Alright, alright... I know someone out there must be awaiting the epic on Japan. This is everything, so settle in a comfortable chair, or break it up into small bites. You've been warned. Writing about our experience is no small task because, first, we were traveling for 12 days, and second, it was a fantastic place. The best, most sublime experiences are often the hardest to write about.
I can give you one succinct bit of info : The dollar just hit a 14-year low against the Yen. Alright!!!
And Brad Pitt landed in Tokyo the day we left and President Obama, five days later. Maybe they hadn't heard about the exchange rate.
Turning Japanese
We, and our lowly dollars, arrived in Tokyo on a Wednesday evening. We stayed in an area called Shinjuku which I chose primarily because Tokyo is vast and sprawling, and Shinjuku Station is one of the best connected for getting around by train. And it's an area with bright lights! The first three nights, we stayed at a hotel that had everything we needed and not a spec of excess (including space) that we didn't. The location was also superb, barely a five minute walk from the station. In case you didn't know, Tokyo is phenomenally expensive and hotel rooms are often small and characterless with the bonus of costing a lot. So we climbed over our suitcases and climbed over each other to get into and out of bed since one side of it was against a wall, but we didn't go to Tokyo to spend much time in the room.
Our first excursion in Shinjuku was a good indicator of two constants throughout our stay: 1-We would get lost nearly every time we walked anywhere, and 2-Japanese people were warm and hospitable nearly everywhere we ended up.
We expected to stay local that evening since we were a bit fatigued from the flight. We flipped through a guidebook and quickly came up with something to try - a Shabu Shabu place - where you cook slices of meat in boiling broth. We set out with an address and a photocopied map the front desk gave us, optimistically believing that address+map=there it is! And thus began our love/hate relationship with the streets of Japan.
THE STREETS HAVE NO NAMES
I exaggerate; a few major roads have names. But most do not, therefore you must count lines on a map and estimate and guess (and curse). The other conundrum is the address system itself. Lacking street names, an address will include a series of numbers, for example, 1-12-24. The 1 should be the district; the 12 should be the block number; the 24, the building number. We had no idea what the numbers meant at first, and when we eventually solved the riddle, it did little to help us locate anything. It wasn't as if the blocks ran sequentially. You could be on block 11, looking for the building number, and suddenly block 11 changes to block 16. I can assure you that after many failed attempts at locating anything we sought day after day, my patience thoroughly evaporated.
So as we stood there with our useless information, looking dumbfounded, knowing we must be so close, a woman walked up to us and asked us if we needed help. Gratefully, I showed her the address and she surveyed the streets. She looked confused. Rather than politely giving up on us though, she called the restaurant for directions in Japanese! Then, I suppose she knew how utterly impossible it would be to explain it, so she walked us there! It was indeed close, but there wasn't even a slim chance we would have found it on our own. How are tourists supposed to find anything if the locals have trouble? Anyway, the meal was decent but unremarkable.
If The Door Is Open, Walk In
After dinner we walked to an area of Shinjuku called the Golden Gai. Sadly, a written description cannot capture the surreal atmosphere of the place. Removed from all the neon, it's a cluster of alleyways containing perhaps a couple hundred bars, each about the size of a closet. None holds more than four or five seats, if that many. Just walking past the open doors, peering into these dimly lit, bizarrely adorned, often cluttered, ancient-looking matchboxes made us feel other-worldly. Attempting to enter one can be intimidating as the places appear to exist just for regulars. The spot is named in guidebooks but more as something of a curiosity. One of my books even said to check it out but that you probably wouldn't be welcome inside any establishments. Fortunately, we ignored most advice from our guidebooks.
We walked past an open door, saw a smile and ventured inside. There were two guys behind the bar and one woman sitting at it. Not much English is spoken in Japan, so it's always going to be a little awkward sitting in a small room among a few people you can hardly talk to, but thankfully, they tried their best. One of the young bar guys was wearing an over-sized Clippers jersey (and a wool hat and black nail polish - kind of Tokyo hip-hop) so Paul was able to make some small sports talk. Kobe Bryant? Kobe Bryant, yes! They asked about our travel plans and suggested some sights, and then they would talk amongst themselves, probably about us, but who cares - now I'm talking about them.
