Travel Diary - August 29 to 31

Day 8, 9 and 10: Inami, Shizuoka, Nagoya, Gifu

There’s nothing like a roadtrip. Something about loud tunes, crappy roadhouse food and travelling at 100km/hr really gets my blood pumping. Despite being a dedicated non-driver, I’ve been doing it for years; ever since I was a kid trapped in the back seat of my parents’ car, fighting with my brother and seeing the Australian country-side whiz by. The experience of seeing the countryside as you zoom past it on the motorway holds so much more romance for me than the stale, cold, low-humidity experience of air travel. And now I’m about to experience it Japanese style, taking in 3 cities on a 3-day whistlestop tour. I feel like a rockstar already… and have the sunnies to prove it!

This mission was to take us on a round trip from Toyama, south-east (ish) to a city called Shizuoka, before looping back on day 2 to Nagoya and then back to Toyama via a place called Gifu. In all, a fairly decent snapshot of Japan encompassing both the tranquility of the countryside and the sheer madness of the huge cities. But we weren’t going anywhere until we effectively squeezed everything into Satomi’s little four-wheel drive.

Sure, we were only going away for 3 days and 2 nights, but you could have been forgiven for thinking we were setting off on a 3-month pilgrimage to Mecca. Japanese custom dictates that when visiting people, you must present them with a gift (they call it omiyage). And since we were visiting a few sets of friends and an uncle, the car resembled a Santa’s sleigh packed to the rafters with boxed confectionary and farm treats. Our personal belongings were crushed meekly underneath our humble offerings.



With the yellow-tinged morning light rapidly giving way to the midday glare, we loaded up the six-stacker CD player with the finest selection from the Albion Music Hall, and gunned it for the highway. Before long we were staring down the barrel of an almost empty expressway, and the first of a long series of the tunnels the Japanese highway system is famous for. The tunnels were one thing, but the great expanse of dense greenery greeting us upon exiting them was something I was not at all prepared for. It’s hard to describe, to paint the word picture befitting the deepness and density of the colour of the Japanese landscape. A uniformity of texture and light provides one with a sense of the impenetrability of this land, and gives one an almost instantaneous respect and admiration for those tasked with overcoming it in order to build the roadways that have come to be the great icons of modernity here. The Japanese are proud of their transportation networks, and so they should be. The smooth, pot-holeless tarmac, pristine roadsides and regular rest stop opportunities are unparalleled in Australia. Before long, however, I was to find out the reason why they were so perfect: tolls.



Unfortunately, we couldn’t stay on the interconnected expressway system, and had to deviate on to the old highway to make sure we weren’t back-tracking too much. The exits ramps from the expressway are all fairly similar: a long, looping, spiraling roadway, punctuated at the end by a manned toll booth. I had been told some pretty horrific figures about the cost of using the expressways by Steve-O, but didn’t quite believe him. Until now. This relatively short trip (I think about 70-80kms) cost us 2200 yen… about $20! Being used to having a completely free highway system in Australia, I was absolutely appalled and disgusted at the money-grabbing road-building sharks at work in Japan. Until, I guess, Satomi showed me the alternative – the old highway system.

If the expressway is the David Jones or Myer of the Japanese roadway system, then the old highways would definitely be the Crazy Clark’s. Tiny, bumpy, twisty, grotty and generally unkempt, the old highway was a battle – even for me, the non-driver. The tunnels appeared to have not been touched since before the war, and the constant warnings of rock-falls were re-enforced by the appearance of recent landslides across the valley (possibly caused by the recent earthquake). The scenery, though, was quite a spectacle as we skirted around a huge lake and river system which served as the centre piece for a hydro-electricity plant. But sheesh, the bumps and sharp turns had me begging for mercy. Satomi relayed a story about how trips from Toyama to Nagoya (about the same distance from Brisbane to Coffs Harbour) back when she was a kid would be a 2-day affair, with an overnight rest stop mandatory in order for the driver not to go insane and drop the car over a cliff. My bravado and scorn about road trips in Japan being easy due to the pitifully short distances were taken back, as I began to search eagerly for the nearest sign of us re-entering the expressway system. Heck, after just half an hour on this highway, I was prepared to mail a deed of ownership to my first-born child to the “money-grabbing road-building sharks” if only they could ensure the entirety of Japan was covered in their fantastic odes to road transportation.

