THE COUNRY BUMPKINS TAKE TOKYO

“Weird to get snow this late in the year. You heading over to shovel Nicole out? I’m thinking she’ll need it done before dark when she gets home from work.”  I said to Chris.

“Yeah, let’s go.” 

It had been a long winter that had spilled over into spring. My first winter married- and my sisters first alone since she was 18. 

“I’m getting married in 2 weeks.”

Wait….What? It takes Nicole longer then that to pick out salad dressing…we knew she had been seeing someone.  I had bought into the hype and asked not to meet him until she was sure-which I assumed would be a few years down the road. We were all still hurt from how she was betrayed.  Family and friends still gut wrenchingly choosing sides in the fall out, filling in the story with lies when they didn’t have the details.  

“I’m getting married. And he’s just like you- and I love him and he loves me more then I’ve ever been loved. And I want you at my wedding. In two weeks.”

“Nothing on earth or above could keep me from your wedding Nicole.”

Before I got the chance to flex and tell him his fate if he ever hurt her, he sat me down and asked if he could have my sister as his wife. Asked me. And told me that he will die loving her, and although he may not be rich-she’ll never want for anything, especially not love.

May 4^th. 364 days after our wedding, they said I do holding hands with Muncy the dog between them- Gary’s boys at their side, Chris and I and the kids in tow- tears streaming down my face, with just as much love as we had 12 months before.   I had worried she’d never have this- what I had found.  But IT found HER. 

 

JAPAN DAY FOUR:

We leave today at the same time as yesterday, 8:50am. Which is really nice for an organized tour- we find they usually start very early and the mornings are a struggle. But with this one, we are 2 coffees in and a blog written before we set out.

We navigate Tokyo Station with ease now.  That’s a lie. If we didn’t have Maku showing us the way we’d be lost down here forever, mole people.  We weave in and out of the tunnels that go deeper and deeper into the underground of Tokyo, smelling all the baked goods at the tiny shops tucked away inside.  Seating is easy enough after a few stops, us going against traffic while everyone else is heading INTO the city.  We spend the hour long ride planning our free afternoon for tomorrow.  I mean its been planned for months, but we are nailing down the details….

Clinger is in rare form this morning. Yesterday, Nicole and Gary’s subway card stopped working-the preloaded one you scan each time you come in and out of any of the transit stations.  Nicole had hidden it deep in her purse when we were shoulder to shoulder with so many people yesterday at the scramble- a seasoned traveler knows what can happen in those situations. So perhaps it knocked up against her purse magnet and deactivated? In any case, they held the group up for a few minutes, and, not realizing I was right behind her, the clinger said “oh wow. These country bumpkins from NS can’t find their card. See this is the problem with inexperienced travelers.”  (she’s from the big city of Brampton Ontario- I’m rolling my eyes…can you hear it?).  I snorted behind her- my best AS IF Paris Hilton style and I’m about to hand Chris my earrings and explain to her how if she says one more thing about my sister I’m gonna stage a muppet smackdown- which yes is about as scary as a bag of sleepy kittens attacking a ball of yarn, but Chris pretends to hold me back anyway.………. Not realizing I was right behind her, she turned very red when she noticed.  So now she’s a stage FIVE clinger, and an enemy of the state.

We’re keeping our distance from her today.  But she did NOT get this memo. And asks me first thing if were always this “kept to ourselves”.  I say, Yes. Us country bumpkins like to be a compact group of 4. And then skip along to chat with my new friends David and Rodger from Australia.  I binge watched The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills on the plane.

We arrive in Kamakura station and take a short bus to a Zen temple and bamboo garden called Hokokuji.

The town we are in is very cute- and very quant. Crazy to believe its just an hour outside the megacity.  Almost lonely for a minute there, having some trouble quieting our sensory overload from the bustle of Tokyo, we are anxious to see another side of Japan.

As we walk to the entrance of the Zen temple our guide doesn’t say too much.  She knows that this is one of those stops that she doesn’t need to preface with dates and history.  She’ll let the garden tell us.  And our voices just naturally quiet themselves.

Have you ever snorkeled?  You know that feeling when all you can hear is your own breathing?  Your body is floating and bobbing.  Your heart slows to the rhythm of the ocean. The running water lapping at your ears?

Somehow, this garden is doing that.

As you walk into the entrance of the bamboo tree lined walkway, its hard to think of this as a forest, because its so unlike the ones we have, the ones where your feet crunch as you walk and you immediately can understand the muffling of sound the fur trees provide. Here, bamboo grows tall and naked, with all its greenery at the top.  So you are seeing through each and every tree- each trunk coming in and out of focus as your eyes grasp desperately at perspective.  Walking through it as the wind blows slightly, you can just make out the rustle from the green canopy overhead. The wind jostles the long slender leaves and the older ones detach and float down from above, like little whispery love notes from the sky.   There are pagodas and little concrete incense holders amongst the trees. And there are several people in the garden, but somehow these little tiny bamboo trunks hide everyone from sight, playing tricks on you, making you wonder if you’re alone and have been left behind.  Chris reaching out for my hand. He’s feeling it too. Its spiritual in a way I don’t experience often. Maybe I don’t let myself. But this garden quietly demands it- asking you to just be here-take nothing and leave nothing.  The walk untangled my thoughts, quietly working away at me-like I carefully do to my precious necklace after its carelessly thrown at the end of the day- proud to see it finally in a straight line with the kinks out.

