JAPAN

FIRST, ANSWERS TO READER Q’S:

Yes, more food photos are forthcoming! Yes, you saw a sailor suit in the photo of the girl riding the train to school. Older kids wear uniforms; sailor suits for girls are quite common. Yes, yes, yes, I am talking to myself a lot each day.

HOW EARLY IS EARLY?

Today (Sunday), by 3 a.m. I am awake and ready to go. Only the world is lagging behind. I patiently wait until I can catch the 6:30 am local rickety bus up into the mountains.

Here’s the issue: it’s Sunday. Nothing, not the hotel coffee shop, nor even Starbucks open before 7. How desperate do I have to be to enter into the one place that has opened its golden doors to the world (i.e. McDonald’s)? Pretty desperate. I’m not there yet. Who needs food and coffee in the morning anyway? I’ll get something in the mountains.

WEATHER ISSUES

It was to be a day of questionable weather resolutions. Maybe some sun, maybe some clouds, maybe some sprinkle, maybe not. The typical report that tells you absolutely nothing. But it doesn’t take great meteorological training to recognize that the day has a bite to it and that there are ominous clouds in the distance, hanging over the mountains. What to do? Rain on mountain hikes can take away any elements of fun.

I decide to venture forth anyway. When you’re all clothed in warm layers, you begin to believe that no bad weather can get through to you. Still, as the bus begins its slow climb up the hills I worry. I am already feeling a bit nippy and I haven’t even left the bus. All my extra sweaters slowly make their way from my Gap plastic bag* onto me. And still the bus climbs and the air gets nippier. I begin to see patches of snow outside. I start to study the schedule for a return bus back. Like one that would leave within minutes.


*I have to mention here how foolish one feels hiking with a plastic Gap bag swinging from the side. Japanese people are all about EQUIPMENT. Backpacks, side packs, outerwear, binoculars, fancy cameras (and I mean FANCY) –I saw them all today – me, with my versatile can-go-from-evening-at –a-nice-place to hike-in-the-woods black purse and yes, the Gap bag. I know, the fashion conscious among you are cringing at the moment.

The bus chug chuggs up the hills and I see nothing but dark gray skies. Am I even in the mountains? What mountains?

AT THE END OF THE ROAD THERE’S A GOLDEN [WEEK]

[Proper lyric identification will reward you with fore-vision as to where this is heading. A digression: when I was a teen I used to look to these (and other similarly situated) lyrics in search of great personal inspiration. Others read Kafka and Shakespeare, I listened to a recording from Carousel. Telling, isn’t it?]


I get off the bus. It is cold. This is a challenge! Even if I wanted to return, buses don’t run that often and there is no shelter nor any place open that would keep me warm. It is, after all, Sunday morning. All wise people are asleep. Foolish hardy souls are out in search of who knows what. (Actually I do know what, at least for some of them: a handful are out and about for bird watching purposes.)

For me, it’s time to institute a BRISK WALK, there’s no other way to feel warm.

My first hike is to a mountain shrine, nestled deep in a forest of redwoods (really: they are tall, they are red). The path is almost empty. There is slushy snow here and there.


I’m climbing now, getting closer, and suddenly (yes, I mean it, quite suddenly) the gray clouds break up and the sky clears (it remains clear for the rest of the day) and the small shrine appears against the backdrop of tall rugged peaks bathed in a faint morning sunshine. The sight is breathtakingly beautiful.

ANOTHER STELLAR MOMENT


Another trail that I then pick up, takes me through a forest where Japanese skunk cabbage plants are blooming (one of the first of the ‘Alpine blooms’ of the season I gather). After a delightful meander through this wet-from-the-melted-snow woodsy area, the trail ends in an Alpine meadow. That is wonderful enough. But to create an ABSOLUTELY STELLAR MOMENT for me, you’d have to then also have, at a bare minimum, a little family-run café there, with some treats and very good coffee (after all, I have now been hiking for some 3 hours and I have yet to have my morning coffee and breakfast), all set against the backdrop of magnificent mountains. EUREKA: there it is!


This may well be near the top of the top morning coffee moments. The place is small – maybe 5 tables? The entire family is fussing about. The two boys get treats, the dad, upon learning that I am willing to spend the extra 20 Yen (that would some 20 cents) for the “no chemical” coffee, is grinding some beans for me. The mother explains in halting English that the cookies are soba cookies (that would be buckwheat: this is Japan’s soba region). I am in heaven.

ANOTHER SUPREMELY STELLAR MOMENT

My third trail takes me through a mixed forest of bamboo and pine. [All thee trails are basically empty. Even though it’s no longer early and it is the big vacation week, I’ve learned that people basically stick to the shrines in their walks.] My goal is a lake that I have noted on a map.




And here comes the moment of moments: I emerge from the thicket and it’s all there: the still lake, the high mountains in a subtle spring sun, and an occasional blooming sakura to make it completely Japanese. I collapse on the grass and just gaze and gaze. It takes more than an hour to get me up and going again. Who would want to leave a moment like that?

A LESS STELLAR MOMENT

It can’t all be great, after all. Stellar moments have to be off-set by less stellar ones because otherwise how can you tell which are stellar and which are just common, everyday type experiences?


Today, the less stellar is the hike to the village. The hike itself is fine. In fact, in a clearing, I come across a group of Japanese women playing wooden flutes. One of them speaks decent English and as I pause, she explains that they are rehearsing in this way for some gig or other. [The one who spoke to me was actually completely blind. I wondered how on earth she’d made it up there. This path is quite rugged and steep. Even I had trouble with the tree roots and odd stones and places where it was flooded from melting snows. Is it the Japanese perseverance in the face of obstacles?]

But as I emerge in the village, I know that bliss is somewhere back there in the paths and Alpine meadows. The place is packed with day trippers. To sit down somewhere for a snack would require waiting and no one is going to have patience for this one person who can’t read a single menu item anywhere. I settle for soba ice cream (soba this, soba that) and people-watching from the curb.

FOOD, IN DESPERATE SEARCH OF FOOD

Perhaps that overstates the case. I was not exactly desperate. But after a good 7+ hours of mountain hiking, I was ready for something more substantial than soba thises and thats. Time to return to Nagano.

I ask someone at the hotel for a dining suggestion. My Lonely Planet is directing me to Italian places and Japanese places that had gone out of business (nice 2004 update!). I want something local and small-scale (meaning, can we keep the cost down PLEASE).


I got the perfect thing (though cheap is not an adjective that can be applied to any Japanese meal, so let’s just say it was comparatively modest in price). In the basement of a building that I do believe housed places where young women entertained older men, there is a spot called Gotoku Tei (I wouldn’t have found it, but one of the young women escorted me to it).