The dust on the light fixtures was a good inch thick, and there was a pot of something cooking behind the bar whose conditions would not likely meet official health and safety standards but it looked and smelled scrumptious nonetheless. After a couple of beers we called it a night. Mesmerized by the atmosphere of the Golden Gai, we immediately talked of returning during our stay in Tokyo, but for now it remains a glimmer of memory as we never found the time.
Walking back to the hotel through Shinjuku, we got to see some of the other traditions of the city... possibly the most "gentleman's clubs" ever assembled in one district. Japanese gentleman supposedly prefer blonds, as was apparent by the young lady we saw bicycle up to a club, lock up her ride, then run into the club in a trench coat, blond hair flowing almost down to the tops of her thigh-high boots. Late for work, I guess. Tokyo is truly everything you can imagine at once.
Finally, A Country That Has An Autumn
The next day we spent some time in Shinjuku Goyen National Garden. By the way, the weather in Tokyo was delightful. Cool and crisp and perfectly comfortable for walking around. Spring, with the cherry blossoms, and autumn, with the changing leaves, are quite hyped in Japan. I was expecting to see a bit more koyo (the word for colorful autumn foliage) but I suppose it was a late autumn in Tokyo and its surrounds because most trees were still rather green.
That evening we took a train two stops from Shinjuku (for the purposes of story flow, I will not detail how a 6 minute trip took us 50 because we didn't understand the subway directions) to an area called Koenji. Koenji is not, in fact, listed in the guidebooks. The maps cut off just before its location. I can't imagine why because it's absolutely charming. Close to the station were several streets lined with izakaya which are bars that serve food. The one we randomly chose happened to be a lively Okinawan izakaya. Apparently it's an Okinawan thing to shout something - what? we wish we knew - when patrons enter and exit the bar. This practice was reinforced when we did later visit Okinawa.
We pointed at pictures on the menu, worked out a few words with an agreeable waiter, and ended up with some pretty good grub. By the way, I had no previous knowledge of the Japanese affinity for Spam. I can't believe I've avoided the thing my whole life only to eat it in Japan. We were obviously a curiosity since it seems that few tourists find their way to Koenji, but the curious were friendly. The woman sitting next to Paul offered him some of her rice.
After dinner we wandered into a small bar with no one else in it but the bartender. Of course he was playing nothing but The Rolling Stones because... this is Tokyo. After that we wandered some more and were about to call it quits when I saw a place down some stairs and for whatever reason felt compelled to try it. Izakaya Ichiya. Open 7:00 - 3:00. You never know when walking through a door will provide you with treasure.
Follow the Music
It just so happened we chose another Okinawan bar. Again, we were the only ones in it at first. The decor was eclectic to say the least: a bust of Elvis, still packaged Star Wars action figures, banners with Japanese writing, musical instruments, books, among other random items. The sincerely hospitable owner, later introduced as Master Mizuno, guided us in choosing an Awamori (Okinawan spirits distilled from rice) from the variety of big jugs lining the bar. Once our glasses were full, he took a sanshin (a traditional Okinawan stringed instrument) from the wall and strummed us a tune.
Eventually another patron joined us and he was as warm and welcoming as the Master and the cook. They offered us bits of food they were cooking, food they were eating. Master Mizuno asked us what kind of sake we liked. We said we weren't familiar with many types, so he poured us each a tall glass from a bottle of his hometown brew, as a gift. At some point he asked me why we came to Koenji and why we chose his bar. Was it the music playing outside? I don't know. Maybe.
We told Master Mizuno we would be traveling to Ishigaki, Okinawa, and he was visibly delighted, a common reaction from any person in Tokyo who asked of our itinerary. He said he had been to Okinawa but only the main island of Naha, not Ishigaki (marveling at the length of time non-Japanese spend on vacation). He wrote down the name of an izakaya in Ishigaki and the name of a friend and asked us, if we had time, to stop by. We said we would.
