We are the sort of travelers who plan but a day or two in advance. It's a workable strategy for those of us who enjoy what I call sensible spontaneity. It’s not a paradox; we go for the gusto while also appreciating naps.
Kimonos are common in Kyoto for celebratory occasions.
That outlook might get you through a modestly adventurous weekend in the Mid-South, maybe an Oxford jaunt, a Delta jook joint, or the Coal Miner's Daughter Museum just up from Bucksnort, Tennessee.
But my wife and I took our minimalist planning practice a few notches up, embarking on a week-and-a-half trip to Japan.
"Let's just go," I said to my wife. "Temples, museums, panchinko, sushi, samurai cosplay, matcha ice cream, Zen everything - everywhere you turn!"
She returned my comment with, let’s say, a certain Zen calm. I must clarify here that "our" minimalist planning method is entirely mine. She did research, buying books, marking places to see and noting things to do. She allowed me some flexibility in scheduling which, I still contend, allowed us to experience unforgettable exploits that did not turn into regrettable moments.
Bicycling is a heavily used form of transport in Japan.
We did have a reason for going. Maritza, a professor emeritus of the Memphis College of Art, is a printmaker and art book maker who had an opportunity to attend a papermaking workshop at the Awagami Factory in Yoshinogawa, a town that is nothing like Bucksnort. It's one of those impossibly green and beautiful places, perfectly suited for quiet contemplation when not participating in the violent-sounding stripping of bark followed by endlessly cooking, bleaching, beating, drying, and dyeing it until it turns into the prettiest and most delicate of papers.
"We go for the gusto while also appreciating naps."
The decision was made to leave about 10 days before her workshop so that we could explore the sublime culture in the cities of Osaka and Kyoto. We did, in fact, find temples, art galleries, castles, exotic foods, remarkable fashion, street markets with unimaginable goods, buskers, storytellers. We found all of these as well as the most orderly and formally polite society, a transit system that ran virtually flawlessly, some terrible piped-in breakfast music, astonishing architecture, and what were absolutely the finest toilets anywhere in the world.
With this wide-open ambition, my rationale for not booking a single hotel for the duration was because I really couldn’t decide where to stay. This waffling turned, as often happens, into a steely resolve to embrace my indecision and declare we’d just grab hotels randomly as needed. This is why we stayed in five of them. But oh, the variety and the charm!
Our hotel tour began with the Kansai First, near the Osaka airport, which was important as we were needing respite from that 637-hour flight from Memphis to O’Hare to Tokyo Narita, then bus to Tokyo Haneda, then flight to Osaka. It was plain but clean and pleasant although for a small inn, I never could figure why we had to go from the lobby to take an elevator to the annex lobby and take another elevator and be mindful of “Watch your Head” signs. I would say it was cozy, although that would be true of every one of our hotels, from the fancy RIGHA Royal Hotel at the Osaka convention center to the capsule hotel at Narita. If there was an exception it was our accommodations at the Ally Hotel, which was billed as an adult only facility. I figured that meant it was for grownups who didn’t want children running up and down the hallway, but which actually signified, as practically everyone but me knew, was that it was an assignation station. I hasten to add nothing like the hourly motels in this part of the world, of which I have no knowledge except what I read in the police reports.
Japanese may wear surgical masks for health reasons, but sometimes it's a way to maintain privacy.
But the Ally had a big bed, a whirlpool/shower room that was as big as the bedroom, along with a vending machine (no idea what it vended), and a closet sized door that was tightly locked and gave no clue as to what was on the other side. A motel of mystery. But it and the neighborhood were perfectly pleasant. We walked about a lot, finding the Ikutama Shrine, a beautiful building and gardens but a block away, the National Bunraku Theatre nearby, and other adult hotels with names like Hotel the G, Hotel Casablanca, Hotel Zen, and the Fine Aroma. No, I am not kidding.
The tiniest hotel we inhabited was Mitsui Garden, and our room, after the bed was figured in, left space for one small chair, a desk that allowed one modest laptop, and … well, that’s about it. Maritza and I had to coordinate whenever we wanted to, for example, go to the tiny bathroom. However, there was a restaurant across the street that gave us the most satisfaction of our entire trip and was the one place we visited several times so we could try everything. The hole-in-the-wall eatery was inviting, not fancy in the least, had artistic touches in decor and food, and piped in contemporary jazz. We bonded with the owner, who made sure we knew how to cook our own beef on a little oven and sampled new (to us) dishes. She was, as is typical, reserved but friendly, although when I complimented her on the excellent jazz, she became animated and took credit for making that happen. As we left (each time), she’d follow us out into the street, saying “arigatou” over and over, and we responded in kind, and never got hit by a vehicle. (Not everyone was prim and proper. I was on an elevator one time with a refined middle aged Japanese lady who complimented my on my beard and then reached over and tugged on it, asking, “American?” “Yes, indeed,” said I, and she just giggled.)