Thankfully, we were back on the expressway soon enough and rocketing on our way to Shizuoka. A couple of rest stops up the road and we were faced with a very frustrating nose-to-tail traffic jam around the outskirts of Nagoya. The mysterious slowing of traffic cleared as mysteriously as it started, and we were back up to full steam - which in Japan is sign-posted as between 70 and 80 km/hr, even on the expressways (although a distinct lack of highway police – we only saw one cop on the entire trip – meant that the cruising speed jumped to up to 120 at times… but shhh, don’t tell anyone!). As our destination loomed, Satomi chickened out and decided not to attempt the final 20kms or so with low fuel warning light flashing, and so a quick detour for petrol had to be made. A couple of phone calls and text messages made sure Satomi knew where she was going and we paid the remainder of the tolls (turning out to be around $75 for the 400-or-so kilometers) and we delved into the inner-city traffic of Shizuoka. And, for the first time in my life, I was able to say that I had traveled from one side of the country to other! Small milestone, yes, but when you come from Australia and say that you’ve traveled across it, you are granted a respectful awe… it’s a notch that I haven’t as yet been able to put in my belt.

About 180km south-west (ish) of Tokyo, Shizuoka is far removed from what I imagine the zaniness of the huge capital to be. Nestled on the Pacific Ocean, it is regarded as the geographic centre of Japan and home to its most famous natural wonder – Mt Fuji. Excited at the prospect of witnessing the snow-capped wonder, I was more than disappointed with the hazy, overcast conditions on both days we spent there. The haze was so much of a pea-souper that not even the faintest outline of Fuji could be seen. Oh well. Just another reason to come back, I guess. But we did get to witness Shizuoka’s other claim to fame, as being the home of Green Tea. The hillsides surrounding the city are dotted with steep fields teeming with tea leaves and giving it an almost sub-continental feel (I guess mixed with the humidity, one could be forgiven for thinking that we’d actually driven to Sri Lanka).

We weren’t here to check out the scenery, though, we were here to visit some old dear friends of Satomi’s from her college days. The three day trip was killing two birds with the one stone – an introduction for me, and a good bye from Satomi. Our first port of call was to Satomi’s good friend from college Kazuko and her family. As she had recently given birth to her third beautiful child, it was wise of us not to impose too much on the happy little campers – and so we were invited to bunker down for the night with Kazuko’s Mum and Dad, who had become like surrogate parents to Satomi during her college years. We make a quick pit stop at Kazuko’s Mum’s house to dump our belongings and freshen up, before making the quick trek across to town to stop in with the happy family. The fleeting visit was more of a catch up for Satomi, as well as a chance for us to become all clucky as a result of the gorgeous little baby. The visit was punctuated by a brief introduction to Kazuko’s older two girls who, despite being eager to meet a westerner, turned completely shy the minute they stepped from the car and refused to even come near me. I don’t really blame them!

After the first visit out of the way, we wanted to catch some ‘culcha’ and so high tailed it over to the city centre to catch an exhibition by famous Japanese doll-maker Atae Yuki. The dolls were exquisite, made out of a Hessian type material and clad in traditional Japanese clothes in the style of the 1950s. The clothes themselves, mostly kimonos, were hand-made stitch by stitch, and only used fabric from the era depicted. The display was beautiful, showing mostly children set in mischievous poses, but also included an astounding display of a traditional wedding kimono which caught the glint of Satomi’s eye. Pity they are so expensive!

After sumptuous Thai feast that had me missing home (well, missing Thaiways next door), we hit the bed and readied ourselves for the assault of the Nagoya city centre planned for the next day. After the relatively short trip, we arrived in Nagoya proper and set about the next friend meeting of the trip - Tomoko and her two cute little boys. Both boys had been learning English, and so both took the opportunity to practice their skills on me. It was all very cute and cuddly… for about 5 minutes when the boys went back to ‘normal mode’ – which basically entailed the younger one slyly punching or poking the older one to get him to retaliate and then getting in trouble. So reminiscent of my childhood!

After bidding farewell to the hyper boys, we made the quick trip across town into the city centre, searching for our bed for the night. The hotel that we booked was right in the heart of the city and directly across the road from the main shinkansen (bullet train) station. Resisting my inner boy and his urging to “go and have a look at the big, fast trains”, we instead skirted underneath the train lines and into the main shopping district. Dotted in amongst the Channel and Dior shops were something a bit more familiar to me – homeless people. The distinct lack of the homeless in other places we had visited so far hadn’t even occurred to me as something that was missing. I guess the fact that they were not there to be seen everywhere else, and so familiar to me at home that they are almost a part of the visual fabric of my daily life, had jolted me to look around for other “differences” between Japan and Australia. Sure, there are the big, obvious things (you know, like… there’s so many Japanese people here… who’da thunk it?!?!?), but I was more interested in the subtle differences. The things that make Japanese people a culture so unique and intriguing to us big dumb westerners.