I think the only reason we left before 3:00 was that we tried to catch one of the last trains to Shinjuku, around 12:30, since taxis in Tokyo are obscenely expensive. In the station we got to see some more insane yet standard Tokyo: staggering drunks. Eating raw fish must do wonders for your health because something must be counteracting the massive amounts of alcohol the Japanese appear to consume. I was aware of this practice, particularly among business men, but it's still incredible to behold. And it's not only business men. We really feared for one woman who couldn't find her legs, so close to the tracks. On a Thursday night!
Where The Tourists Are (and Aren't)
The next day we went to Asakusa where the temple Senso-Ji lies. Up until this point, I had not noticed many obvious tourists on the streets of Tokyo. They were all here. It was almost China-crowded. We had some tempura for lunch and strolled through the old town and market streets surrounding the temple. Oh, I almost forgot because this happened so regularly; we searched for a particular tempura place listed in the book and failed to find it. I could copy and paste that sentence into every paragraph.
Later that evening, we met up with some friends from Hong Kong, Peggy and Sander, who happened to be in Tokyo at the same time we were. We met them and Sander's Tokyo coworkers at a bar near our hotel (so this is where the expats hang out). In search of dinner we took a chance on a place that had no English menu or pictures (not where the expats hang out). We did as best we could, and Sander blindly chose some dishes. Some worked out - the chicken wings, salad, asparagus. Some didn't - entrails skewers, diced mystery fish with appalling texture. So we went out for a second dinner. This place had a menu with pictures and a waiter who spoke some English. It was a good atmosphere too.
Note: Japanese people do not seem to mind appearing in strangers' photos. Sander was ready with the camera and the fellow diners were ready with their smiles and ever-poised peace signs.
Mt. Fuji Was Probably Invisible Anyway
The next morning we left Tokyo for Hakone. It's an onsen (hot spring) resort area near Mt. Fuji. The plan was to take the fast train, about 90 minutes from Shinujuku, to where we could drop the luggage, have it forwarded to our hotel and sight see for awhile, possibly viewing Mt. Fuji. That was the plan until it took us one hour to locate the correct desk to buy the train tickets in Shinjuku Station, lugging our suitcases behind us the whole time. It was late enough that we went straight to the hotel. Mt. Fuji is notoriously elusive in even the slightest cloud cover, so we probably would not have seen it anyway. I repeated this to myself all the way to our destination.
We stayed in the town of Myanoshita at a traditional Japanese inn, or ryokan, called Hakone Ginyu. The draw of Hakone is the hot springs and this ryokan has private terraces with hot spring tubs outside each room, overlooking a valley. It was a bit over the top, but I thought it would be worth it for one night. And I can honestly say that the steamy onsen water and the beautiful surroundings helped me unclench my jaw over the train ticket fiasco. In fact, I instantly became addicted to the Japanese ritual of enjoying a hot soak. The minerals in the water simply work magic and my whole body felt relaxed after soaking. I indulged as many times as I could in our brief stay.
Our stay also included Kaiseki Ryori, a traditional multi-course dinner served in our room. I will sadly admit that we were somewhat disappointed by some of the offerings. We typically enjoy Japanese food and we are open-minded, but some tastes were just not appealing. It was a visually interesting experience anyway. We chose the non-Japanese breakfast for the morning; it was very good. Our hostess who served all the food was very helpful in giving us detailed information regarding getting to the airport.
Thanks to Those Involved in Keeping The Rain Away
From Hakone, we left for Haneda airport and flew to Ishigaki, Okinawa. I read about Ishigaki when we first came to Hong Kong and it's intrigued me ever since. The weather prediction had me concerned since this was supposed to a beach holiday. I got my wish and the rain held off, but it was still mostly cloudy and windy so it was cooler than I thought it would be and therefore not really beach weather.
