Chicken Liver

Sept. 03
Trip to Kyoto, Shinhaibashi Osaka, and first meeting with Ryo

It's hard to create. At every turn, there's a reason not to. So writing these entries, while it's not been a chore, has been a challenge. I'm not sure what pushes me forward—forces me to build. Whatever it is, I'm grateful. Here's a Tonuki:

Two days ago we visited Kyoto, one of the oldest cities in the world. The University decided to match each group of international kids with the same number of Japanese students. Incidentally (luckily?) every participating Japanese student was a girl. So there were ten international students (swedes, brits, amurkins, etc) and ten Japanese girls, and the oldest city in Japan.

Kyoto is on top of a hill. We walked while I butchered Japanese and gave it to a sweet girl named Yoko. Maybe her name wasn't Yoko—I may have forgotten. In any case, at the top of the hill, my new friend Rusty made a poignant comment. He said: “This is wonderful. It's perfect, but a little sad. It's like the Zoo. I'm happy to see the animals, but I'm sad they are all in cages.” The cages in Kyoto are two fold; the first is capital. Each temple has managed to come up with an entrance fee of sorts. Ichi or ni-hyaku yen, depending. Secondly, the place is swamped with people. A lot of Korean, Chinese, American and European tourists, plus a few scuttling monks, signing autographs with thick Japanese brushes in black-dark ink.

But of course, nothing could steal the wonder from a place like Kyoto. It's not just the temples—ancient, towering, magnificent etc.—its the twisted squall of forest surrounding the place. In one of the most crowded countries in the world the wood remains intact, crowded about religious relics which still, in their own right, endure. I like that.

That night we all went to a traditional Japanese restaurant/bar. This place specialized in Yakitori—various pieces of Chicken on a stick. Two dainty Japanese girls picked our dishes—chicken liver, heart, lung, skin etc. on a stick. I was embarrassed, but I had to push most of it away after one bite. As polite as I could, and in my best Japanese, I told them: “This is very difficult.” I think they understood my position quite well. At least I hope.

The next day we went into downtown Osaka. Hirikata City, where I live, is about an hour and 7 dollars transit away from downtown Osaka. Osaka is a lot like Chicago—big marble buildings, crowds, wind. Andrea and I split off from the group, mostly Swedes, to branch off and make mistakes of our own. We ate curry, rode a Farris wheel, and played the new Mario Kart—an arcade driver. There's this incredible ally-way which traverses Osaka like an artery; it's called Shinsaibashi Suji. There are shops, arcades, and restaurants on every side, plus the usual throng of Japanese. After walking that for a while, Andrea and I took the train back home, missed our stop, and learned some Japanese trying to get back home. That night we went back to the same restaurant/bar with my roommate, Tom. Before we went to sleep, Tom and I watched the first episode of Firefly on my laptop and ate candy. That was great, too.

Today was a little more relaxed. After some orientation nonsense I met my old friend Ryo and he showed us around Hirikata City. He lives about ten minutes away on foot. I met Ryo two years ago in Osaka, during my last trip to Japan. He's as brilliant and kind as ever, always willing to show a few Gaijin some local advantages. We ate with friends at a rotating sushi bar, packed nine people tight in a six person booth, eating two-piece Nigiri for a dollar a plate. I had eight plates and left room for more, but I'm on a budget of course.

Most people here are staying for a year while I'm only at Kansai Gaidai for a semester. I don't mind, though; the longer I stay in Japan the more I realize this isn't the end. Japan and I have a long way to go.

Thanks for reading.