A Promise

As funny as the whole motion sickness business was –especially afterwards, as some people pointed out– it prevented me from doing the one thing I needed to do while in Japan. I wanted to do a lot of things, of course, and I had plenty of reasons to go. But I needed to go to Koyasan.

Soon it’ll be one year since the death of my friend, Ryutaro. He died of pancreatic cancer, something I wasn’t able to write down while it was happening. It’s not that I was trying to escape from the reality of it, I think. But at thirty years old he was just too young. This is an illness that happens to older people. The name of it brought too many images of pain, and I couldn’t think of him like that.

Koyasan was his favourite place. He used to go there once a year at least, said he loved the “out of this world feel” of it. His ancestors were buried there and he, too, sleeps there now. Though not in a grave. I heard his ashes were scattered at the root of a tree, and I’m happy about that. I can picture him sitting there, his back against the trunk, looking up at the leaves. And I wanted so much to sit with him for a while. I know he was waiting for me. But going there meant four hours on a train, something I just couldn’t manage while I was in the area. Though now, with the luxury of distance, I wonder if that’s really true. Maybe I didn’t feel like the hassle of being sick. But I could have done it, maybe…

As the shinkansen pulled out of Kyoto station I did feel sick, and of course it was a welcome justification of my decision. But I felt him tugging at my heart, and I could have cried. I dreamed of him a few nights later. In the dream he told me he would die on Wednesday, and asked what time would be suitable for me because he wanted me to be there. I wonder if it was a soft reproach for not making time for him in my busy life, just because it was inconvenient. Though I know he wasn’t that kind of a person, and I guess he understands. Maybe it’s just me who isn’t convinced of the purity of my feelings. There’s a lot going on in my personal life, and maybe I was too preoccupied with myself to make an effort. But then, maybe he understands that too.

It feels like much longer than a year to me, the last time I heard from him. I’ve been wondering if I remember him correctly. And I start to doubt my feelings: did I really love him so very much, and why? But then today I reread some of his letters and, suddenly, it’s very easy to understand…

I know I will go back, of course. And next time I’ll make it autumn, his favourite season, and see the coloured leaves of Koyasan. I hope I’m worth waiting for, just a little longer. Forgive me, Ryu. I’ll be there, 約 束.

Rose

Today is Sant Jordi, a Catalan holiday I only found out about yesterday. Basically, on Sant Jordi women give their men a book and men give their women a rose. So the beach front was littered with stalls selling both, and everywhere I looked I saw people carrying presents. Sweet. Old men carrying bouquets home, young blushing boys handing a single one to a giggling girl…really, sweet.

I browsed for a while and considered buying something for myself. A rose then, since I’m the girl, and as you know I love them. But I’m also a total book worm. And I thought briefly that maybe women are getting the dodgy end of the bargain here. Think about it. A rose: costs about 3 euros, lasts a week. A book: costs about twenty euros, lasts a lifetime. And you can’t spend a whole day absorbed in a flower…In the end I bought neither. Felt a little silly really, so I slowly wandered home.

When I settled in front of my laptop a while later, I noticed I received an email from a local almost-friend. Dear TR, it read, all women receive a rose today, and it would be a shame if a woman like you didn’t receive one on her first Sant Jordi. Attached was a picture of a rose…

Now that is honest to goodness kindness. And, sentimental sap that I am, it really made my day.

Kami-Where?

Right. So we met in the hotel lobby at the ungodly hour of 10am (which translates into 2am Spanish time, but hey…) and set off for Tottori. Lots of talking and giggling for breakfast, along with a rice ball I bought at a convenience store on the way to the station. Actually the rice ball was still dangling from my wrist in a little plastic bag, because eating while standing is a no no. So is eating on a train, by the way, but you have to draw the line somewhere. I tucked in as soon as we started moving. The train ride was supposed to take two and a half hours, and my friend’s mum was expecting us for lunch. Everything was looking good and, Nihon-style, right on schedule.

The first signs of motion sickness appeared about 15 minutes into the trip. But I’m used to motion sickness (my mum used to clean my ears a bit too vigourously when I was a kid so, ever since, I’ve been stuck with it. And whenever she tries to deny this, all I need do is remind her of the time I got up after one of those ear cleaning sessions and walked straight into the wall. My sense of balance has been altered beyond repair), so I didn’t think too much of it and just tried to focus on a non moving object for a while. No joy though. Luckily my friend fell asleep, so I was saved from trying to make conversation, not an easy thing to do through gritted teeth.

An hour later I could no longer take it. The floor was moving and everything around me spinning. I wouldn’t have felt any worse inside a giant pepper shaker on a crazy helicopter ride. I must have looked like death on a stick as well, because a complete stranger came up to me with some medicine –which, kind as it was, I didn’t take. There were only some half characters legible on the aluminium foil, so heaven knows what it was, and how much of it. But I had to get off the train. I woke my friend and got up, leaving her to collect my stuff. At that particular point in my life, nothing in any of my bags was worth a second of my time.

