About a week ago, I took a tour through Japan. I left the airport with foreign
air in my lungs and a few hours of sleep under my belt. This was not the time for acclamation. This was the time for fatigue, dizziness, and disorientation. After a slept a bit at my capsule hotel—a hotel in which you basically sleep in a glorified coffin and stow all your belongings in a dwarfed locker—I felt significantly better. I aimlessly sauntered around Osaka taking photographs of shiny things and pretty landscapes. I could feel the change of tides from my wearied entrance to this pleasant rebirth. With love in my heart and a tummy full of McDonalds, I owned that city (or at least the Namba side of town) and it’s inhabitants. This can’t be proven. I feel asleep an invigorated man. I woke up groggy and was greeted with the capsule hotel’s continental: one hard-boiled egg, one piece of toast and a bottomless cup of coffee. I have to say I’ve been better accommodated, but for 22 quid, I wasn’t complainin
g. I hopped a train to Kyoto soon after. Carlo Marx would be waiting for me in Denver.About an hour later, I arrive in Kyoto. There’s a big tower, a Starbucks, a post office, a few mom and pops, and a few run of the mill tourist traps. I thought Kyoto was supposed to be this cultural colossus; I thought I was going to be bulldozed over with theme park-like castles and temples and Japanesy things. So, where’s the Kobe beef?! (This was a cheap shot, but I had to take it. Sorry, folks.) After turning a few corners and asking a few questions, I found a sweet temple. I toured. I photographed. I closed my eyes and waited for God. Nothing. Maybe that was my answer. Something about interconnectedness and nothingness. Wait, it’ll come to me. I swear it was in this book somewhere. If I could just….Whelp, there it went.
“I need some meaning I can memorize. I have a hunger and I can’t seem to get full.” -CO
I retreated from my retreat from goyem and fed my habit. Starbucks tastes better in places where it shouldn’t be. Seattle has no place in Japan, I’m sorry. That iconic Space Needle is far too robust for a Japanese skyline. I sat at one of the cookie-cutter tables and wrote the blog prior. A few moments later, Brynn appeared and found a hostel. One thing I noticed about Japan that is radically different from Korea is the service industry: People are just so freaking nice in Japan. We walked up to one of the big hotels and asked for directions to a nearby hostel. The woman behind the counter spoke bees-knees English, printed out a map and told us detailed directions on how to get there. We found the h
ostel eventually took off our shoes and ascended the five flights of stairs to our room. I plopped my bag on one of the vacant top bunks and secured our belongings in an even smaller locker. We walked for miles and miles, jacketless, in the pouring rain. Why bring a coat when its so nice outside? Soaked and surly, we made our way back to guesthouse a few hours later. Like seven hours later, actually. I forgot to mention, on our tour we saw a geisha in training (which looked to me like a geisha proper, but I was later corrected) walking through the streets of Kyoto, in and around the former geisha district. With nothing better or more pressing to do, we were her shadows for about the next kilometer. Don’t judge us; we were wide-eyed tourists; you would have done the same thi
ng in our soggy shoes. We got back and my backpack and coat were sitting in the corner of the room. Their rightful home was sacked by a MacBook Pro and some other luggage. Not to bitch and moan, but The Nerve of these people! I about sh*t kittens. I should quote a relevant Jay-Z sound byte, but he takes some nomenclatural liberties that I’d prefer to steer clear of.Given that this was going to be a day trip for both of us, neither Brynn nor I had a change of clothes. And we were soaked. Drenched. That said, she snagged an extra sweater and a clean pair of boxers from my bag and I did the same while our clothes cycled for a costly
4 hours in the drier. Money is money, whatever, but it was the 4 hours post-midnight hours spent with drunk 19-year-old Aussie know-it-alls that was true expensive. And I’m not talking ‘bout money. Conversation went from deluded to more deluded as the early morning wore on—mainly it wore on my patience. Brynn and I broadcasted dumb smiles and feigned interest in misled conversations about gov’t and politiks. All the while I kept thinking how young they were and sounded, with an afterthought of: “That used to be me 4 years ago.” This humbling thought made their diatribes no less obnoxious. Oh, and back to that change of clothes: I was actually only wearing my peacoat and boxers, because I didn’t have a sweater. This must have been amusing to the dolled up Aussies and their Austrian friends. I didn’t ask. I didn’t care.
We toured a temple or two the next day, but didn’t want to tire out our legs before our big day of cross-country skiing. This turned out not to turn out. The snow was too shallow; we opted for cross-country snowshoeing. Now, I’ve heard conflicting reports about snowshoeing. Somes say it’s a scream. Somes say it’s waste of time. After this experience, I’m in the latter camp. It might not have helped that we were snowshoeing over a flat dinosaur park parking lot. The dinos didn’t disappoint, but I can’t say the same for the slopes. I may not be getting my chronology right, but I think later that day, we karaoked Brynn’s boyfriend’s favorite bar and took home the trophy. There was no trophy. We sang some Ben Folds and S & G tunes. We harmonized. We took turns singing flourishes. We embarrassed ourselves. It wasn’t the first time; it won’t be the last. I hope not, anyway.
The next night, Chris (Brynn’s boyfriend), Brynn and I went to a Super Bowl party. Spoiler alert: Pittsburgh won. Chris and Brynn had work all day, so I wandered around downtown Fukui during the day and rendezvoused with them at night. More McDonalds. Lots of coffee and Skyping. My peeps were grateful. The next morning, I would go to Kansai airport to waste away on oversized meals and free drinks in business class. Again. A woman would take my coat and I would get a window seat. Whiskey rocks, please.