There were the superficial things, like the food, the sitting on the floor, the removal of shoes when you go into someone’s home, etc; but there were also other aspects, too. Like the conformity. Walking around Nagoya’s bustling city centre at home time, all I saw was a mass of businessmen and office workers dressed in the standard white, short sleeved business shirt and dark pants (made me feel quite at home, considering it’s my work uniform). The conformity is also played out with their most treasured vehicle of choice – the pushbike. There are no fancy schamncy 15-gear, deep traction, wanker mountain bikes here. Nope, just a good old steel framed, 3-gear no-frills pushie, with little to no modifications added after taking home from the shop. All similar colours, shapes and sizes, I have no idea how you would know which was your bike at the end of the day, especially if you parked it in the underpass under the train lines – it was seriously packed from one end to the other with row upon row of bikes.

The other stark contrasts between our cultures, I found, was the deep politeness. It was politeness to the point of being embarrassing and annoying at times, but certainly polite. Take, for example, the barrage of greetings you get when you walk into, by or near any kind of shop or establishment – “Irashaimase!!!”. It’s basically an informal greeting, but when screeched out at a high pitch and forced out through the nasal passages, especially with the disinterest exhibited after screeching it for the hundredth time of the day – it starts to grate on your nerves. The politeness, though, did manifest itself in a deeply moving way with the irrepressible bow. Unsure of the custom towards bowing, I stuck with the basic Aussie-bush-larrikin-slight-head-tilt-cum-nod for most of my time in Japan. Thinking that I should take my time and ease into the full bow when I felt confident that I was not making a complete dick of myself, I continued my understated nod to all and sundry, and tipped my head to anyone passing on the street who maintained eye contact for even a split second. And so to the homeless man: not realizing it at first, I made the fatal mistake and made eye contact. This he took as a sign of obvious weakness and advanced on me with his hand out and the best hang dog expression he could muster. Realising my mistake, I motioned with the international gestures for “no”, but it didn’t put him off. As he approached closer, I decided to walk away and catch up with Satomi, who had vanished into the throngs as she was mesmerized by Gaultier’s latest retail offerings. A little disheveled, I turned back in the direction of the homeless man to see him following me. Slightly concerned for my welfare (although not sure why), I firmly told him to “fuck off”… a term that he seemed familiar with. Immediately, he dropped his outstretched hand, stood to attention and bent at his waist in a deep, respectful and (I believe) apologetic bow. With me now feeling like a complete prick, he turned and resumed his scavenging and left me in a slight state of shock.

After being jumbled in my thoughts for a bit after the homeless man incident, Satomi and I decided to grab a quick bite to eat (pizza and a salad… both quite nice) before splitting up and both of us having a bit of “me” time. Satomi continued to shop, and I headed back to the hotel to freshen up and check some emails before the events of the evening. Before long we were both freshened up and out the door to pay a visit to Satomi’s uncle. And it was here that I experienced my first (and, alas, only) rock star moment in Japan.

From the moment I stepped into Uncle’s (Ojisan) house, I knew things were going to be a little strange. Firstly, and for the first time in Japan, I was offered “house slippers” to use after taking off my shoes… only to find that my freakishly large clod-hoppers (well, by Japanese standards) has no way of fitting into them. That wasn’t the strangest part, however, as moments after having my feet stared at like the obvious freaks of nature they were, I was greeted by a cacophony of shrieks, screeches and hyperventilating reserved for the likes of The Beatles. It seems Satomi’s younger 2 cousins (both girls) were genuinely very excited about meeting a real life foreigner… a foreigner in their own house, no less! Ohmygawdohmygawdohmygaw OHMYGAAAAWWWDDD!!!! Yep. That’s about how it felt, too, as 2 post teenaged girls worked themselves into a gusset wetting frenzy just by my simple presence. I’ve always had a secret dream to be one of those faint-inducing rockstars and have the world at my beck and call… but if this was anything like what it felt like, then they could keep it to themselves. My usual disposition of being the understated centre of attention shirked and I just became plain understated and tried hard not to make any noises or sudden movements which threatened to elicit the same sort of response. After the initial reaction, however, the evening settled into something a bit more benign and casual. Before long, we were out the door and back to the hotel room for a little r and r.


The next day we woke early with a view to buggin out of Nagoya and on to Gifu pretty soon, but my little boy urges just wouldn’t let go. By 9am, we were standing on the platform at Nagoya station and I was wide eyed and buzzing with excitement as I watched bullet train after bullet train pull in and push out of the station. It was great to finally see them up close, including the cute little rituals the immaculately uniformed drivers performed as they changed shifts. After my little boy was satisfied, we choofed off to the highway and made the relatively short and painless trip to Gifu.