I sit at the counter and watch the young chef, accompanied by a harried apprentice, slice, dice, plate and prepare foods for the handful of customers. I order the “seasonal menu” (so it says in English, explaining nothing else except that it will have 11 little plates of food – as opposed to the bigger or lighter menus which would have one or two more or less). I wont describe it: how boring for the reader to listen to the list of fishes and soups and artful veggies (yes, wonderful veggie tempura and also the crisp raw ferns from the forest which are absolutely delicious—L’Etoile back in Madison, occasionally serves them, but in very limited quantities. Here, they are bright green in their freshness), and to end it all, the soba noodles, swimming in a soy-based broth. A good way to end a Sunday in the mountains.

JAPAN

A SLOW LEARNER CATCHES ON


 
I finally understood why I am seeing so many little children everywhere (especially in Matsushima), but not any big children. For a while I worried that big children had left Japan in pursuit of academic excellence elsewhere. But no, of course they’re here! I saw a train-load in the wee hours of this morning as I caught my little commuter train out of Matsushima. They’re in school right now (including Saturdays). They do not have a Golden Week off. Their parents may have a Golden Week, their little sisters and brothers who are not yet in school have it as well, but bigger kids are in great halls of learning from early in the morning until late into the day. (I’ve included a photo here of a none-too-happy soul riding the train this morning to her school, and a somewhat happier bunch returning home in Nagano.)


GIFT GIVING

Every time I pass through a train station I have a chance to see yet another display (usually more than one) of prettily-wrapped boxes of sweet treats. The Japanese are such gift givers! Wherever they go they take with them a small gift. Sweets rank high on the list of possible presents and on the train many will be carrying bags with boxes of goodies for the person they are going to visit.

I brought some of these treats back to Madison last time I returned from Japan, but somehow I think they got lost in translation. Even for me, back home, I wondered what the charm of sesame paste confections or green tea cakes was, whereas in Japan I thought both were exquisite. (Green tea anything is done well here: my green tea snack from this afternoon is pictured here on the left; it is NOT suspended in the air, I am just an artful balancer of cones.)


SNEEZERS BUT NOT HONKERS

I learned recently that it is impolite to blow your nose in public and so I am glad I do not have the sniffles (though delicate sniffling –meaning blowing in rather than out if you have a cold—is acceptable).

On the other hand, I have never heard so many people sneeze so constantly and so loudly as I have here. It’s as if Japan has one big allergy taking hold.

And, so long as I am on this indelicate topic of germs and nasal passages, I do wonder if people here who wear masks in public (and there are a number who do so) are protecting us from them or themselves from the rest of the unsanitary world.


A DIGRESSION ON VISITING SHRINES AND TEMPLES


Readers may be wondering by now: a week in Japan and no shrines under my belt? (Most likely not a single person reading this is wondering any such thing, but it is at least a theoretical possibility****.) The short answer is that yes, indeed, I have visited shrines, temples, Buddhas, Jizo statues (that’s the one a step down from Buddha; Jizo is thought to be a protector of small children, hence he is often sporting a bright red bib and cap – note photo).

However, this blog is not a travel journal. “I saw this and I did that” are not words I would typically use here. If I listed every temple that I entered, or Buddha that I passed in Japan I’d be down to a readership of one—me.

It’s hard sometimes to imagine what may be of general interest (and therefore blog-worthy), but I do know that me visiting shrines and temples is NOT of general interest.


THE COLORS OF NAGANO


Okay, I may be biased, but this town SINGS with color! It’s population is slightly larger than that of Madison (it has about 350,000), just to put it in perspective. It feels at once more urban and yet it has a small-city informality to it. But that isn’t the magic of the place. Its unique loveliness is much helped by the flowers that line the main street. And I don’t mean just hanging baskets or a flower box here and there. Each block has a singular color scheme and flower combination, and the boxes are at times three rows deep in from the curb. Yes, yes, they hit the right person here: flowers definitely are going to win me over. But isn’t it the most clever idea? It positively adds bounce to your step as you walk past rows and rows of blooming bins, boxes and baskets. [The sample of photos doesn’t fully do it justice, but it’s a start.]


RELIGIOUS SYMBOLS OF PURITY AND FORTUNE


Now that the truth is out and I have admitted to visiting shrines, I do want to say a few words on that. I am always surprised by the following:

- That your shoes are exactly where you left them after you are done with the visit inside. True, there aren’t many people in this world who would be tempted by a used shoe, but I can imagine that pranksters would find it amusing to shuffle them around a bit. In Japan in general, you can leave something in a public place and expect it to be there when you return three months later (okay, poetic license here).

- That a Japanese person may both ring the gong to get the attention of the gods in a shrine and cross him or herself in a Christian church. Any other small acts of religious worship? Bring them on, they’ll find acceptance here! Most Japanese do not subscribe to religious exclusivity. Two, three religions? it’s all good. Is it a devout nation? Not according to the books. Most people adhere to these symbolic gestures and let it go at that.

- But oh, there are so many symbols! Just visiting Nagano’s famous Zenkoji temple allowed me to witness people washing their hands and rinsing their mouths at a trough of sorts in front of the temple (to purify the body before entering a sacred place), persons standing in front of billowing incense smoke and rubbing themselves with it, older couples going up to a Buddha statue and massaging the diety’s head and body so that maybe a bit of the good fortune would spill over – on and on, acts of hope, acknowledgements of human frailty and imperfection. But so many of them! Did I mention picking out fortunes in front of a shrine? You read it and either take it home, or, if you don’t like it, you tie it to a special place outside the temple and someone else can worry a bout it. So many symbols! Feel-good acts to help you along with the day.


****Even if I was not able to enter the mind of the average reader with that one, I may still be able to anticipate questions running through reader minds. Here’s a list of some probable ones, along with my answers:

Q: How come you didn’t blog about eating dinner tonight?
A: Because I cheated and jumped the ocean over to China. I have to say that eating Chinese food in Japan is always an eye-opening event which allows me to understand how big our American appetites really are. In a Chinese restaurant here, you can size your own portion. Let me assure you that if you pick the one meant for 1 – 2 people, you’ll walk away hungry. I never have the guts to order the next size up, for 2 – 3 people, but I do compensate by ordering another plate of something, and then going over to the convenience store next door for some munchies to take back to the hotel room. And many will attest to the fact that I am not especially a ravenous eater.