We did touristy things, such as visit the Osaka Aquarium, and the somewhat disappointing Osaka Castle. But Osaka also has the extraordinary Umeda Sky Building, two 40-story towers that connect on the two top stories and have bridges and escalators crossing near the top. It’s architecturally astonishing and a bit terrifying. Inside one of the towers, an entire floor is given to the Koji Kinutani Tenku Art Museum, devoted to the works of Kinutani and his 3-D art, fantastical paintings and sculptures and inviting workshop. It is, to use a sophisticated art term, trippy.
The other city we fell in love with was Kyoto, which on the whole is a lovelier place than industrial Osaka. (Godzilla trashed Osaka twice, Kyoto only once, if you’re counting.) There is the Imperial Palace, bursting with history, and hundreds of temples are all over the city. Kyoto is also where people break out the traditional garb and you’ll see many people in kimonos, usually worn for special occasions, and they are lovely.
We took in a market (we took in several markets, let’s be honest) and were repeatedly astonished. Growing certain fruit is and art form, where you might find a baseball-sized strawberry for around $4,000. We managed not to make that investment, but did marvel at the meticulously grown and beautifully packaged delicacies. We did bring home some spices and teas that were irresistible.
"We encountered a peanut vendor in one of the markets who sized us up, asked where in America we were from, and started singing a remarkably beautiful rendition of 'The Tennessee Waltz.'"
Other market booths and stores carry elegant kitchen cutlery, fans (and only fans, by which I’d say thousands of them in a single store), Pokemon, Hello Kitty, and Kit-Kats. I kid you not about the Kit-Kats. They are hugely popular maybe because the phrase Kitto Katsu means “you will surely win,” and students scarf them down before exams for luck. Yeah, maybe. But whatever it is, there are flavors of Kit-Kats that you can scarcely imagine, including wasabi, ginger ale, caramel macchiato McFlurry, and sake. Why these haven’t traveled here is baffling.
And something else that hasn’t gained great popularity in American: Washlets. Even the teeniest hotel room is outfitted with some version of this cleansing toilet set with adjustable water spray features. The better ones not only allow you wide options, angles, and temperatures for sanitary functions but will provide a heated seat should you so desire. Why this hasn’t caught on in this country is, like the paucity of Kit-Kat flavors, a mystery to me.
It was helpful that every restaurant we visited had pictures on the menus, making it easier for fumbling tourists to choose their fare. We discovered that the 7-Eleven convenience store chain, headquartered in Dallas but Japanese owned, has stores everywhere and is the one reliable place to exchange currency as well as grab whatever else you might need if you need Tennessee whiskey, analgesics, exotic desserts, or a white shirt and tie, although you won’t find a shirt that fits if you’re bigger than L.
And we were delighted to attempt conversations, which isn’t always easy in such a formal culture, but they do happen. We encountered a peanut vendor in one of the markets who sized us up, asked where in America we were from (how could he tell?) and when I told him, he started singing a remarkably beautiful rendition of “The Tennessee Waltz.” He followed that with a serious comment, which took me a few moments to understand — a plea that the United States do all it could to keep the peace. This was when the North Koreans were tossing missiles over the Japanese mainland, and all I could do was bow and promise that we’d do our best to keep the mad men in check.
Finally, Maritza went to her workshop and I went to Narita airport where I missed my plane. So I stayed overnight in the Nine Hours capsule hotel at the airport, a place where you store your belongings in a locker and sleep in a four-foot by four-foot by eight-foot cubicle. Bigger than a coffin, it was as clean, comfortable, economical, and restful a place as I’ve ever enjoyed. And I could meditate on the remarkably eclectic journey Maritza and I had enjoyed, from the Zen gardens to the exhibition of works by Bosch and Breughel at the Osaka Art Museum. Maybe we’ll squeeze in a visit to Tokyo next time.
Can't afford the airfare? The Memphis Japan Festival is coming up on September 30th at the Botanic Garden.