Gifu was the last of the planned introductions on the trip, but my oh my, what an introduction! Satomi had organized to meet three of her old college friends at once over lunch. The plan seemed pretty harmless, until they all arrived with their brood of toddlers. Seriously, I have no idea how these people do it. Every conversation took place while the other person was distracted by removing something from a kids’ mouth, or removing the kids hand from somewhere it shouldn’t have been. While certainly entertaining and fun to watch, I was more eager than ever than ever to get back in the car and have Satomi point it in the general direction of west and get back to the relative sanity of the rice farm and the Nagai family. As the lunch drew to a close and the formalities and pleasantries completed (including the traditional custom of present engaged couples with ornate packages containing money… a custom I am still not entirely comfortable with), we did get my wish and before long we were staring down the sunset and hurling down the highway towards home.

Driving back into the Nagai household driveway was a really weird experience for me. While I only arrived a couple of days ago, the feeling I got when I saw Nana (the dog) jump up in excitement at our return, and Otosan beaming with a huge grin and a wave… I truly felt we were “home”. The Nagai family had been so welcoming and accepting and loving to me that I immediately felt part of the family. It wasn’t something I was keenly aware of when I was first there a few days ago, but driving back in after a couple of days away it truly hit home how much of a part of their lives I had become, and vice versa. It was then that my heart began to sink a little, as I knew that in just a few days from now, I would be leaving this place, leaving them behind, and taking their little girl with me...

Travel Diary - August 26-28

Days 5, 6 and 7: Inami, Kanazawa, Toyama

The next few days were spent hanging out around the Inami farmhouse. We ran errands to neighbouring cities to sort everything out for Satomi’s imminent departure from Japan, as well as experiencing some of the world-famous Japanese craziness.

Sunday kicked off with the usual cooked breakfast, before sitting down cross legged in the living room with Satomi and Otosan (Dad). The night before, we caused a minor furore by blithely and rather arrogantly (in hindsight) blurting out to the family over dinner that we were getting married, and showing off the ring. While it was no secret at all within the Nagai family what was happening, we totally underestimated Otosan’s conservativeness and traditional leaning. While initially I was quite taken aback by his aggressiveness and the argument that followed, I soon relented and realised that despite the age we lived in, this was still his home, still his country and still his first daughter that we were talking about. We decided to drop the subject that night and revisit it properly the next morning, without the emotional affects of the vast amounts of alcohol we had both consumed.

So here we were, Satomi and I sitting across from Otosan and trying to negotiate our way through this cultural maze. Through tears, Satomi was able to translate my words of love and happiness and my request to have his permission to marry his little girl. A long heartfelt speech followed from Otosan, which roughly translated to a blessing. He granted permission for me to marry Satomi and welcomed me to the Nagai clan with a deep bow and a two-handed, firm hand shake.

With the formalities over with, we set about the day. We made a quick, but all encompassing, tour of Satomi’s Important Places, including her schools and workplaces over the years. Ending up in the cobble-stone streets of the Inami township proper, we scaled the steps to the town’s huge temple – the Inami Betsuin Zuisen-ji Temple, originally built in 1390 before being destroyed by fire (there’s a theme amongst temple fires… ancient Japanese people were pyros, I tell ya) and rebuilt in 1885. It’s huge sloping roof was certainly impressive, but boredom of old buildings was still active, so we decided to climb the slight hill to the festival which Inami is known for world wide (I’m not kidding!) the Inami International Wooden Sculpture Camp 2007. Sure, wood sculptures probably wouldn’t rate too high on my list of cultural activities… but this stuff was impressive. Held every 4 years, the invitation-only camp brings together the world’s best wood sculptors in the one place.



We wandered around, checking out the progress of each artist, before stopping for a long chat with Zambian artist Flinto Chandia. Satomi volunteered as an interpreter during the first couple of days during the camp, being teamed up with Flinto. The brief chat revealed a couple of interesting facts, including that this man is pretty widely known in artistic circles, and is responsible for the pieces of public art on show in the foyers of some or Europe’s biggest banks. The enlightening chat over, the sunburn started to severely kick in, so we hightailed it out of the park and down to the local sports oval for something even more enlightening… the community sports day.

I can’t even begin to explain to you how bizarre this thing is. Almost the entire community turns out for this regular event, which is a mix of school sports carnivals (complete with team colours!) and drunken work Christmas party games (minus the drink). Both Okasan and Otosan were competing in various games, which are hard to describe on paper… but you probably wouldn’t believe me anyway. To give you some idea – the first game involved a team of people running up one at a time to dress their team leader in an array of clothing to basically make him look like a 1940s German housewife. I’m NOT joking.




So anyway, after the 2 most cultural disparate events, we trailed home via the supermarket to get ingredients for the family dinner I was cooking up that evening (the oh-so-Aussie spag bol!). The next two days were very uneventful, running errands around Kanazawa and Toyama cities, as well as spending some quality time around the Nagai house and getting to know the family more – through a round of the ubiquitous card game Uno. As much as we probably should have been sight seeing and doing the tourist thing, we were both very happy to spending time with the family and basically relaxing. Besides, the next 3 days were shaping up to be pretty exhaustive with a road trip to the other side of the country.

