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?
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