Q: Why don’t you ever write about the things that are not working in Japan? You seem almost to be a Japan-ophile.
A: Is that a word? I am not a fan of publicly criticizing other countries unless I have experienced some deeply-felt aggravation on my own. I carry the weight of many years of listening to travelers to Poland list small grievances of being a tourist there and little of the joy of experiencing a different culture. I’ve always wanted to kick them in places where it hurts. Moreover, I wont mention something about Japan that I myself have not encountered. For example, I know that men grope women in crowded trains and subways here. I know, because I have read about this countless times. Trains and subways have gone so far as to create separate “women only” cars so that women passengers don’t have to tolerate this indecency. But I wont put that into the blog because it has never happened to me.

Q: You just put it in the blog.
A: Oh.

Q: Have you ever sat in a bar like in Lost in Translation and experienced a feeling of profound displacement?
A: Not on this trip; though I must admit that the thought has crossed my mind tonight, as I have a coupon for a free drink on the top floor of this hotel. I haven’t decided between wanting to get some sleep because I want to get going early tomorrow, or being the stereotypical Pole who never passes up a free anything.

JAPAN MISCELLANY

1. TIME ZONES: My blog remains set to US Central Time. Thus the time and date listed for each post is Madison time. I am 14 hours ahead of you. Right now, you are stuck in April, for me it is already May (Saturday morning). All this to say that I am now officially an EU-nian! [Today, Poland joins the EU. As yesterday’s International Herald Tribune reported (I broke my news reading abstinence and read it on-line), today’s monumental expansion of the EU has enormous consequences for the European continent. The IHT commented that never has something so important to the European community received so little coverage in the US.]


2. YUKATA: A reader passed on the correct term for the bathrobe-like garment worn by those attending Japanese public baths – it is the yukata. When asked why I didn’t in the end partake, I have but one answer: laziness. You have to scrub yourself silly before entering a public bath and everyone I’m sure would watch to make certain that the one American, with odd overseas customs, adheres to this one. I have heard that sometimes people take as long as half an hour for the pre-wash. After you have done this, you get to soak. I have, in my past travels here, soaked in a hot Japanese tub. My two word reaction? Freaky hot! (That is not to say it wasn’t pleasant in a steamy sort of way.)


3. FOOD: Last night I had dinner at a place that again offered the “all you can eat” option. This restaurant’s version of it was still different: it was, for the most part, a buffet (though you could order additionally freshly made tempura and grilled scallops) and you could eat anything at all from it, and drink any one type of drink as well, so long as you were out of there within 90 minutes. No problem, when you eat alone, 90 minutes tends to be the average amount of time you’d spend in a restaurant anyway. The meal for me was noteworthy because it had (in addition to other things which I will not mention because I am embarrassed at the glutenous way I approach dinners here) this recurrent trilogy, pictured here at the side.

4. NAGANO: In a few hours I am leaving Matsushima and heading inland toward the Japanese Alps, my second “scenic spot” selection for my pause from work here. My base will be in Nagano, so that you might say I am making the circuit of Japan’s Olympic towns (both Sapporo and Nagano hosted the games). Three train rides await me today. First, though, I must make my way to my paltry breakfast while the rest of the robed populace feasts.

JAPAN

THE BUCK STOPS WITH RAW CUTTLE FISH


[Matsushima at sunrise, from my window]

I am what you might call an adventurous eater. But as I’ve said earlier, for breakfast in Japan I revert to my traditional ways: I will not (and did not this morning) try the multitude of dishes offered from 7 am onwards – dishes that to my senses belong to lunch or dinner, preferably over a glass of sake rather than a cup of morning coffee.

So here I am, acting very un-Polish and passing up all sorts of delicious and healthy food in favor of a piece of toast and a cup of cafe au lait. Shame on me.

MISTAKES CONTINUE

This morning I went into the hotel garden to explore. How can that offend? Well, I went out in my outdoor shoes. After I came back I noticed that people took off their outdoor shoes and slipped into the proffered (meaning communal) wooden Japanese shoes. Sorry!

HOW AM I SO LUCKY



I had worried about being here during the holiday week and not enjoying much of anything because of huge crowds. I have experienced Japanese crowds and they are not for the faint-hearted. How surprised I was, then, to find myself on one of the farther islands [Fukuurajima: accessible by a loooong footbridge; there are some 300 islands around the coast here—in this lies the beauty of the place; they are slowly eroding, but for now, they look positively spectacular] and hiking the trails completely by myself, with the exception of a woman who appears to live there in a small house where ice cream is sold.


As I walked, taking in the splendidness of the coast, the views onto other islands, I came across a meadow and scattered throughout, fruit trees that were in their best blooming period. Sakura? Yes, it seemed like it. I asked the ice cream lady just to make sure that this indeed was the Japanese cherry blooming. She answered in her PERFECT Japanese that yes, indeed it was and there had been even more flowers before the rain brought some down (or, she could have been saying “fall to the ground and kiss my feet!” but I don’t think so –her beautiful gestures implied rain).




How am I so lucky to have been there, in the quiet of the meadow, looking at the delicate sakura against a pale blue sky? Bliss, nothing short of bliss. This blog entry is almost a gift to myself because I can go back and remind myself how SUBLIME a tree blooming on the last day of April can be.

I went back to the ice cream lady to tell her how much I had enjoyed the half hour I spent in the meadow (yes, that is precisely what I wanted to convey, don’t ask how I got to any sort of comprehension; maybe I didn’t, maybe she thought I said that I was frightfully allergic to cherry blooms and couldn’t wait to depart, but I don’t think so – my gestures were meant to indicate radiant exuberance). She said that there are many kinds of sakura down there in the meadow (this one was easy to key into, she started listing them: sakura this, sakura that… many different sakuras). Yes and all of them, along with the bordering pines and the younger willows, breathtakingly beautiful.




And yes, growing in the wild thicket of the pine forest, I came across a Japanese wild iris. Flower euphoria today.








CHILDREN-- EVERYWHERE THERE ARE THE FACES OF CHILDREN


Walking along the main road, I watched a bus full of school children pause at an intersection. A number of the girls leaned out and waved (I sort of can’t believe this, given that I am visiting a place that is not exactly unheard of here, but I remain the only westerner around) and of course giggled a lot. I asked (a bit stupidly, if you think about it) – ‘where are you from?’ I meant what city, town, prefecture, because they were obviously on a school excursion. They shouted ‘Japan!’ And then one brave soul asked ‘and where are YOU from?’ I said ‘America.’ Peels of laughter for that one and more faces came to the window and the girls waved and waved.

I didn’t take a photo then because, after all, we were in a conversation. But other children do tempt me and I have to say this is perhaps the only country in the world where I can get away with photographing some of them. They don’t mind. Even the little ones, with parents at their side – they seem pleased that I should want to. I attribute it to their own camera obsessions. They just assume, I’m sure, that everyone is simply a photography nut and would take pictures of anything in sight. I’m still a little reticent at times, but I know I will not be denied the opportunity if I ask. Mostly, I don't even ask.

