Category Archives: Travel

To Recap: In May, 2012 I went to Asia on the “Three-Countries-Three-Weeks-Three-Kids” tour. The first stop on this once-in-a-lifetime trip was Shanghai, followed by several days in Seoul. Now I was footloose and fancy-free (i.e., lost a lot) in Kyoto, Japan.

As I mentioned last time, in Shanghai and Seoul I was shown around town most of the time by my daughter or my son. In Kyoto, my daughter was in school during most of the day, so I was out on my own, figuring it out as I went along. As long as you don’t have a strict timetable or an appointment to get to, you don’t get mugged (relatively low odds), and you don’t get arrested (probably even lower odds) this is known as fun.

It was a drizzly day, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me. After an “interesting” breakfast at the hotel (again, I declined the “Western” breakfast and took the “local” one, which was most certainly not Cheerios, eggs, and toast, but was nonetheless tasty) I went across the street to Kyoto Station and go on the train to head out toward the landmark shrine that I wanted to see.

This wasn’t the shrine I was expecting. It’s a great example of how every single vacant lot in the country has something growing on it. However, I had been expecting to be across the street from the entrance, and this wasn’t it. I could have gone back down into the station to figure out where I had gone wrong, get on another train, and gotten to the correct place that way — but where’s the fun? I was pretty sure that I was close, maybe I had just gotten off one exit early. It’s, let’s see, over that way I think. Right? What could go wrong? I started walking.

At least I had finally found a main street. I think. At a minimum, there weren’t any crops growing here. So I headed down this way, under that bridge. At that building you see at the end of the street about two blocks down I finally found a sign for a tiny, local temple, which let me figure out where exactly I was. Then I walked back down this street to where I took this picture toward my goal, which was a mile or so behind me.

While wandering aimlessly, I simply love the different streetscapes and common scenes that are at once both familiar and totally unfamilier. (Remember the laundry poles hanging out over the street in Shanhgai?) Power lines and telephone lines? Totally normal — except that they’re strung like a huge spider web, the sidewalks are tiny, the cars are on the wrong side of the street, and all of the signs are using an alphabet you can’t read. Lovely!

At last, I’m at least getting closer, and I’m getting the scenic tour of everyday Kyoto. If it would drizzle just a little bit less, we would be golden.

I found the train station I had been expecting! Or rather, I found two train stations, about a block apart, on two different train lines. The one across the street from the shrine is on the JR Nara Line. The one just down the street and on the other side of the river is on the Keihan Electric Railway.

Remember I had said when I came into the country and had to get from Osaka to Kyoto, I didn’t understand there were multiple train companies on multiple lines and their systems and fares were not interchangeable? This would be where I figured that out, the hard way. On the train I had gotten on at Kyoto Station (apparently on the Keihan line), I either had gotten off at the wrong station (and then walked the wrong way for a while) or I should have gone up a station or two and changed trains on that line to get back to here. Or I should have just taken a  JR Nara train at Kyoto Station.

Who knew? Not a mistake I would make again, now that I had earned my wisdom through experience. (Fun!)

I had spent about 1:45 walking around to find the shrine (the tour book said it was five minutes away from Kyoto Station on the JR Nara line), but it was all good. (How many other tourists get to see that cabbage patch or those two busy streets?) This was the street that I had been told about leading up to the shrine’s entrance, but most of the shops were closed. But there were still vending machines everywhere! That red arch at the end of the street, a torii gate is an excellent sign.

If you’ve not been fortunate enough to yet travel to foreign lands with languages you neither speak nor read, fear not. Book that flight! This is typical of what you see when you travel and how you get around and figure it out. A map is a map, especially since most touristy maps will have pictures. When in doubt, it’s probably safe to assume that that red note with an arrow at the center bottom is Japanese for “You Are Here.” Look around, compare what you see to what’s on the map, and it’s pretty clear that the two green blocks next to it and below it are the train station.

It’s nice to see that they have “WC” symbols clearly marked — for Americans, that means “water closet”, i.e., a bathroom. Just don’t expect a Western-style bathroom. More on that in a later post.