Our first night, we stayed in town. That was the only time it rained, as we tried to find a particular place that served Ishigaki beef. A lot of Okinawan culture is distinct from that of Mainland Japan's, but lucky for us, they maintain the tradition of not naming their streets. So we were pretty wet by the time we hunted down the beef. Worth it. We actually did find the izakaya that was recommended to us, but it was full.
The next day we took a ten minute ferry to the island of Taketomi. It's small and scenic, and one attraction is touring the town in a cart pulled by a buffalo. We didn't take a buffalo tour (I had bigger buffalo plans in mind - more below). Once back on Ishigaki, we looked for a certain place for lunch... you can guess what happened... and we ate at an A&W.
I had arranged a dive trip for the next day so the dive organizer, Umicoza, had someone pick us up and drive us to the dive center to fill out some forms before dropping us at our next hotel nearby on Sukuji Beach. They advised us to dive the day after the next because the day we had arranged would be nearly impossible due to the high winds. Agreed. We ate at our hotel that night. It was a nice enough hotel, but maybe because it was not high season, it had a sort of The Shining feel to it. It didn't help that it was probably last decorated around 1970. I highly recommend the soft serve ice cream if you're ever there.
English is not easy to come by in this corner of the earth, but luckily one hotel staff member spoke enough to help us immensely with our updated plans for the next day. She was one of the sweetest, most accommodating people I've ever met. I like anyone who cracks them self up.
I Don't Know, But I'll Say Buffalo
The next day, with ferry and bus schedules in hand, we took the bus back into town to get the ferry, about 40 minutes, to Iriomote Island. This island is larger and relatively wild, and has natural attractions like beaches and waterfalls, but we've already seen those things, so we took another bus north along the coast to an out-of-the-way spot. We had one destination: Yubu.
Yubu, a very small island, lies across a short and shallow stretch of water. It has some gardens and a couple of gift shops, not much of a spectacle really. The journey was our real destination: you cross the water in a cart pulled by a buffalo. I can't really explain why I was so drawn to this peculiar attraction, but I simply was. So there we were, the only non-Japanese tourists on Iriomote Island, Okinawa, ferried by a buffalo. The "driver" serenaded us with a sanshin along the way. The tranquil buffalo seemed to effortlessly glide through the water, retracing the steps it must know in its sleep. We strolled around Yubu and caught the next buffalo back to Iriomote.
Between the infrequent buses and the ferry timing, the buffalo expedition was our entire day. We got back into town pretty early in the evening so we tried the recommended izakaya again and this time we snagged seats. We asked one or two people about Master Mizuno's friend but it wasn't clear whether they understood what we asked. One of the cooks spoke good English; he was A Korean passing through the kitchens of Okinawa. He came up with some good choices for us to eat, but I must say that everything everyone was eating looked fantastic.
Domo Arigato, Master Mizuno
They told us live music would start soon, and it did. A woman played the sanshin, a man played a guitar and a young waiter played... a box. The music was quite rousing and entertaining. They handed out wooden clappers they called sambas and asked us to play along. The woman asked in Japanese where people were from and the audience called out different places, mostly nearby islands or other parts of Japan. She asked us in unsure English and when we said New York, the crowd collectively chimed "Aaahhhh!"
When the band eventually took a break, we learned that the woman playing the sanshin was Master Mizuno's friend, Mama Machami. She asked if we knew him from the bar in Koenji, and we said we did and that he told us to come to this bar. She replied, "Yes, he called me." I can't believe he called to say we were coming! The guitar player was also a friend of his. During their break, Mama Machami gave Paul a quick lesson on the sanshin. The people, the place, the food... it was all so wonderfully enchanting.
I suppose you should always leave wanting more, and we did. Our friend back at the hotel had said we could call for a taxi and that it would take about 40 minutes to dispatch, so we erred on the side of caution, not wanting to miss the service cut-off time, and had a waitress call the hotel for us, thinking we had a 40 minute wait. No sooner than we ordered another drink the waitress told us the taxi was there. Unfortunately we left the izakaya quite abruptly. The memory, at least, lingers.
Is Zat Zee Octopus, Monsieur Crankypants?