Travel Dairy - August 25

Day 4: Inami, Noto, Fuchuno

Today was a big day in the Nagai household, with a huge birthday lunch being planned for Otosan’s 60th. While his birthday was actually in May, the family decided to hold off the celebrations until I arrived, which was sweet. The event was being held at a hotel on the Noto Peninsula, about 2 hours drive away. So we piled into a couple of cars, and picked up Satomi’s grandma and uncle on the way.

The hotel itself was very opulent. Beautiful Japanese water features greeted us throughout the sprawling complex, as we were led into a sort of waiting room to drink tea, have a smoke and a chat. Before long, the lunch room was ready and we were led in. What great me was a table completely full to overflowing of small dishes comprising almost every fish product known to man. After the formalities (speeches, pictures, etc), we got down to some serious eating. From lobster, to crab, to sashimi, to pumpkin tofu, to all manner of pickles, the food varied from “interesting” to just plain delicious. Accompanied by an ever-flowing supply of beer and sake (thanks to Grandma, who was insistent on me getting pissed), the day was thoroughly enjoyed by all. I did, however, slightly offend Otosan by refusing to go to the onsen (steam bath) with him. I had resolved before coming to Japan that onsen were not really my cup of tea: while I consider myself to be fairly open-minded and comfortable enough with my body to be naked, I resolutely decided I did not want to be naked around my father in law. Just not my cup of tea.




Satomi’s grandma was, as they always are, very sweet. A gentle, charming old lady, she was keenly interested in Australian life, and fired question after question at me through Satomi about where I lived, and all manner of details about my life at home. Little did I realize it at the time, but she had presented Satomi with a very large sum of money a couple of weeks back… sort of pre-payment for all of the special moments and events in our lives that she will unfortunately miss out on due to us being in Australia. One feeling I couldn’t shake, and still can’t, is the desire to have Satomi’s grandma, and my grandma, sit in a room for an afternoon and have a natter over endless cups of tea about their respective lives. Both are around the same age, and would have had some interesting comparisons about their experiences. I’m not sure if that would ever be possible, but it would be great to see.




Anyway, we headed back to Inami and settled back to home life. As we sat down for dinner, Satomi and I decided now was the time to officially tell the family of our wedding plans and show them the ring. Unfortunately, Otosan has downed a few beers by this stage and was a little drunk… he did not like or appreciate the way we had gone about this. He wanted to be asked in the traditional way for his permission to marry his daughter. Realising we’d stuffed up, we decided to leave the matter go for the night, and approach it the next morning with soberness. So we headed off to the next little town, Fuchuno, where a cute little hippy festival was on. Much the same as hippy festivals in Aus, it offered a range of homemade novelties and foods, as well as some cool music. Certainly not something I thought I’d see in country Japan.

Travel Diary - 24 August

Day 3: Kyoto to Inami

The day started off well, rose to great in the middle, descended into absurdity, chaos and mayhem (mixed with a fairly liberal sprinkling of extreme discomfort) and ended with pleasantness. Let me explain.

We kicked off with a short bus ride up to Kinkakuji Temple, a huge sprawling Golden Temple built originally in the 1220s as a “holiday home” for the emperor. And while I’m sure it was a great place for him to visit, what, with its walls made of solid gold leaf and all, unfortunately now it has descended into tourist madness. Sure, all of the temples and shrines in Japan probably have an element of the tourist drive behind them, but the others we visited seemed to understate the importance of the yen and focused instead on the cultural significance. Not the Golden Temple. Its gaudy golden façade was only exceeded by the raw push for you to buy something. The path through the beautiful gardens surrounding the temple offered no places to sit and contemplate, and neither did the smatterings of gift shops surrounding. While I did enjoy the experience, it was not what I had hoped for from something so impressive, so we quick-stepped to the bus stop for the short trip down the hill to Ryoanji Temple.

After a quick stop off to wash our hands before meeting god (it’s what you do, apparently) we entered the building and made our way to the western porch to sit and contemplate arguably the world’s most famous dry raked gardens. Despite the tourists dotted around us, the Zen garden was blissfully peaceful and offered us a glimpse into the simple joys and pleasures of the uniformity of the Japanese culture. While deep in contemplation, I decided now was the time and place for the “official proposal”. As I fished the ring from my pocket, I briefly entertained the thought of going down on one knee, but since we were both sitting on our bums, it seemed a bit pointless. Luckily, she said “Yes” and even more luckily the ring fit. So, we excused ourselves from the Zen moment and left the temple more official in the eyes of everyone as an engaged couple. Now it was just a matter of telling or asking the family!




