parasitegirl | Kyoto with Renee, Saturday (Reply)

If she weren't prepping for Suhalia's level 3, I'd totally call Renee a lazy lady for the fact that she'll be linking her blog to these Kyoto entries to save herself some documentation time.

(Meta-Edit: Renee's take on this so far: http://divarenee.livejournal.com/78398.html )

I've got the time at work to let this sprawl! I had two days off this week and am trying to stretch that vacation feel through the workdays. Until this job, August in Japan usually meant many days off, or weeks of half days. The fact that city hall doesn't automatically take time off for Obon festivals means that I had enough flexibility to get cheaper tickets by delaying my holiday until September...but it doesn't negate my patina of burn-out at being behind the desk again.

So, let's go to Kyoto!

Saturday:

After having a black coffee and scone at Starbucks, I returned to Kyoto station. Kyoto station truly is an amazing structure of glass and light, all the more amazing for the contrast against Japan's overwhelming adherence to concrete-on-concrete 70's campus style of design. Google it. If you're in the Portland Area, look up Mr. Plavcan(my high school locker partner) and ask him if he'd like to show you his model of the station. It plays music.

With Cafe Du Monde under construction I went a floor up to a lesser restaurant with a view of the Cafe. To keep an eye out for Renee I had to take an outdoor seat on the terrace. I was still protected from some of the heat by glass roof of the station, but the waitress brought me (and everyone on the terrace) a plastic fan to cool myself with.

Summers in Japan bring you fans. As a child I collected fans for a while. I hoarded a bit of everything vaguely Asian themed for year and years. I remember adults telling me that the energy of the physical act of fanning myself would negate the cool breeze it provided, creating a zero sum cooling in the long run. Japan didn't get that memo. In summer the plastic fans bearing ads are everywhere. Like tissue packs, they are thrust on you. I have two on my desk as I type. Men and women carry fold-out fans with them through the heat, alternately fanning themselves, and toweling off sweat.

I sat down and was fooled by the menu. Just like it took me more than a year to not automatically reply "Yes, I'd like some coffee!" when asked at work (the trick being that they meant instant coffee...) I am still fooled by cheese sandwiches. I remembered to negotiate the meat and ham questions (just because it's not mentioned on the menu, doesn't mean your "cheese sandwich" isn't full of ham!) but I didn't ask what kind of cheese it would be. I ordered myself a nice grilled cheese sandwich.

Processed cheese.

Fuckers.

Renee was easy to spot. She stood a head above most folks, was decked out in breathable cottons in various burgundy shades, and had newly streaked hair. As she stared dumbstruck at the closed cafe Du Monde, I waved to her and shouted her name.

She came up and we chatted. I established that I was pretty goddamned out of it, whacked out on sleep deprivation and night-bus pains. For someone who had flown from America the day before ( and slept in Osaka) she was doing much better than I was.

I didn't touch my sandwich after two bites.

We decided to move to a Starbucks, get more coffee, and figure out what to do before hotel check-in. I hadn't been able to get Saturday reservations at the Kyoto Tower hotel, so our night together would be at the Aravert.

We hit Starbucks and alternately gossiped about bellydance scenes and flipped through our guidebooks. We'd both decided to travel light by ripping the Kyoto pages out of larger guidebooks. Hers was a 2007 guidebook while mine hailed from 2001 and quaintly announced that there was now "a" Starbucks in Kyoto. One. One Starbucks. The mind boggles. I didn't know that Starbucks was ever seen traveling solo.

We agreed that we would be low-key in our Kyoto approach. I'd been there two times before and she had been there once, so there was no need to feel obligated to see every goddamned-historical-thingy. She also told me of her shopping needs, which I am always happy to help fill. Renee took me to Victoria's Secret, a mall, a two-story Target AND a really great fabric store when I was last in Seattle, I was happy to return the favor. We'd get her her auspicious charms, fans, and gewgaws. Renee, at her height, was safe from the risk of buying actual clothing in japan.

We headed to the hotel and asked them to store our bags until check-in time. From there we set out to the costume museum of Kyoto.

The effect I have on museum workers who deal in the textile history of Japan is magical. I'm their catnip. Renee's husband only saw it happen once, he's a skeptic, but Renee has me on this one. The costume museum was our first encounter with this.

I'd been there before, with Dean Mommy. In one room the museum creates a elaborate diorama of scenes from The Tale of Genji, and these change twice a year to show the different seasonal clothing of the Heian-era court. The set up is elaborate and they let you take pictures....so you can run around making your own post-card worthy shots. The panels of Genji around the room also allow for some read-aloud fun. Gotta love the Genji.

The other room of the museum is where "You can try on the costumes and take your picture." for free. There are dressed seated mannequins you can pose by. I am not someone who enjoys novelty photos being taken of myself. Dean Mommy has a picture of me under a few layers of kimono from our trip there, because sometimes her "lovely daughter" has to humor her. Dean Mommy wields the phrase "My lovely daughter" in a way that means "(sigh) Dammit, I don't ask for much...humor me." and because she doesn't ask for much, and I lucked out in the Mom department, I Occasionally do things like putting on kimonos and smirking at the camera.