The next day, Umicoza picked us up and took us to the dive center to get geared up for our dive. It's one of the only English-speaking dive centers on the island, and their web site made them seem really laid back and friendly. We missed out on that aspect as our dive guide was a rather unsociable French guy. We told him we were not very experienced, but we were the only two divers, so he didn't have anyone else to dedicate attention to. Somehow, he made us feel like he was doing us a favor by taking us along with him. A very expensive favor.
We did two dives and he had us come up significantly earlier than we needed to on the second dive, and then he stayed down there about ten minutes longer on his own. The diving itself was not bad, though not the highest ranking on our brief yet impressive list of dive sites. The highlight here is the manta rays, but we didn't go to the site where you can spot them. Cold French Dude said nothing about it. I asked the guy who runs the place when we were eating lunch afterward, and he said it was still too windy to go to that site. C'est la vie.
Lost in Translation
One last night at the Ishigaki Seaside Hotel and we were headed back to Tokyo. For the second round, we stayed at a different hotel, steps away from the first one, with more space and fabulous views. After dinner that Thursday night we went to a bar in Shinjuku called Vagabond. It was sort of bohemian and kitschy but in an authentic way, not like a T.G.I. Fridays let's put a sled on the wall way. There was a guy playing piano, mostly ragtime tunes. In a big cauldron behind the bar was a brew of tofu, boiled eggs, and boiled bacon in a grayish-brown clear liquid. We watched the barmaid ladle some into bowls from time to time, and it looked utterly disgusting. Though the most notable feature of the place was the clientele.
We squeezed into two seats at the end of the small round bar, next to two men still in their business suits. Next to them was a woman talking to her male companion. A very attractive, sophisticated-looking older woman, she kept looking over at Paul so finally he raised a glass to her and she beamed and headed straight over to us. She spoke some English, asked us the usual, where are you from, what are you doing in Tokyo, etc. She told us about the friends she's met from all over the world, some of them while she was in that bar. I thought her concentration on her words was due to attempting so much English. It took me a few minutes to realize she was drunk as a skunk.
She wished us well and walked back to her friend. Then one of the men next to us asked her to translate something for him, so she was right back next to us, comically leaning over this poor guy, oblivious to him, for about ten minutes. He just laughed every now and then as he was pinned back in his seat. How would it bother him? He was just as sloshed. Well, she never translated for him, but we learned a lot about her and her international friends and her philosophies. When she finally departed us, she simply picked up the guy's drink as if it were hers and she floated away. He just smiled and shrugged.
We watched as the barmaid filled another heaping bowl of the gray-brown tofu mess... and placed it in front of us. Our easygoing neighbor had kindly bought if for us. "Oh, we couldn't... we just ate!" It was true; we did just come from dinner, a particularly filling one since we were craving Western comfort food which we gave in to at a Wolfgang Puck Cafe. He looked discouraged and offered again, but we emphatically insisted we were too full. I felt so guilty because I'm sure it's bad form to decline a gift. Then again, what are the chances he remembers? He and his friend tottered out soon after. Oh, I have the name card of the woman we spoke to. If anyone wants to email her, just for kicks, tell her you met her in Vagabond. I'm willing to bet she remembers you.
Too Many Fish In The Sea?
The next morning we dutifully pulled ourselves out of bed to see one of the most popular tourist attractions of Tokyo: Tsukiji Wholesale Market. It's where every form of sea creature passes before landing on a plate. I was aware that the market had become off-limits to tourists in recent history because they were interfering with the organized chaos of buying and selling fish, but most of it is once again accessible. You do get an immediate sense that you need to keep yourself out of the way, and you have to dodge some mechanized carts that whirl by in the narrow, crowded lanes. The peak of activity is between 6 a.m. and 9.a.m. We arrived about 7:30 and business was indeed bustling.
The volume of fish throughout the market is staggering. I've heard of the issue of over-fishing. Witnessing this scene has made me wonder how there could be any fish left in the sea. Aisle after aisle, crate after crate. There was an aspect of the grotesque, but it was fascinating.