We got off the train at a town somewhere to the North of the middle of nowhere called Kami-Gouri. Neither of us had ever heard of it. Two tracks and one platform surrounded by a bunch of mountains is about as descriptive as I can get here, I apologize. I was trying my best not to faint. I sank down on a bench and let my friend explain to the conductor (who, incidentally, had followed us off the train) what the problem was. He told us not to worry, we could just take the next train two hours later. Some people just have the knack for telling you exactly what you want to hear, haven’t they? I replied that, really, I was happy to be on solid ground for a bit. He nodded at that and offered to go and find out if there was a bed for me to rest on somewhere. How utterly sweet. He returned five minutes later with two of the ground staff (or the train equivalent…what do they call them?), all hunched and apologetic because there was no bed. No problem, I reassured them. But they insisted I lie down somewhere, so I ended up sprawled across three folding chairs in the little (heated! just what I needed) waiting room. My friend kept me company in between trips to the smoking area, and called her mum to tell her we’d be running two hours late. Lovely lady, she told us not to worry…

I was just beginning to feel a little better when the train showed up. I obviously would have preferred not to board the thing, but since going back to Osaka would also involve a train, I thought I’d better suck it up and get on with it. Mind over matter, right? Boy oh boy, how very very wrong. I managed for ten minutes this time, breathing deeply while focusing on the mountains (beautiful, a real treat), sitting cross legged on the floor because our seats were facing the wrong direction…I mean, honestly, I could have done with a little cooperation here! There’s no way, I said to my friend as we pulled into the next station. So off we got again.

Legs shaking like nobody’s business, I stumbled across the platform and very nearly walked right off of it, onto the opposite track (yeah I know, Simon, in light of recent events that’s not very funny. You crossed my mind right about then…). Someone held onto my arm, maybe my friend, maybe another conductor. What happened next is a bit of a blur…

So my friend asked her mum to come and pick us up. I was beyond mortified: asking a lady to drive one hour to pick up a wet blanket of a girl she never met before and back again. She showed up with a big smile and a blanket and pillow in the back of her brand new car. During the return trip, she happily dished out anecdotes of my friend’s childhood, interspersed with suggestions on what to do in case I had to throw up: you could tell me and I’ll pull over, or you could use the blanket, or…I thought I’d sooner slash my wrists and bleed all over the new seats then vomit onto them. Seriously. Mercifully, we reached her house an hour later without incident.

My stay there was an unforgettable one. Even though the floor continued to move throughout, we made the most of it. We played card games all night and, since the two of them were drinking shouchuu, we were all spinning a bit so it was fair. I remember eating very little and laughing non stop. I loved her sense of humour. And after she went to bed, my friend and I caught up proper, talking about anything and everything. There’s really nothing like a good girl chat. Obviously, the research was shelved till next time…

I’ve been back for a week now and I finally made it outside to buy a thank you card for mum. I thought she was wonderful, and I can’t wait to see her again.

Japan Stories

I’ve been at home coughing like a Cuban on fifty cigars a day for the past week or so, with the result that I still don’t feel as if I’m in Spain. Or in Cuba, for that matter. I’m suspended in some kind of no man’s land, a place where most books are in English and a lot of food is Japanese –especially since I brought back all sorts of goodies from my trip. I had a great time in Japan, and am somehow not ready yet to be faced with ‘home’. Not that I know what that word means, exactly. As I boarded the plane at Narita, I thought again that the more I travel, the more I’m convinced I’ll never really be at home anywhere. Which, maybe, is the way it’s supposed to be. Anyway, since I’m stuck indoors instead of out there having thoughts and experiences to write about, I’ll regale you with some tales of my trip…

Arrivals. I flew into Kansai airport because I wanted to hang out with some friends in Osaka first. The plane ride was smooth, I didn’t sleep a wink but kept that awful new smelling eye mask on for most of the flight anyway. I was determined to keep jet lag to a minimum. When I arrived early the next morning, I was feeling peppier than I’d imagined.

The first things that struck me were how bloody organised everything was (keep in mind I live in Spain!), and how everyone around me was Japanese –yes, I do know I landed in J-a-p-a-n, but don’t duh me too quickly. What I mean is, Osaka (and Tokyo for that matter) are cosmopolitan cities, and I know there are many foreigners schlepping around its streets. So where the hell were they? I wondered about this for the rest of my trip…

Anyway. I made it to my tiny hotel room in Pachinko Town –since I wasn’t planning on staying in Osaka very long, I chose a convenient hotel close to the station. The place was surrounded by neon lights, loud bleeping sounds and people of various ages in various stages of (un)consciousness. Perfect, actually: in my sleep deprived state, I fit right in. I showered, changed into the hotel yukata and crashed out for the rest of the day.

At night, I met a friend for dinner. She cracked up over my choice of hotel –yeah, ok, now you laugh– and we spent ages getting lost in this part of town she swears she never visits. We crossed and recrossed streets regardless of the lights –so not a done thing: groups of people would mindlessly follow us, then have the fright of the night when a car zoomed past. After a few similar incidents, we thought we’d better quit before someone ended up losing vital parts of their anatomy. Seriously, bunch of sheep! We ended up in an izakaya, ordering pretty much half of the menu and ignoring the stares of groups of drinking buddies as we wolfed it all down. I love a girl who isn’t shy to eat!

We’d been toying with the idea of spending a few days in Tottori, her hometown, about 3 hours North of Osaka at the coast of the Japan Sea. I was keen to do some research for my new project, which involves a small Japanese coastal town. And since four consecutive days off is a rare occurrence for her, she thought she’d better visit her mum. Somewhere in the back of my head there flashed a thought that yet more travel might not be such a good thing. But I thought, eff it. I’m a strong girl, right? So we left the next day. Not one of my better ideas…

Sign Of Life

I’m back but I’m jetlagged and still in emotional limbo, so bear with me for a few more days and I’ll tell all (well…some). I had a great trip.

And btw, what’s with the new wordpress layout? Am I getting old or am I just too tired to appreciate its genius?

Soon come.