THIS BLOG IS FOR REAL!


I have some doubting petunias out there among the readership and so I decided to nip the buds of festering cynicism about the authenticity of my trip and my photos. Of course, I did once post on this blog pictures of flowers that were not yet in bloom (in anticipation of times when they would be) causing great consternation among a number of readers. Who’s to say I am really truly in Japan now and not just making it all up? So, this morning I cornered a young lad and asked him to snap a photo of me just for verification purposes. I deliberately put myself in an unattractive pose so no one would think I am blog-vain. It’s Japan, honestly!

JAPAN

THAT WAS ONE LONG TUNNEL!

This morning I started my trip to Matsushima. It took four separate trains and a total of eight hours to get there and so I had plenty of time to watch two batteries die down on the computer and to count tunnels. There were many many tunnels to count. Of course, I was waiting for THE BIG ONE, the longest underwater tunnel in the world, the one that connects Hokkaido to the rest of Japan. I had wanted to time my own personal endurance record so that I could then brag on the blog how I had survived the 20 minute, or two hour tunnel. But after a dozen times of looking at my watch, thinking THIS SURELY must be it, I gave up and stopped looking and so now I can only guess: it seemed like about four hours, but that is possibly the grossest of exaggerations because that particular train ride was only three hours long and it had many stops before and after the tunnel. Still, I have to say that my going-under-water-by-way-of-train phobia seems to be a thing of the past.

Long train rides are a time to think and eat. This time I was prepared. No more staring at a solitary cup of Twinkle Lady tea. I had a feast . The tea was accompanied by a spotted monster apple (that’s the way they all looked in the market: I spent more on that apple than on my earlier-in-the-week cup of Starbucks latte and that’s saying a lot; fruits are expensive in Japan) and by treats from the food halls of the department store (I couldn’t decide which of the three so I took all three; my decision would have been a lot easier had I realized that they were all a variation on a white roll with chestnut bits; no matter, their price together amounted to just about one half the cost of the apple).

But I have to say that I am starting to crave vegetables. Aside from the pickled ginger that always accompanies raw fish here and that one piece of pepper tempura yesterday, I haven’t seen any vegetables at the dinner table. This morning, therefore, I broke down and took from the breakfast buffet a small plate of limp broccoli, cauliflower and carrots. One has to take things when they are offered in life. [For the curious: I had this BEFORE my cup of coffee and cereal; I pretended that I was still eating last night’s dinner before ultimately switching to breakfast.]


NEW DISCOVERIES AND MORE QUESTIONS

In trying to decide where to go during the Golden Week, I thought about selecting places of great natural beauty. I’ll be working in cities while I am here, but for my time off, I wanted scenic splendor. I chose two destinations. The first, Matsushima, is labeled as one of the three great natural sights of Japan (more on the second destination tomorrow). I learned a poem today by a famous seventeenth century Japanese writer. It goes like this:

”Matsushima, ah! Matsushima! Matsushima!” He definitely was smitten with the place.

It was evening by the time the last of my series of trains pulled in to the Matsushima-Kaigan station and so I saw little of the scenery tonight. From the station, a bus took me to the hotel Taikanoso, the place where I’ll be spending the next two nights.

I honestly do not remember how I found Taikanoso. I believe I was directed to it by some random blog I Googled my way to. I know this place does not have a website and it is not listed in any book on Japan. And so, apart from the price per night, I cannot say that I arrived informed about my new surroundings.

Driving up, I could tell that it fancies itself to be a bit of a ‘resort.’ You can just tell: there are ‘grounds.’ People move slowly, there is piped music in all public spaces, it has the feel of relaxation and leisure. Needless to say, I am the only non-Japanese person in the entire sprawling place, though occasional attempts at translation (as in the room information sheet) imply that English speaking people are expected to make their way here.


As a foreigner, I was, as usual, treated well by the Reception. My request for a ‘pleasant view’ got me the top floor room (the place is five stories high), and from the window I could see why the scenery merits top billing. Even at dusk, it was inspiring (see photo of view from room).

I am too removed from the town to search for eating spots and so tonight I am forced to eat here. If I sound reluctant, it is because the set price for dinner is almost as high as the price of the room and breakfast. The accommodation is cheap, the meal is not.






I wondered if I was expected to dress up. I hadn’t seen anything particularly excessive in this regard in the public rooms and so I decided not to. Why do I mention this? Well, clothes issues became a shocking part of my discovery. As I entered the huge dining hall, I saw that it was filled with people of assorted ages, most of whom were wearing identical cotton bathrobes (see photo)! So here I am, in this reasonably elegant dining hall, where a man in a tux is playing Chopin on the piano, cooks are heaping food onto a buffet table, and people are walking around in blue and white robes and identical brown slippers.

My guess is that there are public baths somewhere on the premises and that it is acceptable and even expected to go from bath to dinner. Of course I want to try this too, but think of the gaffs I am likely to make along the way: do I wear a bathing suit? What does one wear (if anything) under the robe? It’s not as if I can ask. And what if it becomes undone? Something awkward is likely to happen. Or, what if one only does this on Greenery Day, so that tomorrow I’ll show up to dinner in a robe and everyone will be wearing street clothes?

The dinner itself was quite good. I could pick and choose and so I avoided the western specialties (the desk clerk had said that they served Japanese and French food; the spaghetti, meat and mashed potatoes were, I presume, the ‘French’ part) and concentrated on the sushi, the raw fish, the crab – yes, the crab legs are with me again—the scallops, braised greens and the fruit (pictured at the very bottom of the post) for dessert.



[I cannot resist posting pictures of some of the signs in front of dishes. In an attempt to appear international, I see someone was given the task of coming forth with translations.]

And here’s an interesting gimmick: I asked for a beer with the meal and was told that it cost 800 Yen extra (that would be around $7). I hesitated. One mug of beer, $7? A Wisconsinite would cringe. But then I was shown a sign that said “3 alcoholic beverages for 1000 Y.” The dining hall attendant said I could thus get three beers for 1000 Y. I could also get three whiskeys or three glasses of wine. The Pole in me wanted to go the whiskey route because, of course, insofar as there’s a bargain in this pricing strategy, it is in the whiskey. Sanity prevailed and I hate whiskey anyway, so I stayed with the beer. A plastic sign was placed on my table with a number scrawled on it announcing to the wait-staff (and the world) on which beer I was at the moment. I noticed people around me were on number three while I was still nursing number two. I never could get through number three, but still, how could one not order in this way?


