on love as he was, offered to pay for dinner/drinks. Sober on hunger as we all were, we graciously accepted. Quite conscious that our trip was nearing its end, we hastened to make merry. Enjoying what I can only describe as a more traditiona/formal Japanese meal, we were treated to 7 courses of small, carefully prepared dishes and excellent sake. Mike and I sat slightly apart and I was grateful for the time with him as we had not had much chance to talk one on one during most of the trip. The 7 or 8 bottles of sake we cooperatively dismantled lubricated dialogue quite efficiently. Curiously, despite the consumption of alcohol in quality and quantity, I did not become drunk. Mike disclosed his passions, at least where art and business ventures are concerned and I did my best not to be impressed by his ambitious plans. An entrepeneur with promise, is young Michelangelo. It was a long, happy evening.
Saturday, April 1, 2006
The next day we returned to Tokyo intending to run amok on our last day in Japan. As I remember there were two things I did besides packing up. I got to hang out with Sachiha again and that night Shige and also Nori and Josh’s girlfriend rejoined our gang for a final dinner.
Sachiha took me back through Shibuya and actually EXPLAINED the story behind Hachiko, the dog statue. Its a rather inspiring story of loyalty, or a rather depressing story about loneliness and death. Depends on your outlook, I suppose. As usual, Sachi proved to exceed all expectations of the term pleasant company. Shige, if you ever read this, my advice is to trap that girl in a loving marriage quick! She guided me to a Yoshinoya which is apparently, quite different from the Yoshinoyas in California, in that the meat choices are different. Now you know.
I have always been fascinated by what some might call the ‘westernization’ of Japan’s younger generations. When the entire gang met up again, I had the privilege of introducing my friends Shige and Sachi to the FAB exiles. Both duos had been foreign exchange students in the US and watching their initial exchange was very illuminating. They were formal to begin with, acting in what I would consider a formal manner, but as soon as it became apparent that they had all been assimilated into western culture at some point, the ice was vaporized. In its place were familiarity and emotive chatter. I cannot say that I prefer the immediacy that Westerners usually assume common language and familiar stances with strangers, but it felt good to see it happen in this case.
Our last dinner was a memorable one. So memorable in fact, that a year later I am unable to remember what it was that I ate, even though I am looking at pictures of it.
I felt indescribably sad bidding farewell to Shigesaka and Sachiha; more sad than I expected I would. (You can see how happy I am in the picture.) I think it was because I became very aware of the thousands of miles of ocean between our homes and suspected painfully that it might be a long time before I shared their company again. I hope my suspicions are false.
Sunday, April 2, 2006
I will simply quote the itinerary that Josh had prepared for us:
“4/2 Rip up your tickets and stay in Japan forever!!! yeah!!!”
Apart of me followed his instructions.
Epilogue
The jet lag on my return was much worse than the first flight.
It took me MONTHS to stop craving rice and fish everyday.
It took me a year to finish the post. (Well to be fair, I have been fairly busy with life.)
Sean is getting married next month and I have accepted the honor as serving as his best man.
I am very excited for him and Lisa and also very hopeful. I look forward to them having lots of kids.
I miss seeing the friends I had and the friends I made, and I hope to see them all again.
Thank you to everyone who made that trip so memorable and awesome, especially Josh for all of his hard work and Shige for his hospitality. Thank you to all my compatriots who made this post possible by taking so many pictures (3000) that I didn’t have to even bring a camera. Thank you to the nation of Japan for not killing and/or eating me. Thank you anyone who humored me enough to read this whole post.