The thing to do after visiting the wholesale market is to walk over to the sushi joints and enjoy some of the day's catch. There are supposedly popular places where customers queue for ages, but I didn't seek any out because, really, there are only a handful, and how much fresher a selection can one place have than another just steps from the market? So we chose a place that was full inside - a good sign - with no wait outside. We both tried the chef's selection and fortunately, he must be used to foreign tourists because he asked us if we wanted sea urchin or a substitution. Substitution, please. Hey, some people can't get enough. We've tried it once. That was enough. So we each had eight pieces of sushi, two rolls, a piece of sweet egg and a bowl of soup. By nine in the morning.
It was good, but it would have been a large meal even for dinner and it did become hard to stomach so early. One of the pieces of sushi was squid. We had it a couple of times earlier in the trip (see mystery fish, above) and didn't know what it was, but the chef here told us what each piece was, so now we know it was squid. And I'm glad we left there with the ability to identify squid and the knowledge that we don't like it. Surprising, because we both like cooked squid, but the raw stuff has the worst texture, chewy and slimy at the same time. I bit part of it and admitted once we left that I hid the rest in my soup. By the time we exited, there was quite a line forming outside.
We then walked over to Ginza. It's kind of a shopping mecca of stores that I don't shop in, like Gucci, etc. But it was nearby and a beautiful day for walking. I read in my borrowed Lonely Planet Tokyo about a place called Sake Plaza in Shimbashi, which the book described as a brilliant four-floor showcase of sake and accessories with tastings on offer. It was a good walk from Ginza but it was still early so we committed to the venture. We actually arrived at the target with ease. It was the first time I found the exact location of something by the address given. Except that in its place was a restaurant.
More head-scratching, circling, questioning any possible errors. Finally, I suggested we surrender and go home, but this time Paul was intent. He scoped out helpful-looking people, (two women, as we had by now determined that women were the helpful ones) showed them the book and asked if they knew of the place. They were as perplexed as we were when they looked around and realized we were standing in front of the address in question. One of them went inside and asked for information. She came out and, again, they led us through the streets, pointing to the book and saying, "Mistake." Sake Plaza was nowhere near the address listed in the book. It wasn't even our fault! Also, Sake Plaza was basically a one room sake shop, not quite as Lonely Planet saw it. So we tasted some sake and called it an afternoon.
If You Can't Read The Sign, Ask At The Door
That evening Paul wanted to try Kobe Beef so we tracked down a place in Roppongi, an area known as an expat or gaijin (foreigner) enclave. Dinner cost a small fortune but it was fun to watch it prepared in front of us. The restaurant had kind of a 1980's gangster joint vibe to it. We walked through Roppongi, not straying too far from the station, contemplating where to go next. We saw a sign for a place called Charlie's Club. There was a list of charges written in Japanese, and somehow we figured that the cover charge was 1000 Yen (approx. $10). Roppongi is known for overblown cover charges, but there we were, so we gave it a shot.
The elevator opened to the basement containing a closed door. We almost turned back (if only) but someone heard us at the door and opened it. The "club" was a small cluttered room with a piano taking up almost half of it, a couple of couches, and a messy kitchen/bar behind another door. There were two other men there, who left soon after we entered, in addition to the piano player and two women employees. The piano man promptly obliged us with some tunes and one of the women sang in English with a heavy Japanese accent, like a tacky lounge act, with us their polite, captive audience. It was truly bizarre.
The scene did have entertainment value through the effects of what may have been intentional eccentricity, unintentional shabbiness and overall quirkiness. The piano man was obsessed with country music and the baseball team The Hiroshima Carp. He asked what we wanted to hear so Paul asked if he knew any Johnny Cash and he said, "Of course," then proceeded to play a Willie Nelson song.
We weren't sure if we were insulting them or doing them a favor by leaving, but as Paul paid the bill for the few beers we had between us, I thanked them and said good night. Once we got outside I noticed Paul's stricken face. That whole little episode of total weirdness cost a shocking and embarrassing amount. It turns out that we read the number on the sign incorrectly. And we didn't even call the guy out on the Willie Nelson song. Between the cost of dinner and the club, we cursed Roppongi, stopped at an ATM, and went home to bed.