Before that, however, was one of the most harrowing traveling experiences I’ve ever had. While this was my first overseas trip, I do consider myself a seasoned traveler, and have covered the length of Australia many times over. I’ve been faced with floods, heatwaves, severe storms, even the coldest day or record, while in transit and have dealt with it all. I’ve numbed my bum on countless 30-hour bus rides up and down the east coast without experiencing anything more than pleasure. But the train ride from Kyoto to Toyama to make it to Satomi’s house was one of the most awful and has gone down in Ben folklore as a story to tell for some time. And it was by far the worst possible way of preparing for the meeting of the in-laws!

In the spirit of economy, we booked non-reserved seats for the train journey. Which was fine, I thought, as we’d just have to sit anywhere and may not get to sit together. It was not to be, however, as Japan Railways must have decided to base their business model on the Indian Rail network and overbook the entire non-reserved carriages. While we lined up at least 30 minutes in advance, by the time we got onto the carriage, every single seat was taken and we were forced to stand in the cramped doorway, with all of our bags and belongings. What made it worse, was the fact that there was no air-conditioning, and the sun was setting on the same side of the train we were cramped into. After a day of sight-seeing, it was not the most pleasantly smelling place in the world.

My fear mechanism kicked pretty quickly, and I had to focus all of my energy to not going absolutely nuts and scaring the hell out of everyone around me. Unfortunately, poor Satomi wore the brunt of my stress attack and we settled into a 2 hour silent journey from hell. As the stations wore on, the people thinned out, but not in the no smoking section. A couple of seats became available in the smoking carriage, but even as a smoker I couldn’t deal with the stinging eyes and lack of oxygen, so I retreated back to the relative comfort of the doorway.

Thankfully, the journey wasn’t a terribly long one, and before long it was over and I could again relax. Squeezing into Satomi’s cute little 4-wheel-drive, we patched up our previous argument just in time to meet the in-laws. That in itself was not as stressful or uncomfortable as I first feared, with her family immediately welcoming me to their home and their lives. Even with the language difficulties, we managed to bond over a beautiful dinner and great alcohol and chatted into the night.

I also fell deeply in love with Satomi’s home. An old, worn traditional Japanese farm house, it is, for want of a better term, very lived in. It basically comprises of 2 segments, the actual living areas, which are tattered and torn and stocked to the roof with stuff, as well as the formal side, which is pristine and gorgeous and very traditional. Built about the same time as European settlement of Australia, it hadn’t changed much apart from some room additions and cosmetic touch ups. It is a rambling house with curious little nooks and crannies and by no means of any similarity to any western house I’ve been to. Satomi was worried and stressed before I got here, as she felt that I would not like what she sees as dirtiness or messiness. On the contrary, I felt immediately at home and have loved hanging out here. The 4 buildings are bordered on all sides by rice fields, which by this time of the year are long, but not long enough to harvest.

Making me feel even more at home has been Satomi’s family. Okasan (Japanese for Mum) and Otosan (Dad) have been extremely welcoming and loving, and have immediately taken me into the family. While Satomi has been a little frazzled as the only bi-lingual person in the house, we have still managed to have some great conversations and bonding moments over the dinner table. Otosan, a notorious drinker, is also a very easy drunk and tends to err on the side of caution. He has been challenging me drink for drink of beer-u, scotch and sake almost every night we’ve been here, but has had to bow out early in deference to my superior liver. Or something like that. Maybe he just doesn’t want me to make a fool of myself by getting slavishly drunk… who knows?

Travel Diary - 23 August

Day 2: Kyoto.

The morning broke, and I was so happy to be waking up next to my girl. And knowing that I will be doing the same thing for the rest of my life, made me so happy. I know, it sounds soppy and romantic, but there is nothing more special that opening your eyes and seeing the person who means so much to you, laying there next to you. It was made even more special by the fact that it was in her country, and that it followed a period of separation. But enough of the soppy stuff, let’s get on with the day.

Kyoto was Satomi’s choice of place, over Osaka. It’s considered the romantic heart of Japan, and was mercifully sheltered from US bombing during WWII after the intervention of one of the architects of the H-bomb mission, Harry Stimson, due to its “cultural significance”. The results are fascinating, with the old world charm being retained even today, and being witnessed with the tiny, almost impossibly, small streets and alleyways.

We wandered back to Kyoto Station in daylight this time, and were greeted by the sights of tiny little Zen gardens attached to the archetypal Japanese house. The scene would have been totally out of Karate Kid, if not interrupted every 50metres or so by a vending machine. I had been warned about the vending machines, but didn’t realize they permeated this much. Selling mostly cold drinks and cigarettes, the machines are well frequented and are seriously omni-present. But the cute factor does wear off pretty quickly, and they almost fade away into the accepted streetscape.