After we follow the path in silence we come to a tea room and are welcomed in for a seat overlooking the bamboo.  We are taught the proper way to drink the green tea, holding the black bowl in our left palm, turning it clockwise twice, bowing, and then sipping it three times. Its all so deliberate and methodical. Balanced. A beautiful dance.

We walk out eventually to meet with the group again. All looking a little high, leaves in our hair, all untangled and gently put back in our places.

We walk along in silence back to the bus. Well, most of us. Clinger is talking a mile a minute, everyone trying to avoid her. I think she didn’t get enough time amongst the bamboo, and I’m considering starting a written petition to have her left in the forest.  But I remember that I’m new and improved zen bamboo forest Karen. #%$.

From here we go to another Shinto temple that is a lovely walk through a garden surrounded by water and trees.  Still keeping the calm we’ve collected from the bamboo.

Then its lunch and free time.

I’m going to lose some of you here.

We want lunch.  And I want Japanese food. But also, I want to sit and get served my lunch with a nice glass of wine. And I want to lose the clinger and keep this calmness going. I don’t want to see a sea of people, or stand in a line for food. And I don’t want to open my translator and try to search for something that doesn’t include the word “entrails” or “sea slug”. I just want something familiar.  So we ask where the quietest spot would be for a high end lunch.  And we are directed down an ally way away from the busy shopping road we’ve been left at for our free time. At the end, in a quaint little corner- under the canopy of a huge gingko tree, is an Italian restaurant. I know. I know.  But hear me out. The meal is FANTASTIC. Like, some of the best Italian I’ve had. No joke.  And the wine is perfect, served out of huge red wine glasses, and so civilized. It’s a tasting menu- the specials of the day. And the kitchen is open- you can see the chef making the fresh pasta and sipping wine as he works.  I’m sorry. I have no regrets.  The menu is broken down into “blessing of the sea” and “blessings of the earth”. Both turning out to be incredible appetizers- one a croustini with parm and prosciutto. Stuffed Seabream with muscles in white wine and tomato sauce. Then the main-tagliatelle with pancetta and spicy tomato sauce.  I hate us and love this meal so much. Only 3 local families in the whole place. No regrets. Please don’t judge me.

We have a really nice meal planned for tonight by the tour guide.  Yakiniku. Where I’m told we will get the best wagu in the city. But we want an intimate experience. So we rack our brains coming up with a polite way to ask for our own table.  And we decide to explain Maki Gary has hearing issues and will find it hard to have a nice meal if its too crowded.  What could go wrong?

SO I am tasked with explaining this to her.

I get her alone once we meet back up with the group, and I ask if a table for four is possible tonight. she says that it is unusual, but maybe…is there something wrong?  She speaks only OK English…not great. So charades it is.  I motion with my hands at my ears, and say that Gary has some hearing issues.  She says OOOOOOOHHHH. And puts her hand on my arm gently.  She says she will make it happen, she will just need to call ahead, no problem at all. Thanks me for letting her know about Gary’s “problem” and how nice it is that we still travel together.

That’s when I realize what I’ve done.

I’m pretty sure she thinks Gary has dementia. The hand gesture at the ear must have looked like I was saying he was not right in the head.  I did do the international sign for “meshuggah” after all now that I think about it.

I could correct her.

I could.

Or

I could just go with it. And just gently lean in.  I mean. When they told him to turn his tea cup clockwise earlier today, he DID almost pour it all over his lap. And his subway card stopped working (bumpkin). And he does have that look on his face a lot of the time.

I mean……….now that I think about it.

Nicole asks how it went when I got back to them. “yup. All good.”

From here we take the bus again, this time to a huge Buddha statue in the middle of a park.  Really huge. Its called Kotoku-in temple in the middle of Kamakura in Kanagawa Perfecture. He’s begging to be painted with the green hue of the bronze as its oxidized over the years- he actually started out Gold when he was first placed here in 1252.

I’m making sure to say things like, “Gary this is Buddha.  He isn’t real- don’t be scared.” Whenever we’re near our guide. But honestly I don’t need to do much. He keeps saying “OKOKOK” every time she gives an order, in the voice we have used since China where we picked that phrase up. And as we get on the subway to go home he pats the seat next to him and says “have a seat little girl….” In his creepiest voice.  I look over and kawasaki is smiling- hand on her heart-thinking- What a dear sweet man he is.

Then Chris sits with Daniel and Rodger in the open seat across from us– and I’ve lost control of the situation.  I can hear him talking about his medical history after finding out Rodger is a nurse.  I bet he has a nickname in their room.