In the course of the meal, the music venue changed and we went from my beloved Chopin to a Japanese band singing American pop. To give you an idea, I heard music of the Carpenters and a lot of Elvis. The room came alive for this part. People listened, tapped their brown-slippered feet and applauded enthusiastically after each number.

All well and good, but I could not take my eyes off the bathrobes.

Back in my room, I noticed that by opening the window (it was awfully musty on arrival) I let in a nice army of monster bugs and so the rest of the evening is spent hunting for what look like drunken dragon flies (they fly low, sway a lot and move at the speed of 1 meter per minute).

JAPAN

HOKKAIDO CRAB AND GREENERY DAY

Last night I went to dinner at Ebi-kani Gassen. It is a miracle that I found Ebi-kani Gassen. My Lonely Planet Guide writes this about it: “Ebi-kani Gassen (with an all you can eat menu) is among Sapporo’s many crab places. Its two locations are busy, informal and fun.” Then there is a general X type mark on an inexact map of the city. Okay, not a lot to go on, but I’ve seen worse.

I set out for what I think would be the right block and I find many eating places, none of them having any western alphabet sign in front. I ask. There is an art to this: you have to pick someone who looks like they would know about an obscure eating spot in this area. Bingo! It’s rare that I strike gold on the first try but there you have it: a Japanese man scratches his chin (literally) and his face lights up. He leads me to an office building with a sign that has the listing of all offices on its 14 floors. Then he points to some characters next to the 12th floor designation and says jubilantly: “Ebi-kani Gassen!” I thank him and head for the elevators.

I get in the elevator, push “12,” the door closes, nothing happens. I remember from my hotel elevator that the buttons at the top refer to "door open" and "door close" and so through trial and error, I finally get the doors to open. I am, of course, on the ground floor. A group of people join me and I am excited because maybe they will demonstrate what button to push to make the damn box MOVE. They press “4” and we move to 4. They get out. I have pressed “12” but I see that I am going back down to “1.” Lord, is “12” out of business? Is it special access only? Is it not Ebi-kani Gassen??

New people come into the elevator. I ask them in my fluent Japanese: “Ebi-kani Gassen?” They discuss this among themsleves with gusto and fianlly point to 12. We’re in business! But I show them that when I press 12, no light goes on (in my Japanese: press, shrug, press shrug). Ahhhh: they drag me out of the elevator and point me to another. Apparently this first one does not go up to twelve. The other does. Lonely Planet, do better! How is ANYONE supposed to figure all this out on their own?

At Ebi-kani Gassen I am given a sheet of paper and miraculously it has an English line scribbled on it: “all you can eat: king crab legs, snow crab legs, shrimp tempura, shrimp sushi, crab sushi, tempura shrimp sushi, egg custard.”

I am not a good “all you can eat” candidate. In the hotel, breakfast is included in my daily rate. There is an elaborate buffet, with egg dishes, Japanese dishes, meats, breads, rolls, you name it. I take a bowl of cereal and some fruit and drink my coffee and walk away satisfied. But this is a very specific to Sapporo “all you can eat” type of place. You are given a set amount of food that includes all the listed dishes. And you are given 90 minutes. If you finish what’s in front of you, you can request a repeat of all the crab legs. If you finish that, you can ask for another portion. Oh, and you are given all the beer you can drink in that 90 minute period as well.

This would not work in Wisconsin. Big people would come with big appetites and even greater thirst and drive these restaurants out of business. But around me, I see the usual lean Japanese people and they are eating rapidly, but sanely. I, too, work through my allotment and then wonder if I should ask for more. The Polish nagging little guy within me says “eat more! It’s free! And besides, it is the famous Hokkaido crab, the best in the world!” And so I order another round.

I come back to the hotel and collapse, with crab crawling out of my every pore. I don’t care if I never see another crab leg in my life! Had I spoken Japanese, I would have asked for a half portion, but can you imagine me taking that one on? Instead, I chose to gorge.

But that was yesterday. Today is April 29 – a national holiday: “Greenery Day.” It marks the beginning of Golden Week, where all of Japan takes off for vacation. Because there are three national holidays close together (Greenerey Day, Constitution Day and Children’s Day), most businesses are closed for the entire period – from April 29 until May 5.




For me, it is time to leave Sapporo. I am headed south to see one of the three natural wonders of Japan. When next I write, it will be from Matsushima. More on that later. In the mean time, I am including photo reminders that Sapporo isn’t all modern buildings and neon signs (photo 2), that space is always at a premium, thus the Japanese devise innovative strategies to not use too much of it (photo 3) and that since greenery can’t readily be found here on April 29 (too early), it CAN be found at the market (photo 1).

JAPAN

PEACE



This afternoon I took a train to the town of Heiwa (which translates as Peace). It is a town that is not in any conventional guidebook on Japan (I can’t even remember where I heard about it) and there is no reason to go there but for one building.

I had postponed seeking out this place earlier during my visit here, but as I am leaving Sapporo tomorrow morning, I felt it was time I went.

The building – an uninteresting, small, brick structure, is owned by “Hibakusha,” meaning the living victims, the survivors of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. They have converted an upstairs room of the house into a sort of gallery. Graphic photos depicting injuries sustained by the people living within a large radius of the atomic blasts line the walls, and paintings express the horror of those events.

There are some 500 or 600 Hibakusha living in Hokkaido and I met one of them today.

I rang the door bell somewhat apprehensively, thinking that this would be too hard to do, especially without the protective shield of an impersonal museum.

An old man opened the door and he looked surprised to see me. Right away he said “Hiroshima, Nagasaki” as if to explain what was there, thinking that perhaps I had the wrong address. When I reassured him in my nonexistent Japanese that this indeed is where I wanted to be, he took me upstairs and unlocked the door to the room holding the small gallery.

He followed me during the entire half hour I was there. He stood quietly behind me every time I paused in front of a picture and he said nothing as I looked on. But I felt it to be a gentle and kind presence and I welcomed his company. It is not a place where you can stand being alone very easily.

In leaving, I hated myself for not having the language skills to say more than thank you, at the same time that I felt relieved that I lacked the words, because, after all, what can anyone say.

I thought about the two photos I posted earlier today of Japanese children, especially the one from Biai, where the little girl is holding out her fingers in the symbolic gesture that the Japanese use for peace. Peace, from her tiny hand, held to the camera. Peace. It’s only when I recalled her living form that I became uncontrollably sad this afternoon. She made the children of the black and white photos on the wall of the brick house wear faces and have names.

Under the postwar Japanese Constitution, the country has no active military. In the last decade the government here has interpreted the document to permit a military without weapons, to be called forth only for reasons of defense. It was decided that such a unit should be sent to Iraq, though only for ‘humanitarian’ reasons and without weaponry of any sort. Even this was though by many to be excessive.

