Brief Stories from Short Trips in Japan

Feb 1

In May 2018 I stayed in Japan and briefly visited Yokohama, Kamakura, and Hakone, each an easy train ride from Tokyo.

Yokohama apartments along the Ooka River

The Long Line in Yokohama

I was bewitched in Los Angeles (one of the city's eventualities) to believe that long lines equal good things. It mostly held true for L.A.'s line-forming culinary attractions, despite the evident need to see and be Instagrammed. The wait was usually worth it, whether it was the Nashville hot chicken place or the other Nashville hot chicken place.

So I waited in a two-block line for ramen, even though it was my last night in Japan. Since arriving a month ago I'd eaten ramen five times a week, minimum. I'd had several fantastic bowls, but never waited longer than 20 minutes. I hadn't seen much of Yokohama and only had a few hours until I needed to catch a train back to Tokyo, but I stuck with it. Umami bliss awaited me, according to the long line precedent.

"Mok Mok Wak Wak Yokohama Yo Yo", a sculpture in Yokohama

Two and a half hours of podcasts later I got a seat. Shocker, I didn't kiss heaven. I felt the insipid sensation of too many bean sprouts. The ramen was good, but didn't rank among the better bowls. It wasn't worth the wait.

At once the spell was broken. The allure of long lines evaporated. I swore off waits longer than 30 minutes. I've dined enough to know the satisfaction of a good meal can't overcome that of not waiting several hours in a line. Food should replenish, not deplete.

I'm sure I'll break my 30-minute oath and become a hypocrite someday. If I do, it will be premeditated with ample preparation. Probably some weekend when Applebees gets busy.

Kamakura and The Crooked Path to Buddha

My GPS was on the fritz, despite a new phone and international service. I was heading to Daibutsu, Kamakura's large bronze Buddha statue from the 13th century. Google Maps listed unclear steps and the marker placed me several meters from my location. Despite this, I foolishly followed its guidance.

I tried navigating a bus station, but English signs aren't prevalent in Kamakura, unlike Tokyo. Yes, I could've asked for directions to the thing every tourist sees, but I choose to stay comfortable with my malfunctioning phone.

I followed the directions and crossed the station to a distant bus stop. I entered an idling bus and asked the driver for help with what little Japanese I knew (and since forgot). No surprise, it was the wrong bus. The right one was where I'd been.

I got on the correct bus and it left the station. The stops scrolled by on an LED display in dotted Japanese, no English. I might have been able to discern the stops when the driver announced them--if he wasn't whispering them into a broken microphone. The spastic blue dot on my phone was the only way I could determine where I was going.

I wouldn't have had this technological sophistication a year ago, much less any time earlier in human history. I felt like a dope and cursed my dependence.

I got off at my best guess for a good stop and immediately screwed something up. I continued following the imaginary line instead of asking somebody, one of the now-prevalent English speakers perhaps.

Nope. I followed the quad-colored pied piper down a side road and found my destination, but with no entrance in sight.

I finally abandoned my unreliable guide and returned to a familiar location. From there I located a stream of tourists and followed them on the path to Buddha.

I wish I had stopped using my GPS earlier. I would have wondered around Kamakura asking “Buddha?” I could have seen who welcomed me or who wished the damn statue had never been built. I don’t mind if navigation doesn’t work sometimes; it has to know directions for the entire world. But without it I would have found my own way.

Hakone Surrealism

I never thought I'd watch an episode of "Doraemon," much less while naked with Japanese men. As I watched the magic blue creature on the sauna TV and nearly hallucinated from the heat it occurred to me that this was strange, yet somehow normal.

I visited Hakone for its numerous onsen, or Japanese hot springs. Hell, my hostel even had one. I had already been to an onsen in Tokyo, but it was more theme park than spa. I wanted something more authentic, or at least disguised as such.

View from the breakfast table at the Hakone hostel

Turns out Hakone is a tourist trap. Most visitors have a transportation pass with access to a circuit of trains, buses, cable car, ropeway and boat. The whole town resembles a Disney World ride with soft serve pit stops. And like Disney World, it's easy to enjoy if willing to tolerate kitsch.

The circuit has activity options at each stop, including an onsen resort with coffee and wine pools. I wanted to keep the illusion of dignity, AKA, visit art museums.

I chose the Open Air Museum and the Okada Museum of Art. The Open Air Museum features outdoor sculptures and stunning hillside views. The Okada exhibits ancient relics in dark rooms. Guess which one is more popular with kids these days.

After completing the circuit I headed to a secluded hilltop onsen. Nothing like ending a long day by bathing naked with unfamiliar men.

I sampled bath pools like they were wedding cakes, noting which I preferred most, whether I liked the indoor kind with strong jets or the outdoor variety with cool breezes above the warm water. Here I was struck with gratitude, and all its odd implications.

A month ago I was biding time in Los Angeles. Now I was in a Japanese town I'd never heard of, heartily enjoying something outside my comfort zone. Simply put, it was surreal. I was experiencing fantasy while knowing it was reality.

That night I rode the train to Tokyo in a transcendental state: My body relaxed, my mind clear. I read "The Brothers Karamazov" with absolute concentration, a supernatural feat for me. I was "in the moment" as spiritual and sports phrases describe it.

Along the way a party of drunk businessmen boarded the train. They were sloppy but happy. As the stops rolled along they said goodbye to each other with fondness and respect devoid of societal obligation. Tox or detox, we gotta find peace somehow.