Back to the hotel for a very quick costume change, and then on to dinner. Yakiniku. Japanese BBQ. Where you sit around a bbq grill in the middle of your table and cook your meat.  It’s a short 15 min walk from our hotel and we walk as a group.  There are 11 of us going to dinner, everyone talking excitedly about the meal to come! Its so cute how they think were eating with them. But ever since Gary’s diagnosis earlier today…….

When we arrive at the restaurant we are ushered away from the long table for 7 that is all ready to go in the middle of the room….to our own private room, with a door, table in the middle. I can hear clingers jaw hit the floor, and I kind of feel bad for a sec. but then I remember we’re doing this for Gary’s health and I go with it.

We browse the menu and see that it is set up in levels….standard, special, premium and royal.  And which do you think we choose?  Yeah. We’re boujee like that. Okay well, Chris and I are bougee like that. All Wagu beef cuts for our eating pleasure tonight. Nicoel and Gary order the standard- not sure if they even will like the beef- not huge meat eaters. We firm up our decisions- making fun of each other (“oh yeah…of course your ordering the most expensive thing on the menu. You’ve been like this since you were a child….” Blah blah blah.  “why don’t you just ask them to give you what they’re feeding the cats out back? Prob got a can of tuna hanging around somewhere….” Blah blah blah),  and wait for our server to show up to take our order.  And then we wait a little longer.  And longer.  We see the server peek into the room. But not come in.  they do this 3 times.  And we’re about 20 mins in….before Yamaha comes to check on us.  She askes is there is an issue….no….we’re all ready to order….ok. press your button.

Ah. Theres a button. Rigggghhhhttttttt. Definitely blaming this one on Gary’s condition. (even though in reality about 5 mins ago he said “there must be a button or something” and we laughed him off).

So we press and almost instantly a server shows up at our table. She’s likely been waiting around the corner to take our order.

And then the food starts showing up pretty quickly.

Fist the kimchi- sour and vinegar-y just like my Newfoundland soul likes.  Then the salad which I firmly decide not to waste any stomach room on, and Nicole almost gets whiplash grabbing from my hand.  Then the soup- that I can’t resist- all green onion topped and sour. Then Abalone and beef tongue sushi.

Then the server lights our BBQ pit in the middle of the table, and the meat starts to show up. And tray after tray after tray of raw meat arrives at the table.  Prime rib, Sirloin, Tenderloin, Tongue and we get to pick an extra. We pick tenderloin at their suggestion, and that extra one shows up cooked and with rice.  Chris and I have Wagu, and Nicole and Gary get the same, just loser meat.  With dipping sauces for each particular cut.

The melt.

MELT.

The meat melts in your mouth. Its buttery texture is hard to explain in words.  We all take to explaining it in moans. Each piece is better then the first, us drooling while we wait for the meat to cook impatiently. I even really really like the tongue-I haven’t had that since I was a kid, and hated it then.  But its even more tender then the other cuts.  Our favorite by far is the prime rib.  You can cut it with your eyes, let alone a knife.

Heaven, I tell you.

The beer is so cold it has ice flakes in it.  Cold heavy mugs of draft.  The Asians really know how to make beer.

We’ve all really overdone it by the time the last tray of meat is brought.  But then dessert shows up. And all of a sudden we have just a little more room for the chocolate lava cakes and house made ice cream. Then they bring us milk popsicles. And ask if they can get us anything else.

Ever see Monthy Python? The glutton skit?  Its about to play out in real time.

By the time we leave we are berating ourselves. How could we do this to ourselves AGAIN?? Did we leave NOTHING from ramen??? We can’t keep doing this!!!!!! Walking slowly. Moaning. Smiling. Giggling.

There really is a particular happiness that comes from a full stomach and a little beer buzz.  The chatter between sisters, stopping every few minutes to bend over laughing so they don’t pee their pants. Gary and Chris rolling their eyes at us- but secretly loving the mile a minute yapping. We stop for the nightly bottle of wine and a sweet to take home for breakfast.

And its starting to happen. The stress from a job that has me popping heart medication every morning, the late nights approving payroll, the answering texts at 5am, Chris having to hop out of bed at 2am to run into work for some emergency, the extra time I spend illustrating books I don’t have time to do, the art shows I leave home at 4am to set up for, driving a car that barely works…..it all starts to feel worth it.  Starting to feel like a sacrifice instead of a burden- reminding myself of the vacation martyrdom.  Missing the hustle because it leads me to this. And its all worth it. Every single second of it. I’ll do it as long as I need to if it means I get grab my husband and my well traveled jean jacket, meet my brother and sister in the hallway of a hotel and slowly walk to have Wagu in Tokyo on a random Monday night while I plan paintings in my head and bit by bit forget the noise in my head from work and life.  The after party in the whichever room we decide is the Muppet pub for the evening.

I Wouldn’t change a thing.