It turned out I was actually at the small entry gate just to the left of the main gate. But I was here!

Fushimi Inari-taisha is the primary shrine of Inari Okami, the primary kami (Shinto spirit) of fertility, rice, saki, and agriculture. Often depicted as a fox, both/either male and/or female, Inari is usually depicted as a pair of foxes (one male, one female) with symbols of prosperity (such as a shock of wheat) in their mouth. The vermillion torii gate is a symbol of Inari and what makes this site so incredibly spectacular.

(Fair warning — “Kyoto (Part Three)” through “Kyoto (Part Eight)” over the next two months will be from Fushimi Inari, with the other sights of Kyoto to follow afterward. I found Fushimi Inari to be on a par with the Grand Canyon for its beauty and atmosphere. And took a LOT of pictures, accordingly.)

The main temple, which is at the base of Inari Mountain. Flanking the steps you can see two fox statues, each wearing red yodarekake (votive bibs or neck scarves). As you can see in the map above, this is just the beginning. Now that I had found it, there was much to see and explore here.

I am not (and never expect to be) what one might refer to as a “beach bum.” I do not surf, in large part because I have issues with swimming. But in the mellowing and wisdom of my advancing years I have become more enamored of activities involving the water (for example, I’ve learned to love kayaking) and I’ve grown to like the beach.

I don’t go to the beach to get a tan (I don’t tan, I burn, and skin cancer doesn’t sound pleasant) or to go swimming (see above). But I do find it to be a calming and often beautiful place, especially since there are often interesting pictures to be found in the surf, sea birds (gulls, terns, pelicans, and so on), sea critters (seals, dolphins), sunrises and sunsets, clouds, and the play of light on the water. To name but a few.

California does have some marvelous beaches. On the down side, they can be hideously crowded in or near the city on a summer weekend day. Also, after one of our rare storms moves in and washes months and years of accumulated toxic crap out of the sewers and storm drains into the surf, the water isn’t a healthy place to be for a few days.

But if you go just a bit away from the big cities you can avoid much of the crowd problem. And as we all know, the solution to pollution is dilution.

In the end, one of the best things I like about our beaches is that even an idiot like me can get pictures like this, if I’m lucky and patient:

I have to go where?

When? Tonight?

But I haven’t…

I promised who? When?

But I still need to…

Now?

Can I at least…

Here. Have a picture from Saranac Lake. I really liked the reflections of the clouds and trees in the water.

To Recap: In May, 2012 I went to Asia on the “Three-Countries-Three-Weeks-Three-Kids” tour. The first stop on this once-in-a-lifetime trip was Shanghai, followed by several days in Seoul. Then it was on to Kyoto, Japan.

When I arrived in Shanghai and Seoul, I was met at the airport by my daughter or my son. They had been “in country” for a while and knew how to navigate through the transportation system and get to my hotel, so it was really a piece of cake. By the time that I went out on my own to wander for any length of time, I was at least partially acclimated and didn’t look like a total, 100% lost American tourist (despite the way I dressed).

Arriving at Kansai International in Osaka, my daughter was at school, so I got to figure out on my own how to get from Osaka to Kyoto on the train, get to my hotel by myself, and so on. It was an adventure and I loved it!

First of all, Kansai is built on an artificial island out in Osaka Bay. That’s pretty cool to begin with, especially to an airplane geek like me. Once there and through customs, it was not quite rocket science to figure out how to get to Kyoto, about 100 kilometers to the northeast. What confused me was that I didn’t realize there were different and independent train companies running all over the place.

Here in the US, there’s just Amtrak for long-distance hauls and various “metro” systems locally. If you get an all-day ticket for the metro system, it generally doesn’t matter if you’re on a subway, bus, or light rail. They’re all part of the same system, interchangeable. Not in Japan, apparently. There are multiple trains running between cities and multiple local metro options, but you can’t necessarily substitute one for the other. It’s not just a choice between an express or a local, or between a luxurious train and a commuter train. It’s a choice between Train Company A, Train Company B, and in some cases, Train Company C. Each comes with different stations, different tracks, different schedules, and different tickets. Once it clicks in and you figure it out, it’s not that big of a deal, but it does remind you that you should have left your assumptions at home.

