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timeripple“The nature of a train is to fly underground, beneath cities. It is a clay bird, its natural element is earth. But the Shinkansen loves the air, confuses the sparrows...” (Catherynne M. Valente, Palimpsest, p. 268)
January 8: We explored Nara, home of the legendary and fearsome deer. Who were perfectly tranquil until we tried to feed them, at which point they turned into ravening, slobbering monsters.
Back to Kyoto Station (which was starting to feel like home) to catch the Shinkansen to Tokyo. We sat next to a woman who pulled out a large stack of proofs covered in kanji. I got very excited about this, because I am a giant dork, but then a thought occurred to me: Copyediting in Japan must be an ordeal of terrifying proportions.
Back in Tokyo, we trudged through the alleyways which had become familiar to me over the course of the previous week. They were dark, away from the main street, and I could see the stars.
January 9: Rachel said good-bye on the train platform and dashed off to see Tackey’s show. I spent most of the trip to Narita flipping idly through In Praise of Shadows and feeling almost tearful. At the airport I wandered around fingering racks of identical cell phone charms, oddly desolate, and bought Meltykisses and margarine-and-maple sandwich packages and candy and what turned out to be cough drops. I blew the last chunk of my yen on a copy of NEWS’s latest CD. There didn’t seem to be any point in hanging onto the currency since I don’t know when I’ll be back, and I figure with the countless hours of free entertainment JE has given me, they deserve my money.
Besides, NEWS could use the sales.
With my remaining few coins (and did I mention how pretty the coins are?), I bought green tea soft-serve ice cream from the duty-free shop across from the gate and ate it slowly while the airport clocks ticked down. (Well, not ticked as such, because Japan is too cool for analog timepieces in public places.) Note to US airports: having clocks in visible places is a great idea. I wandered around and sat around and re-checked my carry-on containing three precious picturebooks, purchased one evening in Kyoto Station before dinner. And at last, back into the welcoming arms of JAL.
The whole flight felt like a transition capsule-- you know, the kind you would stick yourself in to get used to a different concentration of oxygen or something as you moved between two spaces. Worlds. A little capsule of Japan moving eastward across the Pacific. When I stepped out of the gangway and saw the US security officer standing there, making it perfectly clear that whoever we were, we were totally unwelcome, I almost turned around and got back on the plane to Japan again.
And now when I think of Japan there is a strange feeling, oddly tentative and full of affection. I don’t know if quoting Brideshead Revisited will help, but I will do it anyway on principle.
“‘Just the place to bury a crock of gold,’ said Sebastian. ‘I should like to bury something precious in every place where I’ve been happy and then, when I was old and ugly and miserable, I could come back and dig it up and remember.’”
So here, have a crock of gold. This last post was hard to write, and I’ve been avoiding it. Like putting it down in writing, posting it, makes the trip over, really over and done with and no more. All I have that I didn’t have before are memories, and memories, impressions of several wonderful new people, some pictures (when I remembered to take them), a CD, three picturebooks, and an unsatisfiable longing for energy jelly.
Which is in the end not a bad collection of things, I guess.
Except maybe the bit about energy jelly.
***
In other news, where is this alleged "snow" that people keep talking about/closing the library early/prematurely canceling school for? Inquiring New England minds wish to know!
January 8: We explored Nara, home of the legendary and fearsome deer. Who were perfectly tranquil until we tried to feed them, at which point they turned into ravening, slobbering monsters.
Back to Kyoto Station (which was starting to feel like home) to catch the Shinkansen to Tokyo. We sat next to a woman who pulled out a large stack of proofs covered in kanji. I got very excited about this, because I am a giant dork, but then a thought occurred to me: Copyediting in Japan must be an ordeal of terrifying proportions.
Back in Tokyo, we trudged through the alleyways which had become familiar to me over the course of the previous week. They were dark, away from the main street, and I could see the stars.
January 9: Rachel said good-bye on the train platform and dashed off to see Tackey’s show. I spent most of the trip to Narita flipping idly through In Praise of Shadows and feeling almost tearful. At the airport I wandered around fingering racks of identical cell phone charms, oddly desolate, and bought Meltykisses and margarine-and-maple sandwich packages and candy and what turned out to be cough drops. I blew the last chunk of my yen on a copy of NEWS’s latest CD. There didn’t seem to be any point in hanging onto the currency since I don’t know when I’ll be back, and I figure with the countless hours of free entertainment JE has given me, they deserve my money.
Besides, NEWS could use the sales.
With my remaining few coins (and did I mention how pretty the coins are?), I bought green tea soft-serve ice cream from the duty-free shop across from the gate and ate it slowly while the airport clocks ticked down. (Well, not ticked as such, because Japan is too cool for analog timepieces in public places.) Note to US airports: having clocks in visible places is a great idea. I wandered around and sat around and re-checked my carry-on containing three precious picturebooks, purchased one evening in Kyoto Station before dinner. And at last, back into the welcoming arms of JAL.
The whole flight felt like a transition capsule-- you know, the kind you would stick yourself in to get used to a different concentration of oxygen or something as you moved between two spaces. Worlds. A little capsule of Japan moving eastward across the Pacific. When I stepped out of the gangway and saw the US security officer standing there, making it perfectly clear that whoever we were, we were totally unwelcome, I almost turned around and got back on the plane to Japan again.
And now when I think of Japan there is a strange feeling, oddly tentative and full of affection. I don’t know if quoting Brideshead Revisited will help, but I will do it anyway on principle.
“‘Just the place to bury a crock of gold,’ said Sebastian. ‘I should like to bury something precious in every place where I’ve been happy and then, when I was old and ugly and miserable, I could come back and dig it up and remember.’”
So here, have a crock of gold. This last post was hard to write, and I’ve been avoiding it. Like putting it down in writing, posting it, makes the trip over, really over and done with and no more. All I have that I didn’t have before are memories, and memories, impressions of several wonderful new people, some pictures (when I remembered to take them), a CD, three picturebooks, and an unsatisfiable longing for energy jelly.
Which is in the end not a bad collection of things, I guess.
Except maybe the bit about energy jelly.
***
In other news, where is this alleged "snow" that people keep talking about/closing the library early/prematurely canceling school for? Inquiring New England minds wish to know!
