This past week’s multiple-day holiday was something of a rarity in Japan. Falling every year at mid to late September, Silver week, the shinier, (and in my opinion) more appealing relative of the spring holiday Golden Week, is much like the mysterious mid-winter break that is observed religiously and with great joy by my mother and her cohorts in the Seattle School district. Silver Week is composed of two holidays: Respect for the aged day-some people say that Silver Week got its name from the silver coloured hair of the people that the holiday commemorates; and the Autumnal Equinox. Interestingly enough, these two holidays are separated by one day, a void that the Japanese government graciously granted to the nation as Citizen’s Holiday. Usually this annual string of holidays begins on Saturday, leaving Monday as the only weekday vacation time for Japanese people all across the country to, well, go all across the country. However, this year Silver Week began on a Monday, resulting in a five consecutive days of vacation that is expected to occur a mere twelve times in the next ninety years. Yes, the stereotype of the Japanese as diligent workers does come from somewhere. I am indeed impressed and often times humbled by how well my co-workers and colleagues at school perform. However, I must say, that when the entire nation is set loose for Silver Week no time is wasted in taking advantage of a blank agenda.
My sights were set on South Korea. A good South Korean friend of mine from my days at Ritsumeikan University (Rits) in Kyoto had just returned home to Seoul so I thought that Silver week would be a perfect opportunity to pay her a long overdue visit. At this time of year, airfare to Korea from Fukuoka airport is far cheaper than, say, a trip by plane to Tokyo, unbelievable, right? After some thought and a quick conversation with my friend, though, we both decided that the five days was too narrow a window to do a legitimate trip to South Korea. With the thought of visiting old friends still fresh in my mind, I did not hesitate to start researching the best way to get to Kyoto. Before Silver Week it had been almost exactly two years since I touched down in Japan to start my year abroad in Kyoto; it was about time to return.
I was amazed at how expensive the Shinkansen (Bullet Train) fares from Fukuoka to Kyoto were so I sought out the means of travel I knew best, the night bus express. After making my reservation online I proceeded to the convenient store to pick up the hard copy of my ticket. Yes, you read it right. I picked up my bus tickets at Family Mart (a 7-11 style store) at the electronic machine right in between the disgustingly graphic cartoon pornography and the ice cream cooler. With the touch of a button, the drop of some bills and a bow at the waist I was on my way to Kyoto. I left my apartment on Saturday the 19th just a couple minutes past five o’clock, thus started my fifteen hour voyage to the former capitol of Japan and my former home.
Before catching my 2100 night bus I had to make my way north to Kumamoto Prefecture’s capitol city of Kumamoto, a former castle city. First I took the Akune’s infamous Hisatsu Orange railway to Izumi city. A trip on the Orenji, as it is referred to by locals, takes you for nice slow ride through the countryside in a one-car train, constantly packed with commuting students either gabbing about social happenings, slathering make-up on their faces or, the most popular, sleeping with mouths wide open. From Izumi city I took a short Shinkansen ride to Yatsushiro, the city where my dear friend Daniel Norton (another Rits acquaintance) worked as an ALT for two years. Since the new Kyushu Shinkansen is not completed as of yet, passengers bound for Kumamoto city must transfer to a relay express train. The system is pretty seamless, actually. When I lifted my head up after doubling down to get out of the Shinkansen there, just across the pristine platform, was my express train waiting just for me, and hundreds of other vacationers. As the sunset in a cloudless sky behind the tile roofs of Yatsushiro city I basked in the reassuring and accomplished feeling of catching a connecting train.
It was already dark when I arrived in Kumamoto city. I took a long walk along the local train line to the bus station where my night bus was waiting; I had two hours to explore Kumamoto streets in search of food and beer; aside from stale air, stale bento and fuel, beer is up there on the list of consumables aboard a cross-country night bus. I wanted a somewhat of a simple meal so I walked into one of the first noodle houses I saw.
I don’t eat ramen much, but I was on the verge of conversion after I took the first spoon-full of soup to my lips. I order a black sesame ramen. The soup was, you guessed it, a deep, dark colour, almost reminiscent of gunmetal and looked like the consistency of motor oil, appetizing, right? The soup had such a rich flavour and the small sesame granules added a very pleasing texture to what I expected to be the usual watery broth. With my hunger satiated and teeth tinged black with sesame I chatted with the master of the ramen house over a cold bottle of Asahi beer. It was time to catch my bus. I was pleased to discover that my seat reclined almost all the way back. However, I soon realized that the backward reclining freedom would be at the cost of precious legroom.
The night bus experience is like none other. The blinds of the bus are closed all throughout the night. The liberal air conditioning makes you squirm and reach desperately for more of your blanket that just isn’t there. The bathroom, sunken into the middle of the cabin as if it were some sort of trap, is miniscule even to the most petite persons. In the midst of constantly interrupted sleep your joints slowly loose their range of motion, your eyes become nocturnally acute beyond explanation, the roar of the bus and cars on the highway vanish and the space around you becomes void, the surrounding passengers complete enigmas.
“Good morning everyone, we will soon be arriving at our final destination, Kyoto Station.”
