Japan

     Needless to say, Shinjuku station was packed, but I was able to work my way into a position near where one of the carriage doors on the next train into the station would be opening (trains were arriving/departing every couple minutes).  When the train arrived, doors opening, guys were bouncing/jostling out of the car (exiting) in a steady stream of fits and starts, like sardine pinball billiards powered by compressed gas.  Once they were out, we flooded into the car, which, to accommodate the rush hour crowds, had no seating.  Everyone would stand, packed tight.  I considered myself fortunate, as one of the first to board, that I could stand by one of the windows on the far side of the car, able to see the passing scenery on a beautiful morning.  I held my briefcase between my legs until there was room to set it in front of me on the window ledge.  

     By the time we got halfway around the loop toward Ueno (again on the Yamanote line), the car was mostly empty and passengers were sitting (apparently the seats had been folded up against the wall during the crowded part of the loop?).   

     Of course, the language of the performance was Japanese, and I didn’t understand a word of it.  There was almost no action.  Virtually all my interest in the performance was gone after 10 or 15 minutes.  I considered leaving early but resolved to tough it out for the next hour, so as not to lose face with or disturb the Japanese audience around me.  Yet I was tired standing, shifting around, leaning on the rail or the back wall in one posture or another.  I found it very difficult to stay awake.  In fact, I nearly fell asleep on my feet twice, once awaking just as my knees started to buckle (and catching myself) but imagining how embarrassing it would be as an ‘uncultured gaijin’ to pass out on the floor from sleep in the middle of a Japanese national treasure.  Finally I got up the nerve to simply walk out, others think what they would.

     There are no trash cans on Tokyo streets, nor in the railway & subway stations (yet the streets and stations are generally unlittered . . . I guess the Japanese ‘pack it out’).  Be that as it may, I had no desire to put a dirty smoothie cup in my briefcase.  I recalled that it generally is easy to find public toilets in the train stations (where there are wastebaskets).  So, even though I had no other reason to want to go down into the subway on a lovely May evening, I did.  In my tiredness or whatnot, I found no restroom.  In frustration, I nearly came to the point of abandoning my cup between planters, but I just couldn’t do it--if the Japanese can be neat, dammit, so can I! 

     Finally I considered that all the restrooms I’d seen in stations were perhaps only to be found once having purchased a ticket and passing through the turnstiles.  I asked the station attendant who was manning the turnstiles if there might be a place I could dispose of my cup, waving my cup for him to see.  He said "no" simply, if not curtly, and I wondered if he understood my question.  A restroom I asked, a ‘toilet’ (surely that he would understand, and every station has a toilet).  "No," he said. Could he really have understood?  I kept my eyes intensely on his face, annoyed with his attitude and asked, "what, no toilet?"  No! "None at all?"  No!  I came very close to raising my voice in outraged anger but instead simply walked away, thus, as I understand it, not losing 'face.'  Shortly thereafter, I found an appropriate place to dispose of the cup (I don't remember where . . . maybe a McDonald's).  

      The next day, I was back in Asakusa to see the Senso-ji (also known as Asakusa Kannon), the most venerable of Tokyo's Buddhist temples.  

I had expected the staff here to be very friendly and helpful with all the ins and outs of Tokyo and otherwise, maybe even to spend time hanging out with guests in the lounge or something . . . none of this was the case.  On the other hand, on my first night, after taking my shower, relaxing in my yakata, I found the most convivial group of fellow travelers in the lounge.  There was the woman from Macedonia (earthy and reminding my of a mature hippie flowergirl, free with her opinions, positive, enjoying the company), her husband from Germany, and their young son (who speaks Dutch, as they now live in Holland).  There were the four ‘youth’ in the UNESCO? student program, studying abroad in Japan . . . also very friendly and convivial . . . two of the girls were from Indonesia (Jakarta), one guy was from India and the other from the Philippines.  I found I could relate well with each, comfortable and relaxed and knowing something about each of their cultures.  It turned out it was the last night in town for each of them, so we said our farewells at the end of the evening.  Back in my room, I found I had to guard against my 'worldly wise ways' going to my head.

     My hostess met me at the door.  She is a genuinely gracious and friendly person, who, with limited English, made me feel warmly welcome.  She is truly well-suited to being a hostess and does a lot of good in the world!

     The inn and my room are quaint and beautiful, as befits a lodging in this neighborhood.  All  of the finishings in my room are of warm, natural materials.  A good-sized window with a sliding rice paper screen in a wooden frame looks out on a secluded driveway.  The ceiling is covered in natural, light-grained wood ceiling panels with darker wooden cross supports, tatami mats cover the floor, and the walls have a natural, sand-grained finish.  There is one low table with seating pads (no chairs).  In one corner there is a built-in stand/table, under which luggage can be placed.  The bedding is rolled-up (folded) in the closet, to be taken out only for evening use.  Guests were expected to make up their own beds, when the time came.

     Outside the room’s sliding, rice-paper screens, there is a regular sliding glass window that can be opened for fresh air. The room also has A/C if needed (it won’t be on this trip) and superb lighting–abundant lighting is available, if one wishes, from the circular florescent tubing, partially shrouded in a paper lantern–really rather overpowering.  I generally preferred to use, instead, only the fixture’s one dim incandescent bulb (about one candle power) for a nice natural effect.

     The seating takes me some getting used to–it can be a little hard on my back. What I’ve found works pretty well for me as I’m typing this journal (on my laptop) is sitting on one folded-in-half floor pad, leaning my back up against the low stand built in to the wall, using another pad to shield my back from its hard edge.

     A full Japanese-style breakfast was served by my hostess in my room.  It always included a pot of tea, miso soup, and a small crock of rice.  Along with this there would be small portions of 8 or 10 other food items, served in a bento box . . . really neat . . . quite elegant . . . nicely presented.  I would really enjoyed this and marvel at all this being part of my lodging contract at Y6000 a night.   

     As far as I could tell, Kiyomizu Sanso was run entirely by our hostess.  Being as our rooms were inside her abode (as in a bed-and-breakfast), she would coordinate with her guests when she wanted to do errands during the middle part of the day, as she needed everyone out during this period when she would lock up.  Guests did not have a key to the outside door.

[Btw, though my rooms sliding entry door can be latched from the inside at night, my hostess told me there was no key to lock the door from the outside, requesting that I take care to secure my valuables as I see fit.  I know theft is rare in Japan, but still, not knowing my fellow-guests, etc., I would have felt better having a key to my room. There seemed to be a keyhole on the outside of the latch, so I wondered why no key was provided.  Was it lost?  Was it considered unnecessary?  Was it only my room that has no key or are all guests rooms the same?  I never found out.]

     After getting my stuff settled in my room, I set out to explore the delightful Sannan-zaka with my camera and the day’s last couple hours of light.  I didn’t go far, fearing I might get lost, as I’d not brought the map the proprietress had provided (though getting lost in the fading light might have been possible even with that map).  I stumbled onto the Kiyomizu-dera (temple/shrine?) as I wandered–it was just closing for the day–it would be my first stop the next morning.  In the other direction, I passed a silhouetted pagoda on the way to the busy Higashioji-dori (an avenue), where I bought a sashimi package at convenience store for my evening meal.