Shopping at church

Amanda left this morning, so I mapped out a plan of things I wanted to see before she took her Lonely Planet book. Just as I was set to go, however, the sweet old lady at the front desk told me, "Today, you go Toji free market." Not to argue, I headed there instead. It wasn't a far trip from our hotel.

I'm glad I took her advice. The booths were packed in tightly and spilled through the gates of the temple and out along the streets on every side of the temple. People milled among a maze of pathways. I let myself get lost in it all, browsing through each booth, stopping to watch the women in kimonos or the monks who stood chanting at the gates. It was muggy today, maybe 75 degrees. I could feel the tips of my shoulders turning pink and my shopping bags were soon rubbing my arms raw. On Saturday morning, I had enough Japanese Yen for food and a train ticket to Osaka. Soon I was trimming off my food reserve, then I broke down and spent my train ticket money. That's what ATMs are for, right?



Despite the commotion of the market, the temple still drew worshipers. Men and women threw their coins in the signature boxes in front, bowing to the alters, or kneeled on the tatami mats within the open doorways.



After two hours and traveling back and forth, I was exhausted. I lingered a little too long in my hotel room for a rest, so I just missed the closing of a temple on the other side of town. Instead, I wandered around in another shopping area, this one more modern. The women to watch in this area were clad in high heels, knee high socks and mini skirts, their designer bags slung over their arms. The tunnels through the stores could have been a run way.

I had dinner at a small restaurant near by my hotel, striking up a conversation with the waitress when she had moments in between her tables. She told me that market is only once a month, so I was lucky to catch it.

Lesson learned: The Toji free market is all the elements of Japanese culture wrapped into one venue.

Pedaling through town

The problem with the bus is that every thing on the street just goes by in a blur. Riding a bike slows everything down — just now so slow as walking. Amanda and I rented bikes today, despite our fear that we would get hopelessly lost.

It turned out to be one of the best things we've done while here. It was fun to weave among the people on the sidewalks, peeking into the stores we passed.



After swinging through a temple where there were hundreds of statues with about a dozen arms, we headed to a shrine. It is perched on a hillside, among narrow streets filled with shops. It took us awhile to get there considering all the distractions.





Lesson learned: Do the shopping on the way back.

Taking pause

We were walking down Shijo street, looking for bikes to rent, when a sign stopped both Amanda and I in our tracks.

"Relaxation massage."

The man in the store saw us gazing at it wistfully, and came out to show us a "happy price" schedule. Thirty minutes for two thousand yen, which is about $18. We were sold.

They put us on tables together, with our clothes still in place, then laid towels over us. I was wondering how good a job they could do through those layers. It was fantastic. I was lying there hoping it was as good for Amanda as it was for me.

When we sat up I had my answer. She had this sort of have dazed, half asleep look on her face.

Lesson learned: Either this guy just had really strong hands, or he just knew what he was doing.

Through Gion

Last night we wandered among Kyoto's night entertainment district, Gion. There, it's not uncommon to catch a glimpse of a Geisha. Geisha are women entertainers — usually for men — specializing in dance, singing or music. They dress in heavy kimono laden with ornate decoration, their faces painted in white make up, red lips blazing in contrast. Their hair, or wig, is pulled back into high loops, and and they wear traditional shoes that resemble flip flops.

Their mystery is a common tourist draw. At one point, one of the paper and wooden doors next to me slid open, and two Geisha stepped into my path. Like celebrities, these two were chased down the street, cameras flashing like Christmas lights.



Later we were walking the other direction when one came running down the street. As she ran, she dropped her shawl. It was like something out of a movie. A tourist nearby grabbed it and called for her. In trade, she agreed to pose for a picture with him. He raised his fists in celebration after the flash went off. Another woman was bold enough to ask her to pose, and she complied. I was able to get in a few shots before she ducked behind a door.

Lesson learned: You just have to be in the right place at the right time.

Through the gates

The Fushimi Inari Shrine lies south west of the center of Kyoto. It's most remarkable characteristic is lines of torii gates that run up and down the mountain where the shrine sits. You can walk through them, like a tunnel. Every once and awhile, they open up to lofty views of the city below, or tea houses or graveyards or alters.

Amanda and I walked almost the whole five kilometers. It was a beautiful days — one of the few warm ones I've experienced since I got here.

The best way to tell about this one is through photos.







Lesson learned: There's a little heaven in some shrines.

Following the leader

One of Amanda's key goals in coming to Japan was to go in a hot spring. There was one the Lonely Planet recommended, but the directions were about as clear as the Japanese street signs we were looking at blankly when we got off at the bus stop.

We stopped a guy headed out of an apartment complex to ask where the street was we were looking for was. I knew it the moment he took the Lonely Planet from us and pulled out his cell phone to look up another map, he had no idea where it was. Still, that didn't stop him from juggling the book, cell phone and umbrella, and then beckoning us to come with him.

By now it was pitch dark and pouring rain. He lead us south, which was not the direction I was thinking we should go. Then we headed down a side street. Then north again. Then west. I felt so bad that he was stuck trying to lead a couple Americans to some place he had no interest in going. And I know he had some place to be. Twice I tried to call him off the hunt. But he plodded on, his shoes scuffing along the pavement, the rain soaking the pages of the book.

Finally, we rounded a curve and he pointed to it. I was able slip him a gift and apologize.

The long walk in the cold rain was worth it. There were a spread of pools at the public bath we visited, a sauna and a plunge pool. It was just after we needed after our busy day.

Lesson learned: Only ask those who are stuck behind a counter directions.

Temple hopping

Any of the last night's misery was made up in for in our first day in Kyoto. Our first stop was at the Golden Pavilion, a temple that shines layered in real gold from its perch on the edge of a lake. On our way out, some little boys asked to have their picture taken with me. When I answered in Japanese, they looked at each other in shock and said, "She speaks Japanese!"

Ok, the truth? I don't speak Japanese. But I'm really good at faking it. They're just surprised when anything remotely Japanese comes out of an American mouth.



Our next stop was a shrine, where we saw the weeping cherry tree I posted a picture of earlier.

We managed to get the outdoor sightseeing in before it started to rain, then headed to the Nishiki Market. No matter how many markets I visit, they never fail to impress me.



Lesson learned: Navigating around Kyoto was surprisingly easy, despite the fact that many maps were missing many streets and the majority of street signs were in Japanese characters.

Free sake and beg bugs

Yesterday we left for Kyoto, setting out on our own for the first time. We didn't even make it out of the train station without sitting town for a piece of extravagant cake, adorned with sculpted fruit.

Our failure to make reservations landed us at a dilapidated hostel, where we slept on two of six futons laid side by side on a creaky, second-story floor.

There was no shower and only one bathroom. We brushed our teeth side by side with the other visitors. My suspicion that the sheets hadn't been washed after the last tenant's stay spurred a restless night full of bed bug dreams. I swear at one point I hear a mouse scuffling around in the walls.



The hostel's saving grace was a common room containing a table with blankets draped over the heater underneath. Not only was it warm, it allowed for other travelers who had neglected to plan to compare notes on their adventures. The hostel provided free beer, sake and breakfast, and we wondered at how it could possibly stay in business. I suppose since they don't wash the sheets or make any renovations, they wouldn't have much overhead.

Lesson learned: Just call. It takes two minutes and saves hours of nightmares.