Kyoto-Osaka: The Travelers

On Monday, as planned, I moved to a hostel in Higashiyama Ward. They said I could stay longer but I felt three days was more than enough because I didn’t know how to repay such kindness. We’d planned to meet again before I left. I stopped by their shop, bought some cakes and said goodbye to her family. She offered me a ride, but I gently refused since the weather was pretty nice. I walked through Okazaki park again. Within a moment, a group of junior high school kids with pen and paper in their hands approached me; “excuse me, do you have time for an interview?” They gave me a paper with some questions I needed to fill out while asking question: “what do you like about Kyoto?”

• • • • •

When I arrived at Guesthouse Gajyun, I was greeted by Jiro, a white Shiba dog — he was very calm. The house is a semi-modern Machiya. I’m staying in a shared room on the second floor with Elon, an Israeli, and Martin, a German. I wondered how they’d start talking. I took a nap until 5:30 and found my sheets full of sweat. I went down, found my roommates in the living room, and it didn’t take long before we started talking. There was Matt from America and Lesa from China who joined in. They were planning to go to an Izakaya bar somewhere nearby, so I joined them. Elon told me that this hostel provides a free sento bath every night at 9 limited to only 10 registered people. “You should write your name on that whiteboard if you want to join,” he said. A moment later we walked around looking for an Izakaya bar. Matt, said he would catch up with us soon. Somewhere, we entered an Izakaya bar and sat there for a while. After screening the menu, Elon and Martin decided to look for another place, but Elsa said she would stay because she already told Matt about this place and it was also a bit impolite if all of us left after sitting there, but Elon and Martin finally left. I waited there until Matt arrived, then left both of them to catch up for the sento. When I got back Martin shouted, “Ah, good decision! The food is very expensive, isn’t it?”

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At 9 PM, Ichiro-san, the guesthouse owner, drove us to the sento with his car because it’s too far to walk. This was my first time visiting a communal bathroom like this. In Japan, sento bathing is part of the daily life, they usually take a night bath after work. Everyone was completely naked inside, male and female bathe separately. I felt awkward at first. We brought soap and shampoo in a small bucket, then washing the body at rows of seated faucets before soaked in hot baths. The tubs also had different temperatures. I started with the coolest and slowly moved to the hottest.

• • • • •

This hostel serves more than a proper breakfast: tofu soup, chicken rice, tea & coffee, a variety of bread, fruit, juice, and yogurt. All prepared by Ichiro-san. In the living room, I saw an old man go back and forth to the food table three times, taking the same menu each time then eating while watching TV.

• • • • •

I’d been wondering about the tiny reaction boxes on Japanese TV shows. They seemed to be everywhere. Was this some kind of social conditioning, a subtle way to influence how people reacted, or was there something cultural I was missing. I wanted to figure it out.

• • • • •

After breakfast, I took a leisurely walk to the Shirakawa river, about five minutes from the hostel. I sat on the small dock near a bridge while soaking half of my legs into the river. A few moments later I two young women sat on the other part of the dock. One of them approached me:
-“Hey, can you speak English?”
-“Yes.”
“Can I have a few minutes of your time?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“So, my name is Elis, I’m from the United States. We are on a mission to tell people about Jesus. Do you mind?”
“No, not at all, what’s new about Jesus?“.
I saw her friend just sitting there doing nothing, facing the other side.
“Sorry, are you a believer? What do you think of Jesus?” I told her I saw Jesus as someone who fought against power and lost and etc. She looked surprised.
“Can I pray for you?”
“Yes, sure.”
That’s how it ended. She closed her eyes and recite prayers in front of me.

• • • • •

I spent the rest of the day cycling and hunting for a teapot around Kyoto. Towards sunset, I sat by the Kamo river. I began to draw scenes in front of me. Not far behind, a group of street musicians were singing a Japanese song. I saw a little girl dancing with her mother in front of the show. Within a moment, another little girl was timidly watching me drawing from behind. Her mother gave her a drawing book. I smiled and encouraged her. “She likes to draw,” said her mother. Her name was Annie and they came from Taiwan. I skipped my drawing and drew a sketch of her drawing birds and gave it to her as a gift, but then with an innocent gaze, she pointed at my drawing book and asked for the other pictures. I really couldn’t afford to refuse.

• • • • •

Again YouTube recommended me a Sumo history video. I’d always thought Sumo was just two bloated heavyweight bodies pushing each other, but I learned there was much more to it. The ritual are ceremonial and full of formalities, while the main fight itself can end surprisingly fast — sometimes in one second after the first move. The first ten seconds usually decide everything, a single misstep can defeat even the bigger fighter, better opening position leads to a better grip, leg strength helps hold the opponent’s body before the push or slam. Japanese born sumo wrestlers are a cultural pride, they’re celebrated. The biggest yearly tournaments are even attended by the emperor and empress. I noticed that over the last two decades, two Mongolian wrestlers — Hakuho Sho and Asashoryu Akinori — have dominated the highest Yokozuna rank, which seemed to carry some weight I couldn’t quite grasp.