The sign clearly says that you "CAN" try on the costumes. Neither in English or in Japanese does it say that you MUST try on the costumes. I checked later. I had had no choice in the matter.

When we entered the room the lady from the nearby model room rushed in. I don't know if it was my textile-lover-catnip status, or if I looked like the path of least resistance. There was also a Japanese or Korean couple who came in to sit and watch.

The lady didn't touch Renee, but she pounced on me. I had to hand off my purse to Renee as I was being stuffed into two layers of kimono. She tucked, thrust a fan into my hands, pushed me down to the floor and tipped me over. I thought that she was being nice, allowing me to sit "side saddle" instead of "on the knees seiza" so I informed her that I could sit seiza. I said these things in Japanese, hoping to regain some sort of control on the situation. What I got in return was a joyous Japanese explanation that sitting seiza didn't start coming into vogue until the Edo era, and she demonstrated the change in sitting posture for men and women in the Heian Era vs the Edo Era.

I, sleep deprived and dolled up, promptly turned to Renee, who was getting ready with her camera, and explained the sitting thing...in Japanese. Renee doesn't speak Japanese.

"In the Heian Court there were no glasses!" the lady exclaimed and pulled mine off. I glowered over my fan, powerless, in the general direction of Renee.

No attempts were made on Renee, or the couple. As soon and she'd dressed, posed, and lectured me, the lady vanished.

We stumbled out of the museum and looked for food. We found a nice looking cafe with bland food. We'd have looked for a better place, but we were too hungry to really navigate or think.

The nice looking cafe was memorable for only one thing, the music.

...It's a sin.

"Mmm. Petshop Boys."

"But...is it?" Renee asked.

She was right, it was a note-for-note attempt at covering the Petshop Boys, but the timber of the voice was wrong. The 80's girl band song was the same...not right, but almost right. Rick Astly wasn't Rick...but Renee felt Rick-rolled all the same.

The bathroom was lovely, but we were both eaten by bugs.

We headed out to a temple...but were sidelined by an Eco-market. It was a scrawny neighborhood fair of sorts; fried foods, jugglers, a cheer team all saddled with the same bad fake ratted ponytail, flea market stalls, hempy jewelry, Eco marketing booths.

The juggler/trickster wasn't bad. I was unsure if the cheer-team were announcing a plan to "fight to win" or...in some strange Don Quixote/ Eco twist "Fight wind!" ...We saw some lovely-to-me horrid polyester dresses...Renee would have enabled the purchases if it were not so humid.. there was an octopus-ball maker in the shape of an octopus which she photographed....a glass necklace charm for sale identical to the one Renee wore...and then the waaaaaaaacky balloon animal man got on stage. He wore a waaaaaaaacky hat and big shoes. We were out of there.

This wasn't the first time I brought up my slightly irrational hatred of magicians. I'm sorry. They usually make my skin crawl. There are exceptions.

The temple, and I am not near enough to a guidebook to tell you which one, Nishi something-something, was sterile, underwhelming, and half under reconstruction. At any given time 30% of what you want to see of historic Japan is being rebuilt. It's the wood. 80% of historic Japan has, at one point, burned to the ground and been rebuilt. I don't have the hard data, but those numbers feel right to me.

20% of the people in my department are asleep right now.

98% of all foreigners living in Japan have at least one vomiting stranger story to tell you.

I could do this all day!

At the end of the school year, one of you will be dead!

It was time to go back to the hotel and shower and nap!

Air conditioning!

Shower!

We checked in and went to our room. I used the bathroom and noted that my abdomen was noticeably distended from the gas and stress of traveling in confinement and then living off of coffee, scones, and a block of tofu. Loooovely.

Back at the beds Renee had laid out my gifts: tribal-style bling, Seattle-made chocolates, and used fashion magazines. SCORE! I'm not saying that I'd switch teams for Renee, because I won't. Tribal just isn't my thing. But she's good peeps.

Shower! Score!

I turned the shower up to ice, cleaned myself until I realized that I couldn't stand up straight, put on my bed-togs, plugged in my cell phone, and napped.

My body shut down before my mind did...and then...Oblivion. Score!

When I awoke I still wasn't functioning quite right. Renee identified the problem and got a energy bar of some sort into me.

We checked out guidebooks and made a plan. We would head to the craft center ( not to be confused with the handicraft center)! MY guidebook says that the handicraft center is where the tourists go, but the craft center is where the locals go. My guidebook was also written in 2001 and speaks of a single Starbucks. Then we would go to Peace Cafe. Renee's book, 2007, lists Peace Cafe as a vegan-but-good cafe with a nice view of mountains.