I felt such a wonderful rush walking through the crowded innards of Kyoto station. Passing by the packed restaurants, the seemingly endless train ticket lines and the sheer number of people, Japanese and foreign travelers alike, made for long awaited, cacophonous homecoming. I strolled out of the main exit and my instincts kicked in. Without thinking I found my place in line at the 26 bus stop headed for the northwest of the city. The slow ride through the crowded and bright morning streets of Kyoto was just what I needed after perplexing night bus adventure.
At last, the bus reached the Utano Youth Hostel stop. My travels were over. As I shouldered my backpack, roller bag clunking after me in a graceful dismount from the bus, a smile formed across my face, ear to ear. I ducked under the metal gate of Ritsumeikan International House II (I-House II) and walked with my chin high and chest full of pride down the driveway to the card key entryway. There on the other side of the glass door, waiting for me as promised, was Kuri-san, dear friend and fellow student at Rits. When the door was swung open I said the greeting that I had planned on saying since the day I left I-House II nearly a year and a half ago: “Tadaima (I’m home).” And to my great joy and appreciation, Kuri-san responded with, “Okaerinasai (Welcome home).” Kuri later told me that he had planned on greeting me so and that he only saw it appropriate.
It was, to say the least, a trip walking through the hallways of I-House II. I was honestly expecting a cathartic return, but I soon realized that I was surprisingly at peace at the sight of all the dorm rooms filled with a different mess of clothes, the first floor hallway lined with last year’s worth of junk (ie. my new calligraphy set, score) and the kitchen crowded with jetlagged bodies and the aroma Japanese renditions of world cuisine.
Over the next few days I visited my favourite places and people in Kyoto, all the time dodging tourists left and right; I have honestly never seen so many shoulder shrugs, furrowed eyebrows and fanny-packs (yeah, that’s right Dad) as I did last week in Kyoto. On the day I arrived I took a nostalgic (understatement) stroll through Rits’ campus, ate at my favourite teishoku (set menu) restaurant-and ran into some Japanese exchanged students form UBC-walked the zoo-like sidewalks of downtown Kyoto and made a truly spiritual pilgrimage back to the sacred Satonoya Yakiniku (Korean barbecue) restaurant where I reunited with three great old friends from my Rits days and delicious cold Yebisu beer with all the beef, rice and kimchi you could handle in 90 minutes.
Monday seemed like it was going to be even more crowded than the day before, considering the 21st was when the actual holiday started; enough fanny packs already. Accordingly, Kuri and I hoped a train to the town of Yamazaki to take a tour of the Yamazaki whisky factory. To make a long, delicious, deeply aromatic and emotionally moving-with a free Yamazaki rock glass-story short, Yamazaki whisky factory was a Monday afternoon well spent. In the evening, that is after the whisky buzz had started to fade, I met up with Akira, old friend and owner of Rakuraku home kitchen, for some yakitori and some awesome chocolate cake and coffee at a machiya (literally, town house +100 year-old house)-turned French café. Akira is one groovy dude. He lives a life full of love, love for food, love for music and love for people who are involved in either.
The morning I left Kyoto I had a plan to meet with a group of my old Japanese teachers that taught me while I was a student at Rits. It was such a pleasure to see them again, and what’s more, almost all of them showed up. For the better part of two hours five of my old Japanese teachers and I shared coffee, stories of the past year and of course of the past few months I had spent in Akune. It goes without saying that I have a newfound respect for educators everywhere (Mom, Barbara, Ms. Tashibu and the rest, kudos just do not suffice).
I spent the last hours in Kyoto with Kuri catching up on the last year of our lives; Kuri had spent the last year in China on exchange and told me some pretty amazing stories, the one about how the Chinese government makes it rain when necessary was particularly intriguing. I want to thank Kuri for letting me sleep on his floor, taking me out to the whisky factory and sending me off all the way to my bus at Kyoto station. Thanks Kuri, I’ll see you again this year.
“Good morning everyone. Are you tired? We will soon be arriving at our final destination, Kumamoto bus terminal.”
I really enjoyed the Shinkansen ride from Yatsushiro back to Izumi. Let me tell you why: usually the Shinkansen attendants are robotic and do not smile, nor do the make eye contact with the passengers. As I gazed out the window, glossy-eyed and dreary, wondering, ‘How can JR (Japan Railways) sacrifice service for personality?’ a dashingly handsome attendant entered my car; he turned and faced the passengers with such precision and at gracefully slow pace; his uniform was immaculate. As the attendant rose, again very slowly, from his bow, I saw the smile that I had been wondering about just moments ago, my doubts about JR vanished. When he took my ticket he made eye contact and thanked me for my service in a refreshingly crisp voice. What a nice ride home on yet another cloudless day.
I would like to leave you with a poem, rather than a proverb. There is always a beautifully handwritten poem outside of this temple (whose name escapes me now) up the street from I-House II. The poem changes every month. I saw this haiku as the 26 bus hauled up the road from I-House II on my way back to Akune last Tuesday night:
曇りなき
心にできぬ
ことはない
(kumorinakikokoroni dekinukotoha nai)
At a glance I translated this poem as follows: A cloudless heart is capable of anything. However, after getting all the way home to Akune I found a message Kuri had sent me, correcting our interpretation:
If one can do what one believes in without doubting oneself, anything can come true.
Until next time.
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