Travel is such a happy series of events for me, but this afternoon I had to do that other part of it, I had to go back and examine a piece of history – not the political history, but the personal one, experienced by the common, everyday people, just like the ones I am watching now go through their daily tasks of shopping, taking children to school, riding trains to homes in small towns and villages.

An image of a happy little girl in Biei, holding that little fist for peace is the proper ending to this post. Let me reprint the photo, just to remind myself of her smiling face.

JAPAN

TEMPTATION




If Blogger hadn’t given me the gift of direct photo posting, I would not have spent the first hours of the night-morning today learning the easy steps of uploading pictures from my camera.

Therefore I would have eaten breakfast before heading off to do a two hour presentation at the University. And I would have not had to run in the rain to make it on time. And afterwards, I perhaps would have also gone to the basement food halls of the department store (Japan ostensibly has three acclaimed “wonders,” one which I will actually see tomorrow, but I would add a fourth: the department store food halls—they are amazing!), but I would not have lusted hungrily after all that was being offered and I would not have searched out the free samples [I don’t like to eat my way through these when I have no intention of buying, though I would have loved to pick up a bag of the pickled eggplant (see photo below), but as I explained to the clerk (and I am sure she understood not a word), I was at a hotel where the minibar wouldn’t have held a kilo of pickled anything].

I remember when I first visited a food hall in Japan. There, and actually anywhere that something was being sold, clerks called out a friendly greeting, with big grins on their faces: “Irrashaimase!” You hear this everywhere and after a while you long to reciprocate. After some days had passed and I thought I had the pronunciation down pat, I would return the favor. “Irrashaimase to you too!” I would say.

It wasn’t until much later that I learned that what they were saying was “welcome!” (as in: come over and buy from us). Blunder along, that’s me alright.


Not to get carried away with visuals, but I can’t resist a few from this morning’s visit to the halls of culinary delight.

JAPAN

IMPATIENCE…


[image of Sapporo late last evening]

I’ve taken to running in Sapporo. I can’t help it –it’s because of the lights. If I walk at a brisk pace down the street, the green crossing lights are completely out of sync with me and so at almost every corner I am forced to stop and wait. And wait. Any red light here is like Madison’s worst nightmare intersection in terms of stopping time: each turning lane has it’s own green light and so you, the pedestrian, need to wait until all permutations have been exhausted. Thus, when I am walking along and I see up ahead that there is a green crossing light, I run to make it. This is yet another one of those transgressions that make me appear odd and foreign, but I can’t seem to help myself. Green light ahead? Run!

…AND GREED

Last night (that would be Tuesday for me) I sought out a place for dinner that I had noted earlier while leafing through the Lonely Planet guide to Japan. It was a simple place, with counter service and a few tables, but what had especially caught my eye was the reference to the use of fresh Hokkaido ingredients. Anyone who knows me would smile in patient (I hope) amusement: it has long been true that if the food is described as fresh and local, I’ll want to try it!

I had a hard time finding this place. The book referred to it as “Uoya Itcho,” but clearly the authors read and speak Japanese because nowhere on the outside, nor inside, is there a single letter of the western alphabet. And no one speaks any English – or they do a good job of feigning ignorance when asked. But I did finally corner a few random people to inquire if this was “Uoya Itcho” and though people here always appear to be agreeing with you even if you are dead wrong, something in the vigor of the “hai’s” and the nodding of the heads convinced me that this was indeed the place.


It was crowded, but I was given a comfortable spot at the counter and a menu to make my selections. Thank God for those photos on the menu!


As this was my first authentic Japanese meal (the others had elements of Japanese food, true, but this had the potential to fulfill my cravings for such things as sushi and sashimi) I went overboard with the finger pointing. What I had forgotten is that you have to sort of ease into raw fish eating if you’ve been away from it for a while. Getting a plate loaded down with five slices of every conceivable ocean critter can initially dazzle and eventually overwhelm. I had one of those momentary longings to have a dog under the table – anything to decrease the number of pieces still ahead.

The waiters, amused I’m sure, by this solo foreigner (the place was filled with men pausing to eat in the course of their evening of work, with random pairs of women thrown in, probably just for decoration), kept hovering and asking questions which I assume had the goal of assessing the degree of my satisfaction (or, they could have been asking about my age, wealth, or country of origin, how would I know...). Of course I had to finish THE WHOLE THING. Even a tall beer didn’t ease the pain of overindulgence. Oh yes, healthy, it’s all so healthy, but my God, did I eat a lot of raw fish!

It’s interesting how quickly you then forget the pain and look forward to a repeat performance.

JAPAN

WHY WOULD ANYONE HEAD NORTH ON A DAY LIKE THIS?

Finding myself with a conversational negative balance today (I spoke no recognizable English to anyone, and what English I did speak can only be classified as minus-English. Just as an example: “time! time next train Sapporo! Next, 16 clock?”), I decided to indulge myself here on the blog. Since “the blog never lies,” I mustn’t create fictionalized persons. Thus, the conversation is between myself and myself.

NC: So what did you do today?
nc: I took the train up toward the northern part of Hokkaido.

NC: Don’t you have enough train travel in your weeks in Japan just to get you places you need to be?
nc: I have a rail pass which entitles me to unlimited train travel. I am nowhere near ‘unlimited’ yet. A Pole never passes up a freebe. Besides, it felt cold in Sapporo – too cold to just walk around like I did yesterday.

NC: Wouldn’t it be even colder up north?
nc: I did not think of that when I studied the train schedules.

NC: How far north did you go?
nc: About 2.5 hours and two separate trains’ worth of territory was covered each way.

NC: Five hours total? You are nuts. There must have been something special to see up there?
nc: I went to check out a village. Actually it was somewhere between a town and a village: I could walk it’s circumference in about half an hour.

NC: Was it stunning? Is that why you went?
nc: I vaguely recalled reading somewhere about it, but I could not remember why it was so special except that in the summer they grow flowers around there. Was it stunning –well, I have never been to Alaska, but this is how I imagine an impoverished town or village deep in Alaska would look like, right around the month of March (desolate, deserted, scruffy and gray).

NC: Sounds thrilling indeed! Highlights?
nc: Watching the youngest children returning home from school in the afternoon. Their features were very much Hokkaido features: dark, pronounced, with not a small trace of Ainu. Beautiful smiles (photo doesn't do them justice!).

NC: Low points?
nc: Where do I begin? I think three words would summarize all relevant points: it was cold. This village (called Biei) is at the foot of a mountain chain, and the mountains were completely covered with snow. Not a single bud had broken through any of the trees in town. I had wanted to borrow a bike (apparently it is possible to do that) but thought that I would not last more than a quarter of a mile. I was warmly dressed, but the wind was piercing.