We targeted a few key areas today for our sight-seeing mission, with the public transport system being cheap and relatively easy to negotiate (albeit, constantly packed). We headed immediately out to Sanjusangen-do, a massive temple built in 1164, but completely refurbished in 1266 after a fire. The huge temple building is about as long as a football field, and inside it boasts 1001 statues of the Buddhist deity. Unfortunately, no pictures were allowed inside. Which is, I suppose, fortunate, as the photo opportunities were vast. After a while, though, the novelty wore off and the gold statues became just “an attraction”. We departed and made our way to Gion – a cute little shopping and restaurant district noted for its intricate and confusing alleyways and home to the traditional heart of the geisha. We even spotted some who could have been true maiko, but there are also a fair smattering of fakes for the tourists. As we sat down to my first Japanese meal, I was greeted by an omelette-like pancake concoction, filled with fishy, slimey, runny, raw things. Not in itself all that disgusting, but very hard to deal with with my limited chop-sticking abilities.

With lunch over, we decided to brave the humidity and head south towards the beautiful Fushimi Inari-Taisha Shrine, which was established in 711 as a means for bringing luck and fortune to businesses. The shrine itself is unimportant, but behind it is a mass of torii (red arch-type things) which line the path up a hill. There are literally thousands of these things, with the sun shining though giving the path a beautiful glow and a cool respite from the oppressiveness of the humidity. The two digital cameras were working overtime at this point.



After the calm, we headed back to downtown Kyoto for a wander around, before retreating to the air-conditioned hotel to ready ourselves for dinner. Satomi’s grandma had kindly handed her some money before the trip to ensure we went to a proper Japanese restaurant as a welcoming gift from her to me. And what a feast! After wandering around Gion on at night, searching for an authentic Japanese dining experience (plus also trying to catch a glimpse of a geisha scurrying around in the shadows), we settled on a tiny, nondescript doorway of a restaurant called Rumble. Despite the name, we were treated as kings from the moment we stepped inside. Seating ourselves at the bar table, we enjoyed the experience of the chef/cook preparing the 9-course meal. It was an experience I will never forget, and all for the right reasons. While the menu consisted of things that even thinking about them now makes my stomach churn (yes, I did eat sweet-fish innards… and liked it!) it was the “vibe” which truly took the cake. My first proper meal in Japan, and enjoying it in such great company and with the love of my life holding my hand throughout… who could ask for more? If this was the style of Japan, then I never want to leave.

Travel diary - August 22

So here we are, day 11 of a 13 and a half day Japanese adventure. It’s hard at this point to be removed enough from the experience to explain how I am feeling, but it’s certainly on the “happy times” side of the ledger. Today (Sunday, September 2) is the last full day and night we are spending with Satomi’s family, so it’s a time filled with a subtle, but very present, air of sadness. We’re not sad to be going home and starting our new lives together, but we are sad to be saying good bye to the Nagai clan. And so, being so close to the end, it’s probably the most appropriate time to begin what I should have started about 10 days ago – a blog diary. It will be long, it will probably bore some of you to tears, but at least it will be documented.

Day 1 (22 August): Brisbane Airport, Brisbane to Sydney, Sydney to Osaka, Osaka to Kyoto.

An early riser, I had no troubles at all getting up and packing and readying myself for a full 18 hours of almost constant traveling. Much to Satomi’s angst, I only ever pack on the day I leave – a sort of ritual. My theory is that if there’s something I leave behind, I really don’t need it. So, the packing done, the amenities utilized and the passport, wallet and tickets in the pocket, it was off to the great sky adventure.

Beforehand, I had asked a lot of questions of seasoned international travelers I know in order to prepare myself for my first trip. Thinking I had everything sorted, I set off with confidence only to be met by the first obstacle – a traffic jam. No sweat, we’d allowed ourselves a little bit of buffer time, but it was eating into my precious gift buying schedule at the duty free shops. With 15 minutes to spare before check in closed, we arrived at the airport and the reality set it. And the reality repeated itself numerous times throughout the day – international travel is just about testing ones’ patience in slow-moving queues. No one told me about this! And, as anyone knows, I am not the most patient cookie in the cookie jar, so it was certainly a test. The check in queue was not to be the longest of the day, it turned out, but it was the most frustrating. And it was here that I resolved to seriously consider upgrading my well worn army duffel bag to a swish case with wheels. Stooping over constantly to pick up your bag only to set it down about 50cm further along the line was indeed tedious.