Once I was on the train to Kyoto for the hour-long trip, it became obvious how valuable every inch of land was in Japan. This was also true in China and Korea, but it seemed to go to another level in Japan. Shanghai is crowded, Seoul is really crowded, but Japan has turned space utilization into an art form.

Perhaps one reason it seemed that way was the way that fields and rice paddies were cheek to jowl with huge metropolitan areas, and it all seemed to be one, huge metropolitan area. Everywhere I went in Osaka and Kyoto, I quickly learned not to be surprised if I rounded the corner of a busy city intersection and found a half-acre plot of some food crop growing. Space is not wasted there.

This was also true of the hotel room. In Shanghai I was in a “Western-style” hotel (which seemed to be more like the 1960’s or 1970’s version of Western, but close enough) and in Seoul I was staying in a hotel built by the US Army for military personnel and their families, so it was a lot like being in a Holiday Inn or an older Marriott.

In Japan, I was really in a different environment. The room and bathroom combined might have been 150 square feet, or it might have been closer to 125, but it was one of the “large” rooms in the hotel. Again, a very nice reminder that we weren’t in Kansas anymore, which after all, was the point of the trip!

On the other hand, there were some nice, very non-American amenities included. On the near corner of the desk above you can see the pajamas that were laid out for me (and folded each day by housekeeping)…

…every day I had a different tiny origami critter left on my pillow…

…and the toilet really had me feeling like Jed Clampett just after he discovered the “cee-ment pond” in the back yard.

It was fun to play with, I’m not going to lie, but I kept worrying that I would push the wrong button and need to be rescued. Thank goodness for that big, orange-red, “STOP” button there, just in case. With a variable-temperature heated seat, various combinations of water sprays, temperatures, and water pressure… Yeah, you don’t get that at the Holiday Inn in Sheboygan.

Following dinner where I finally met up with my daughter, I got to prowl the area around Kyoto Station. (My hotel was across the street — nice place, I liked it.)  At night, Kyoto is lit up like a Christmas tree, as were all of the other Asian cities I saw.

Again with the huge tower in the middle of the city, complete with 360-degree views at the top. It’s no Pearl Tower, but impressive nonetheless and a great landmark to look for when I would get lost. (This literally saved me at least twice when I got off the subway at the wrong station inadvertently, and could tell as soon as I got to street level because the tower wasn’t where I knew it had to be.)

One thing a friend had told me about Japan was that you could buy anything in a vending machine. I found this to be eerily true. OK, I didn’t see any 747’s or cars for sale in vending machines, but I did see every sort of electronic device and accessory, thousands and thousands of different types of food and drink (hot, cold, or anywhere in between), beer, hard liquor, cigarettes and cigars, clothing (including hats & ties), sunblock and medicines, books, CD’s, DVD’s, cameras, batteries, memory cards, film, office supplies… It was quite amazing.

It was a very “Blade Runner” moment being out on the streets of Kyoto in the late evening with huge electric billboards and displays everywhere, only to find back alleys off of the main streets that were filled with glowing vending machines.

Some of the machines were full of selections that wouldn’t have been that much out of place at an interstate highway truck stop in Texas.

Others, not so much.

Then you would get the ones that were all total unknowns and wild-ass guesses (tea? water? flavored water or plain? alcoholic or non-alcoholic?) with a container of Welch’s Grape Juice all alone in the middle, a stranger in a strange land.

I learned that “CC Lemon” is addictive, at least to my daughter.

I learned that “Diet Coke” is actually “Coca-Cola Lite” in a very similar package, and really, really NOT what I know as Diet Coke. (Diet Coke is my caffeine substrate of choice.)