NC: When you figure out how to post photos, do let us see the snow-covered mountains.
nc: That I wont do. I don’t know enough about the camera yet (it is less than a week old) to figure out how to create contrast where non exists: today the sky was gray-white, and the snow-covered mountains were white-gray. You would have been viewing basically a picture of mixed whites.

NC: Any other thoughts on the outing?
nc: Yes. I am glad I went. Just taking this little one-car train for the final stretch was cool: people were traveling home with groceries bought in bigger towns. I imagined what it would be to live there year-round. You’d have to be pretty resilient. Oh, and BTW, when I came back to Sapporo, I found that it had been (still is) raining. I didn’t have any rain up north—I felt rewarded for my efforts to move myself out of the comfort zone of this city. Then, when I got back into town I did a first: I went to a Starbucks and bought myself a steaming latte. I’ve never felt so decadent. But you’ll be surprised to hear that I have yet to turn on the flat-screened TV in my room. No CNN to date. So if the world turned up-side-down in my absence, I wouldn’t known (there are no English newspapers in Sapporo news stands so I don’t even know what the headlines are, and no, obviously I haven’t been reading CNN.com – haven’t you been paying attention to my computer woes? I rarely can get a connection).

NC: So, are you having fun yet?
nc: But of course: the days are full, so full. Every minute explodes with something interesting and new. That is the essence of being elsewhere, isn't it?
Now can we go back to being one? I feel I'm bordering on the insane here.

JAPAN

WORK HABITS AND KIND BODY GUARDS

Well, the blog was to be built around photos and the photos disappear from the blog just moments after I post them, so technology and I are not friends at the moment. And the Internet is breaking down regularly. And Eudora will receive but not send. I can’t believe that I am using ten million high tech gadgets, all of them made right here in this country and none of them are capable of producing a good day’s worth of work.
UPDATE: Blogger and I are the best of friends! Oh, what that nice blogger rep did for me! Thank you so very much.

…As opposed to the people here, who have absolutely lost all perspective on the subject of work. How can you schedule a meeting with me from 7:00 pm, be done with it at 10:30 pm and then return to your office to continue with the work that you interrupted for my benefit?

But this morning I beat them to it! I was looking for a cup of coffee at 5 am and was deeply disappointed that the hotel was not about to recognize my cravings at what seemed to me to be a decent time to start a fresh day. The night clerk was, however, very polite about it and expressed great disappointment at not being able to oblige.

Sometimes I think that the people here should just blow their cool at the likes of me. It seems they should be saying things like “and who are you to come here and expect every one of us to speak your confusing language and to understand your weird gestures and requests when you yourself have memorized only five Japanese words and continue to violate virtually every social ritual known to us?” But no one says this. Instead, I am allowed to blunder along, and I am greeted everywhere with a desire to make my walk through this country an easy one.

In my work, I go from one meeting to another with my “guards.” These are the kind people who have agreed to translate for me – from foreign grad students to deans and professors, they all humbly undertake this, with no compensation, nothing at all from me except a thank you and a dumb little gift from Wisconsin (you can just imagine how creative those are—though to my credit, I have yet to hand over anything with a picture of a red badger on it, thinking perhaps that you would have had to at least pass through WI to work up any enthusiasm for our local mascot).

But I view them also as guards of sorts, as they protect me from my own ineptness, always apologizing, I am sure, for my ignorance. I know this to be true because I am beginning to pick up little signs here and there: like this afternoon when my ‘translator' swooped down to take my shoes and move them to a spot where I should have placed them; or earlier, when another handed me a fresh hankie as I made my way to the Japanese washroom without thinking to bring one; or this evening when I was too busy writing down answers to questions to reach for the proffered Hokkaido treat and found my “guard” gently placing one on my pad so that all could then begin to enjoy theirs.

WALKING THE WESTERN HILLS OF SAPPORO

“The sun so bright, I froze to death,” aptly describes this day: trees here are a month behind Madison (as opposed to the area around Tokyo where they are a month ahead; so where on Japan’s map is Madison??) and there is still an occasional patch of snow in the hills, but that not withstanding, it was a bright, bright day, one that needed a walk. The early morning was a perfect time for it.

Nothing is as uplifting as watching schoolchildren sail off to their elementary schoolhouses – in packs, on bikes, alone, with a parental hand clutching theirs. In France it may be all navy and white for the left bank private l’ecole set, but here, the colors of kid clothes are bright and mixed in interesting ways, so that the pink ‘little kitty’ sweatshirt will be on top of yellow ‘Tony tiger’ pair of pants, with perhaps a fluorescent pink ‘Astro man’ backpack to really set things right. Children appear to like cartoon characters generously sprinkled across every surface that lends itself to this sort of thing.



Eventually I reached the hills on the outskirts of the city. Not surprisingly, a bright red shrine stood halfway up the steep incline. Outside, a wooden stand had hanging garlands of beautiful origami cranes and a thick leather book, resting partly open, with a pen stuck inside, obviously inviting … who knows what. Is it one of those books where you’re expected to write something like “Hi! I am from Wisconsin! Glad to be here! Hey, how about that, I see someone from Pennsylvania visited last month! Go Pirates!” or maybe comment on the natural beauty of the setting (“you have one great shrine here and the view is like wow, like terrific!”), or is it maybe something that I am not getting, like a sinners book, so that if you sign in you are admitting to having killed your neighbor and lied to your own mother? I left it alone.

Sapporo is not a wealthy town. In fact, Hokkaido is a not a wealthy island. The already small Japanese houses are even smaller here. ‘Modest’ is a good operative word as you pass through residential neighborhoods. I paused in front of one mansion (that would have comfortably fit into the average Madison kitchen) to take a photo of the city below (note missing photo here as well) and I played “no, you go first” with the gentleman who lived here and was taking out the garbage and almost walked in front of the camera. After many gestures and words of protest, he won. I had to go first.

LUNCH AT THE FAC CLUB

I had my first official meal on of the trip – with the various faculty who are helping with my work here. We went to the faculty club – a beautiful modern building that looks exclusive and swank, though I was assured that it was open to anyone, including tourists if they chose to visit the campus of Hokkaido University. They said it was a disappointment because none ever came – too far off the beaten path.

