Japan: Day Two

Here in my old age (I’ll turn thirty next month) a good night’s sleep has gone from the occasional recreational activity it was in my teens and early-twenties to an inescapable biological necessity.

I reckoned I would need a minimum of six hours a night to get the most out of this vacation and to that end the capsule bed served me well. It provided, far and away, the best sleep I’ve ever received at a hostel. And, really, that is selling it mighty short: snuggled away in my snug coffin-like cubicle, sealed by a heavy curtain and resting my head on a pillow filled with what I think were dried beans, I sawed logs like a regular Lunestean lumberjack.

After a light breakfast (my stomach was all back flips and butterflies) S., Y. and I set out for Kyoto.

If you’ve only got a couple of days in Japan I think Osaka – situated about two thirds of the way down Honshu, the archipelagos biggest island – is a great base of operations. Not only does it offer a whole smorgasbord of sights, sounds and activities on its own but, thanks to Japan’s incredibly efficient railway system, it’s well connected to some of the country’s best known cities.
An hour after leaving Osaka we arrived in Kyoto.

Our destination was Nijo Castle. This castle (really a complex of palaces, gardens, a koi filled moat and pond, all enclosed by a massive stone wall) was built in the early-seventeenth century by the founder of the Tokugawa Shogunate, Tokugawa Ieyasu. (Although building on the castle wouldn’t be completed until 1626 during the reign of Tokugawa Iemistsu, Ieyasu’s grandson.)

The castle was crawling with people. From that Friday through the following Wednesday (April 29th – May 5th) Japan was celebrating “Golden Week” – a sort of grab bag of different holidays during which most Japanese are off school and work. While many locals leave the country for a trip abroad at this time it seems the ones who stuck around all came to Nijo Castle that afternoon. Absolutely packed. But it wasn’t just Japanese here on this day: I heard Chinese, French, English, Korean and German (or maybe Dutch?) along with a number of tongues I couldn’t identify being spoken.

Kyoto – the imperial capital of Japan for many years and rich with the country’s ancient history – is a city for tourists and Nijo Castle is one of its top attractions. Despite this popularity, though, the castle doesn’t smack of the kitsch and slapdash of similar headlining acts. (Venice disappointed me in this regard.) There is gravity about the place, a seriousness and solemnity, as when you visit certain temples or cathedrals. Which isn’t meant as an endorsement of the culture that built it; any judgment – pro or contra – of a culture, and especially one so far removed from my own experience as is Japan under the Tokugawa, demands more than a course in college and a couple days spent visiting to be a judicious assessment.

I just mean to say that there is something about the place that inspires quietness. And I don’t think I was the only one who felt this way: amidst the scores of people there was no yelling, no running. (Of course they could’ve just been bored but I doubt it. History is cool, man!)

Hiking to the top of a tall stone rampart I was treated to a view of not only Nijo Castle but also greater Kyoto. A few women in traditional kimonos (which Kyoto is famous for) made their way valiantly up these granite steps. No small feat in itself but all the more impressive considering their garments. Their kimonos were fashioned in muted colors (compared with the brightly colored hanbok Korean women sometimes wear) and printed with subtle designs. Tied in the back with an obi sash the long, narrow skirt of these kimonos stretched to the women’s ankles and forced them to move about in dainty, shuffling steps. The zori sandals that completed the outfits sighing along the stones at this complicated footwork.

After Nijo Castle I decided to take a walk on my own. The day was sunny and bright; just right for exploring a new city; and sometimes there’s nothing as pleasant as wandering alone in an unfamiliar city on a sunny day.

North of the castle was a residential area: squat houses with curly-cue tiled roofs standing shoulder-to-shoulder like commuters on a packed train; a couple of parks; little restaurants giving off delicious smells; people out riding bikes and kids playing in the streets. In some places it was still and quiet, very peaceful.

I watched a young father chasing his daughter along a path ablaze with sunlight and flowers of yellow and orange; the little child giggling, the father beaming with as much pride as the sunlight and the flowers. How many times have I watched this scene on the other side of the world? There is more that binds us together than differences that divide us.

About an hour into my walk I noticed my stomach growling. Hungry butterflies? I was hungry but I wasn’t starved – a snack would do.

I eventually settled on a café called “Colorado Coffeeshop”, a quasi-swank eatery decked out in an odd combination of baroque and Americana: high-backed chairs and bar stools and soda fountains; ornate crystal chandeliers hanging from a frescoed ceiling. Like if Maderno had designed diners instead of basilicas.

The problem with this place (I didn’t have a problem with the gaudy décor) was that it was located right next to a big hotel. In my experience restaurants near big hotels usually offer fare that is tasty in inverse proportion to its costliness: you pay a lot for a little. But I was ready to sit down and take a break so “Colorado Coffeeshop” it would be.

I ordered a sandwich and a cup of coffee. The sandwich – a hot ham and cheese on white bread – wasn’t anything special but it did the trick. The coffee on the other hand was excellent. And, while it was pricey, it didn’t break the bank. So that was good. I decided to read a little bit over lunch. (Figured I’d paid for the real estate, right?) I brought Murakami’s “Dance, Dance, Dance” with me. The first Murakami novel I ever read. I’m a sentimental guy.

After lunch I ducked into a 7-11 and grabbed an ice cream for dessert. Munching the ice cream I strolled back through some neighborhoods, wandering, content to be a strange apparition, a momentary anomaly, in the rhythm of another people’s life. Before too long I came to a commercial part of town and happened upon a Starbucks. You can’t have too much coffee on vacation, I say.

I’m not particularly fond of Starbucks (I could take it or leave it and, as a matter of fact, I would’ve preferred something a little more off the beaten path) but they had room on their patio and that sold it for me.

Sitting down was good. With the exception of lunch I’d been walking or standing (the train was crowded) most of the day. Travelling in a foreign land is both exhilarating and exhausting simultaneously – doubly so when you’ve been living overseas for any amount of time. There is a definite thrill that comes with experiencing a new culture – new languages to grapple with; unusual (to you anyway) customs; sights and sounds and foods and people – it’s all very exciting but sometimes you just want to sit down with a Coke and Big Mac or some other “comfort culture” item. For better or worse globalization can usually accommodate this need.

Maybe it wasn’t just the patio but the familiarity of Starbucks that I was looking for.

Sunday afternoon. People watching. Nico’s “These Days” repeating on my iPod. Now this is vacation.

I was to meet the girls back in Osaka around nine. I’d need at least two hours to make it on time so I finished off my iced Americano and trotted off for the train station.

The remains of the day featured conversation with (presumably) yakuza gangsters; the capture of a live mouse in a very crowded mall; sake and takoyaki and cross-dressing geishas.

Japan is quite amenable to adventure.