The next day, after a lunch of surprisingly good crepes, we rambled over to Akasaka. We walked through the Hotel New Otani which is an elaborate hotel with equally elaborate gardens. They have a room for traditional tea ceremonies so we (I) thought it would be an enjoyable experience. It was fine, but it was a bit rushed and impersonal, not quite what I expected, but maybe what I should have expected when entering the plain room through an unmarked door down a distant hallway in a hotel. Not every door yields a treasure.
I Do Not So Desire The Wasabi
In the evening we set out for the Park Hyatt Tokyo, which is where parts of one of my favorite movies was filmed. If you haven't seen Lost In Translation, the hotel bar, as well as Tokyo itself, are practically characters in the movie. I wish they mentioned in the movie that the entrance to the hotel is through a deli on the second floor of an office building, but why start easily locating things on our last night in Tokyo? Once we tracked it down, we entered a lovely bar with gorgeous views of the city - and they told us up front there was a cover charge if we stayed for the live music. The service was commendable... there was a small bowl of crunchy snacks at our table and I fished out all the peanuts and left the wasabi peas. The waiter took note and asked, "Do you not so desire the wasabi?" I sheepishly said I did not, and he brought me a a fresh bowl of straight peanuts.
We left as the music was starting because we were aiming to eat a few stops over in Ebisu. It was getting a little late for dinner so we didn't explore much of the town, but we found a pretty good dinner spot.
Sayonara
This was our last night so the one place we chose to revisit was Izakaya Ichiya in Koenji. Oh, even our last hours didn't lack a challenge. The subway line we needed to reach Koenji was temporarily closed. Of course. We boldly chose another route and we did end up in Koenji... about three miles from our destination. We decided to hoof it, and by some small miracle we walked in the right direction. I might point out that we did not have a map of Koenji. We weren't sure of the exact location of the bar either. When we spotted the sign, it was like reaching Emerald City through the field of poppies.
Master Mizuno was not there, but the cook and the same friendly patron were. There were also others this time. The two who knew us asked about our trip to Ishigaki. We entertained them with some pictures on our camera and a girl came over to look and chat a bit before grabbing a sanshin and playing us a song. How can you not adore a place where people greet you with song? Another patron who spoke some English told us he rode a motorcycle through the U.S. He asked what we liked about Japan and I replied, "The people," and he said,"Thank you," with sincerity.
We had a late flight home that Sunday so we went down to Harajuku. Once past the overwhelming crowds near the station, it's a great area to explore, but we were time limited so we first walked to the Meiji Shrine. To my surprise and delight, many Japanese families dress their traditional best and visit the shrine on Sunday. There were women, girls and boys in exquisite kimonos strolling around, taking family photos. We even caught a glimpse of a wedding procession. We enjoyed a lunch in one of the many cafes in Harajuku, a satisfying way to end our time in Japan before the long haul back to Hong Kong.
I do believe I can compose a better travel guide than any I used. I spent countless hours researching the details of our trip, not so much what to do for leisure but the logistics, what is where and how long does it take to get there - that sort of thing. But some puzzle pieces simply don't fit until you're in the moment. I couldn't have planned that it would take a day to ride a buffalo cart for 15 minutes, or that my book gave misinformation on a sake shop, so there was some frustration upon realizing those things. Fortunately, the big picture softens all those edges and we are left with the authentic reflection of the traveled landscape.
If there is one place we will make an effort to revisit in Asia, it will be Japan. Tokyo is genuinely one of the great cities of the world. Okinawa was well worth the long trek - I continue to hear its music. The Japanese people are so gracious. Japan is a country in which you can spend 12 days yet remain aware that you've only barely glimpsed all there is, geographically and culturally. The culture is enigmatic in many ways. I know that the colorful montage of what you see can only be matched by what you don't see, below the surface, behind that door, up those stairs, beside the formalities and among the conversations.