• • • • •

Wednesday morning. A short appointment with Comachi. She realized that she had forgotten to give me the refund from the last calligraphy class. We met at Ippudo Ramen near Nishiki Market, then she helped me look for green tea. We split up afterward. I took a bus to the Philosopher’s Path. It’s a two - kilometer stone path lined up with cherry trees alongside a canal. I walked from end to end. This place gained popularity because Nishida Kitaro, a renowned philosopher, used this place for contemplating while walking on his daily commute to Kyoto University.

• • • • •

Wednesday late afternoon. A farewell food hunt with Mayuko. “Do you mind a long queue?” “No at all” “Let’s visit this legendary soba place.” “I’ve eaten Soba the last few days, what’s special about this one?” “It’s been there since 1465!” “No more question, let’s go.”

We took a metro bus to Nakagyo Ward and walked to a place called Honke Owariya. It’s hard to imagine that they have been serving soba for more than five centuries. We waited in line. When we finally sat down, we ordered the specialty cold Hourai Soba and Soba Rice Cake. “Don’t forget to slurp the soba!”

• • • • •

Thursday morning. It is raining outside. I feel tired of writing. I spent half a day reading Beauty and Sadness by Yasunari Kawabata in the living room. At midday, I went to the Arashiyama bamboo forest with Tom. I became a tourist guiding another tourist. At night, Ichiro-san held a barbeque party in the living room. There were more guests than I thought — they seemed like a group of ninjas who suddenly appeared from behind the bamboo. We also celebrated the birthdays of two guests. They looked really touched. Jiro moved back and forth from one person to another, begging for treats. I exchanged stories with them. Matt was pursuing a master’s degree in Eastern Medicine. Elsa had just quit her accounting job in Beijing. Sarah was taking a gap year to travel around Japan. By the end of party, Jiro collapsed from overeating.

• • • • •

“Time passed. But time flows in many streams. Like a river, an inner stream of time will flow rapidly at some places and sluggishly at others, or perhaps even stand hopelessly stagnant. Cosmic time is the same for everyone, but human time differs with each person. Time flows in the same way for all human beings; every human being flows through time in a different way.”
— Yasunari Kawabata, Beauty and Sadness

• • • • •

Hotel: Guesthouse Gajyun
Hotel Environment: traditional Machiya
Treatment: 5 stars hotel breakfast, free sento every night
Others: local party every Friday night, kimono & bike rent, close to everywhere, backyard garden
Impression: I already miss Jiro, the backyard, and the breakfast

• • • • •

Friday morning. Along with Tom, Natasha, and Daniele, we left the hostel and headed to Nara. We exchanged stories on the train. I talked with Tom about the bottles in front of Japanese houses. Daniele didn’t talk too much. Natasha talked about her study as an English literature student. We walked around Nara Park, feeding the deer who might think these sapiens were their food source. Natasha and Daniele left early to catch a Shinkansen to Hiroshima. We entered Todai-ji temple. There was a big Daibutsu statue in the main hall. I saw a group of school kids crawl into a hole under the Daibutsuden statue — according to the legend, those who make it through will will be blessed. We walked around the temple complex. There was a baby festival nearby and a parking area for baby strollers. I said goodbye to Tom at Nara station. I was heading to Osaka.

• • • • •

Friday afternoon. I arrived at Tennoji station in Osaka. My hostel was about 500 meters away. It was operated by foreigners with a working holiday visa — they took part-time jobs here. An Argentinian in the living room said she worked in a department store in Namba. Other part-timers asked me to join the karaoke party tonight, but I said I needed to look for souvenirs because tomorrow I was leaving Japan. After the chat, I strolled to the Janjan Yokocho area. I stopped for a moment in front of a place filled with old men playing Shogi, then I ate udon near Tsutenkaku tower. Outside the shop, a myriad of blinking neon lights started to illuminate the street. It felt like Tokyo but with more boisterous people. Then I hunted for souvenirs. Then I walked to the Dotombori area, watching a group of tourists on the river from Ebisu Bridge, watching a kid jump rope in front of the big Glico sign, watching the face of Yui Aragaki on the Don Quijote building. I stopped by at a train toy shop. And for the farewell, I spent a sum of yen playing arcade games. Back at the hostel, I talked with an old polyglot who also took a part-time job there. He demonstrated his language abilities and told me about his peripatetic life from the last 20 years. Tomorrow would be my last half day in Japan. Kansai Airport was ready to take something from me. Another series of goodbyes.