With check-in done, I power-shopped for a full 20 minutes (buying the essentials – another book, a magazine and some dodgy presents to give as omiyage in Japan), before joining yet another queue to get through immigration. This one was one of the most frustrating of the day – a snaking line about 10 deep, in a small, cramped and stuffy room. No conversation, no eye contact and certainly no line cutting. All of this, just for some surly looking matron to take a peek at my passport picture, then an almost derogatory sneer at my face to ensure the both matched. And I was through. A quick sit down was in order, before I was called to join the next queue to get on the plane. Being a round trip (Osaka-Brisbane-Sydney), the plane was already half full with the tourists heading for a holiday in Sydney. With an older Japanese lady sitting next to me, it was no major drama. She kept to herself and politely fell asleep in a tight ball facing away from me. And before I know it, we’re in the air and my trip has begun.

With nowhere near enough time to settle into the joys of plane travel, the descent starts and we hit the tarmac in Sydney. Even though it was the exact same plane, and the exact same seat for the next leg of the trip, Jetstar insisted everyone got off to go back through customs again. 2 more queues. The entire hour-long stopover in Sydney was spent in queues! I know it wasn’t their fault, but it just made me hate Sydney even more.

Getting back on the plane, I was the first on, and watched eagerly for the passenger destined to share the next 9 hours in my personal space. As the pilot called for the cabin crew to arm and cross-check the doors, the seat beside me remained vacant. I was a little disappointed that I wasn’t going to have a travel buddy, but that was until I discovered that the arm-rest raised up, giving me a full double seat to stretch out. The trip was relatively uneventful, and despite my best efforts with Scotland’s finest brew, I was unable to disgrace myself in the air Pete Townshend-style.

Descending to Kansai, the night was exploding all around as the heavens decided now was a good time for a bit of instability and lightening. “I can handle a few bumps,” I thought to myself, until one helluva splash of light outside my window, a stomach churning drop and witnessing the cabin crew almost running to the safety of their jump seats, had me leaving fingernail marks in the arm rests.

We smacked the tarmac hard and taxied for an eternity before the doors opened and I was greeted by what naturally accompanies the storm clouds outside – oppressive humidity. I mean, not just Brisbane humidity, but the type of humidity that you get in the wet tropics. The humidity that usually sees you stripped off to the waist, with wet towel wrapped around your forehead. It was certainly not the type of humidity that goes well with slacks, a t-shirt, an over shirt and boots. So, before I’d even reached the relative safety of the immigration queue, I was already searching for the nearest shower to strip off and cool my bones. But it was not to be, as I was faced with the queues to end all queues, as about 3 international flights arriving within the space of 5 minutes, saw the Kansai arrivals hall resemble a busy subway station at peak hour. And it was here that I made the fatal queuing error – I succumbed to queue envy. After arriving in the immigration line towards the front of my group of passengers, I jumped between what I perceived to be the fastest moving queues… and, yes, ended up being one of the last to be processed. But I got through the first check point without so much as even a cursory grunt or glance by the immaculately uniformed official. I headed downstairs, collected my familiar army duffel and was pleasantly surprised to see it still in one piece. Either the Japanese sniffer dogs were resting, or were put off by the other pungent odours that have accumulated in that bag during the past 15 years of hard traveling, to not notice that the last time I used it, it housed a small amount of a substance which would be enough to get me deported immediately. After declaring nothing, I wandered through the huge electronic doors and into the waiting arms of Satomi.

For 7 months we had been dreaming of this moment. I had never experienced it before: falling into the arms of your lover after being apart for some time. And while the hug was beautiful and sweet, it was tempered by the fact that public displays of affection are kind of frowned upon in Japan, as well as my own insecurities about my now dripping with sweat body. After a quick introduction with Rie, Satomi’s friend who had accompanied her to the airport, we set off for the ticket office to get the train to Kyoto. Walking into the office was the first, and probably only, real cultural shock moment of the trip. I had sort of “zoned out” to the sound of Japanese announcements and writing during the flight, so the sights and sounds of real life Japan didn’t really affect me. It was the smell inside the ticket office which struck me as the most cultural different between the two countries. It was a smell of stale, thousand-body sweat, mixed with the smell of stale, thousand-cigarette butts. For all its progress and development, Japan is still stuck in a time-warp (by our standards) of allowing smoking in almost every building and crevice in every part of the land. Even as a smoker, I am still finding it confronting to have someone smoke around me while dining (although, it hasn’t stopped me lighting up at the end of a meal!); and smoking on trains was to play a key part of one of the most horrendous travel experiences of my life to date (more to come on that later).

So we got out tickets, and headed for the train for the hour and a bit ride to Kyoto. The street lights whizzing by meant nothing to me, as I couldn’t stop touching and hugging and kissing the beautiful being who was sitting beside me. Before long, we arrived at Kyoto Station, and the short walk through the tiny little streets to the tiniest little hotel room. It was seriously small, with not even enough room to walk normally around the double bed. But I didn’t care, as I settled into the covers and wrapped my girl tightly around my body and said good-bye to the beginning day of a truly special time.

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