And now the chopstick game begins. I am offered western eating utensils and I politely refuse. Big smiles all around for that one. I am adept enough at the chopstick thing that I can, as I’m sure most Americans can, transport food from plate to mouth without losing half of it, no matter how slippery or small – a feat that never ceases to bring forth great exclamations of praise and wonder. (Japanese people must think us to be such indelicate eaters!) But the game isn’t over. I then have to decline having any such skill. And so we go back and forth on this and end the exchange with a mutual bow of acquiescence, each acknowledging that the other is right, followed by a minute’s silence to contemplate the miraculous wonder of this. The chopstick game happens quite frequently. I am happy, because at least I think I know how to participate in this one.

JAPAN (almost, almost, but not quite)

Mistakes of travel (list prepared by one who made them all):

- Arriving at the Union 1 minute before Madison’s bus departs for Chicago’s O’Hare airport. [What was I thinking? One badly timed red light and the trip would have been a disaster before it had even started.]

- Hesitating before a Krispy Kreme six-pack at the boarding gate. [This is a new one! Foreign visitors can now take some American carbs, fresh from the vats of boiling grease, back home as a souvenir. For me, the unexpectedness of it caught me off guard. I almost caved in.]

- Listening to the Air France news in flight. First of all, French news announcers SHOULD NOT be all that stunning to look at. This one in particular, with his oh-so-casual blue window-pane shirts and striking tie – come on, mess it up a little, all that visual perfection is distracting. Secondly, watching clips of GWB against a backdrop of rapid fire French was so incongruous as to be completely disconcerting. Our president doesn’t speak French, he doesn’t like the French, there’s nothing French about Crawford Ranch, it was just too confusing.

o Luckily, there was also an English news wrap-up toward the end so that I could quit thinking that I am on my way to a vacation in France. I am not. Just passing through, on my way to Japan (though even the Air France ticket agent was puzzled: “you are flying to Tokyo through Paris?” she asked. People have no imagination.)

o The presentation of news in English was… thought provoking. I watched a story about Russians celebrating Lenin’s birthday today. The announcer said “ the crowd of mainly communists gather to celebrate Lenin’s birthday..” Now how did he know they were mainly communists? I didn’t see anyone being asked. Assumption, assumptions.

Not done yet, mistakes continue all the way through my 2.5 hour lay over in Paris:

- Having pushed the limits of timeliness in Madison, why should it be different now on this side of the ocean? But what could I do: we’re landing in Paris in perfect sunshine and I see ribbons of dazzling yellow fields below. What are they? Why should I wait at the airport in a stuffy lounge if I can be OUT THERE, frolicking and skipping through those fields?

o It doesn’t work that way. Impulses to board random trains at airports in search of golden fields should not be followed. After a few stations, I disembarked at Sevran Beaudottes, a town that seemed enough far away from the airport as to hold out the hope of golden fields and sweet pastoral bliss, but no, it was not to be: the fields were elusive, the town was bland (but for the spring flowers as seen in the early morning light, here on the left), and I cut it a bit too close.

o A side note: at the town’s train station, I saw this rather prominent ad [in case the low grade photo I’m using doesn’t allow you to decipher it, the words say: “Grace a vos dons, vous seul pouvez permettre une action rapide et impartiale en Irak” which, I believe, means ‘thanks to your donations, you alone can allow for quick and impartial action in Iraq.’ The picture shows a military helmet stuffed with food].

Shortly after take off, I sat back, imagining that I was soon to be flying over intriguing and complicated countries: I could very well be over Iran, perhaps Iraq – they seem on the way. History unfolds, while I am safe in the air, privileged, as usual. So humbling.

- oh no, oh no, we are not headed for Iran, not for any of those places. It seems we are currently flying over POLAND!! What? We’re heading north! Of course! A short-cut! So it’s going to be a Siberian junket. Oh, but right now it’s Poland – how about that!

Now let’s get in the right mind-set already: what better way then to watch Lost in Translation – several times. The flight from Paris to Japan is long (12 hours) so that I come to know by heart the last scenes, where they meet up after lunch, meaningfully connected.

JAPAN (Yes, for real)

TWO SHOCKING MOMENTS UPON ARRIVAL AT NARITA (TOKYO) AIRPORT:

1. The very first greeting from the Japanese is a loudspeaker announcement as I approach the passport gates. A friendly voice tells me: “You are passing by the health center. If you have a fever of diarrhea please stop here.” Do people readily admit to this? An ethical dilemma right then and there: if something is upsetting your digestive system, do you move quickly in the hope that it doesn’t show, or do you fess up, risking who knows what –isolation? Deportation?

2. The train connections to Sapporo (my final destination) for today are BAD: I will need to take four separate trains, and I wont get there for a full 14 hours. Lord, this week-end of travel will never end. [Note things to be grateful for: the sight of cranes standing in wet rice paddies outside. It was a fleeting moment, but a nice one.]


I notice that my computer battery is fading. At one of the ‘change trains here’ stations, I see a electrical socket by the escalator. What would the traveling public think if I took the opportunity to recharge? Stellar computer moment happens: I stand by a hugely crowded passage-way and type a sentence or two as the computer balances on my suitcase and recharges for a few minutes. All this, while smiling candy salesclerks look on.

MOMENT OF PANIC:

I am one to say things like ‘I would never ever take the train under the English Channel. I’d FREAK OUT! I am way too claustrophobic!”
So at what moment (today) did I realize that you cannot take a train from Tokyo airport to Sapporo without going through the world’s longest under-water tunnel?
What are you going to do in these circumstances – not go?? However do I get myself into these situations? If I post this tonight, that means I will have survived.

On the train, people are chomping at box meals and flushing it all down with Sapporo beer. Me, I’m still nursing that cup of tea the train hostess brought me. Notice the sign on the cup: it’s in English and yet it makes little sense. The feeling of disconnectedness is starting to take center stage. As for the fancy service –oh yes, there’s that. And the train toilet seat is heated, and if you press a button, thinking it to mean ‘flush,’ you get a nice big burst of warm water right where you, foreigner that you are, least expect it. You can even preset the strength and temperature.

I CAN’T BELIEVE I SLEPT THROUGH THE WHOLE THING!
Tunnel came, tunnel went, I never noticed. Suddenly some kind passenger was tap tap tapping me and telling me the train is about to empty out. Well, I can test my new tunnel capabilities on the return: there’s only one way to leave this place, and that is via that dark, long tunnel.

I am closing off with a note on my final destination, Sapporo, where it is at the moment cold, dark, and completely closed up for the night. Food would be easy to come by if only the hotel telephone operator would quit repeating all that I say to her. We are making no progress. ‘Shrimp curry’ I say. ‘Shrimp curry’ she says, falteringly. ‘Room service?’ I ask. ‘Ahhh, room service’ she answers. And so on. There are always the free nuts that I stuffed mindlessly into my bag during the plane ride. Sound Polish survivalist impulses were guiding me then.