I called Peace cafe. Making reservations is a skill I am a little proud of now, if I may toot my own horn! I can do it, on the phone, in Japanese, without anxiety. Do I understand everything being said? Nope? But 100% comprehension is over-rated!They picked up.

"P(blah blah blah) cafe."

I made a reservation for two at 7. They asked for my name and number. I gave them my info. All good.

We set out for the station, stopping at a drugstore for bug-bite creme. Renee took pictures of "Tact creme" which she opted not to buy, and we marveled at the illustrations of nasty bugs, inflamed parts, and the curative properties of various salves. When I first moved to Japan, illustrated promises and dramatic ads were the primary guides to what to buy at a drug store because my ability to read medication-related-kanji was low. "Glowing throat pills" for sore throat meds...

We got a train ticket, probably for 210 yen, and headed to the Craft Center.

When traveling, make sure to have up-to-date travel guides. The Craft Center does not exist anymore. I had vague memories of looking for the Craft Center while with Dean Mommy, failing, and having coffee and sweets to replenish our dropping blood-sugar levels in a dark, rococo inspired, cafe. Unlike the time with Dean Mommy, I had a cellphone and a number to call this time. Go-Go-Phone-Skills! The Craft Center Number does not exist, please check your number again. We were hot and still groggy. The nearby shrine, while nice, wasn't doing it for us. It's easy to get shrined-out in Japan. We looked at some stuff. I bought a fan for bettiebangs. Onward to Peace!

We reached our next station and walked to the cafe. I marveled at the wide streets. Renee commented on the lack of bike locks and I showed her where the back-wheel lock was on the bikes. Japan doesn't have much in the way of bike racks and things to chain bikes to. Most bikes have self-contained locks that thread through the back wheel and retract when unlocked....still, bike theft is a reality perpetrated by late-night drunks and teens and we circumvent it by everyone riding shity E.T. bikes. I need a new bike. My bell is broken, my wire basket is dented, and I have avoided taking the back wheel in for a new tire because the bike guy laughs out loud when he sees my bike.

Renee took some pictures of amusing vending machines. I stood next to the machine with HUGE beers and sodas for scale. Japan has recently ended the honor-system when it comes to cigarettes and alcohol in vending machines. For years those underage were simply not supposed to buy thing they were not supposed to drink or smoke. Now there is a special age card you must get and use for vending machine purchases of smokes and sake. No doubt this just means that underaged kids of Japan still have an easier time scoring beer (just need one older friend's card!) than Americans....but American teens still have the edge on "allowed to smoke in plain sight" of teachers and schools.

I think it also means that I should get an age card for those occasional times that I need to buy vendy-booze....like if Warning ever visits again.

We walked, turned, and kept an eye out for our cafe. I waved away a lady handing me a flyer for healthy food.

Blocks later we turned back.

"Ya know...I wonder if it was the place I waved away" I laughed. I am sure I had scanned the flyer...I would have noticed.."Peace"...wouldn't have I?

The healthy place was Proverb 15-17 (I think. Will have to check on-line) with a vegan line-up.

I asked them about Peace Cafe. They told me it went out of business a year ago (about when Renee's guide would have been printed or proofed). Impossible! I had made reservations.

Alert readers will realize that I made reservations at P(blah blah) Cafe...yeah. Proverb has not only taken over the old cafe space, but also took the old number. We had arrived!

There are reasons to distrust vegan food. Bad vegan food removes animal products and fun from your food. There are even more reasons to distrust vegan cafes in predominantly non-vegan locations. A bad vegan eatery won't survive that long in San Fran because there are good ones nearby (although, the demand for vegan food is high enough that it will live longer than deserved)...but a bad vegan eatery in Japan will attract desperate vegans from miles and miles around and may live longer than it should.

We didn't tempt fate by trying the dessert, but the homemade ginger-ale with sweetened beet syrup and the meals (a lentil curry for Renee, a Ramen dish for myself, and some shared spring rolls) were very, very tasty.

For reasons I do not understand, they were very enthusiastic in trying to push the Non-alcoholic beer on us. Not on your life.

Well fed, we headed back to the hotel.

The topic of conversation at the restaurant and the way home was "the whiff of insanity in others, when do you bolt?" I excuse higher levels of low-level insanity and social ineptitude than Renee, but will point out that Renee's historical exposure to high levels of high-level insanity are greater than mine, and would probably change my own level of crazy-comfort. Respect. She in turn seems to recognize that my levels of insanity acceptance do not mean that I am naively unaware or untroubled by the unhinged individuals I come in contact with, or have in my life, and that I do have limits.

We returned to our rooms, flipped through the tv stations and found nothing much remarkable. Renee drilled her zills. We looked at my poppy costume. There was costume and dance blather. After flipping quietly through our respective fashion mags.

Coming soon to a blog near you:

Sunday: Shaved Ice and Scott! The joys of eating with three smarty-pantses!