I learned that “water” is at least 50/50 likely to be flavored, even though it looks like just plain old water. In my three weeks in Asia I ended up getting water flavored with lemon, lime, peach, strawberry, orange, and watermelon. I’m sure that it said on the label what it was, but it said it in Chinese or Korean or Japanese. It is quite the surprise to expect “water” and get “peach-flavored water”. I learned to sip when I first opened a bottle to figure out what I had bought. It was a bit like eating Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans on the train to Hogwarts. You never quite knew what you would get next.

When you get back from a vacation, you find yourself scrambling like crazy to catch up on tasks, commitments, and responsibilities that got shuffled aside while you were gone.

I’m dancing as fast as I can tonight — talk among yourselves, enjoy this picture from a hike on an Adirondack trail that I’ll no doubt tell you about in excruciating detail with many more pictures at some unspecified, amorphous date in the future.

In Southern Vermont, just a mile or two west of the Connecticut River, between Springfield and Bellows Falls, you will find the Rockingham Meeting House.

I remember going there on a field trip in high school and doing gravestone rubbings. We had a chance to stop there while on vacation in Vermont last week and I’m glad we did, so I could share the place and my memories of it with The Long-Suffering Wife.

Built between 1787 and 1801, the meeting house was originally used for governmental meetings, church services, and social events. It was not a “church” in the sense that we think of it today. To the people of the time, a “church” was a group of people who shared similar beliefs, while a “meeting house” was any place that they met. The Rockingham Meeting House was used by congregations of multiple denominations.

While not the first building in this part of New England, the Rockingham Meeting House is by far the best preserved today in its original condition. It was declared to be a National Historic Landmark in 2000 and the building is still in use for events such as weddings.

Two stories tall, the upper balcony is reached by steep staircases on either side. The building was originally built with no method of heating, so winter church services would have been an exercise in fortitude.

The more prominent members of the community would have their own pew box. While this meant that some of the congregation would have their backs to the pulpit, they believed that hearing the word of God was what counted, not watching the minister.

The pulpit was impressive, although those stairs are narrow and steep. I managed to get up onto the pulpit and survey the room without falling and breaking my neck, or being hit by lightning. I figured it was my one chance, if you know what I mean.

The pulpit has been rebuilt and repaired over the years, but the sounding board above it is original. You can also see that the walls are covered with windows. Of course, in the late 1700’s there were no other methods of lighting the interiors other than candles or oil lamps. Up close you will notice that the glass is hand-made, with waves, bubbles, and imperfections that none of us have ever seen in our machine-manufactured glass panes.

Outside (in the rain on this particular afternoon) was the first community cemetery for the area, and one which remains in use to this day. As I wandered about in the rain I could see a few modern headstones. The most recent one that I saw was for 1957, but there are graves here as recent as 2007.

It is always interesting to me to wander through these old, old cemeteries. I find the headstones, particularly the very old ones, to be fascinating. Some of them were artistic and ornate in their day, but if their day was over 225 years ago they’ve become faded, worn, moss covered, and difficult to read.

That’s where the gravestone rubbings come in. If you place a large piece of paper over the headstone and then gently rub the surface with a pencil, charcoal, or even a crayon, the characters and artwork underneath will be revealed.

I didn’t have the materials or the time to do any rubbings, but I went hunting for the oldest headstones I could find.

“Sacred to the Memory of Betty Lane Who Died June 22nd 1791 In the 34 year of her Age & alfo her Twins, one ftill-born the others age 3 days” (I’m quoting verbatim, including the archaic spellings, which often use an “f” where we would use an “s.”)

“In Memory of Mrs Elifabeth White Wife of Captn Jonah White She Died July 2nd 1786 in the 61 year of her Age”

This rubbing is found inside the eastern stairwell. The gravestone can be seen below.

“Lieut. SAMUEL W PULSIPHER died July 14, 1817 Aged 35 years & 6 mons”

“In Memory of Mercy Daugh’tr of Mr Peter Evans & Mrs Mercy his Wife She Dec’d Aug [illegible] 1777”

“In Memory of Betse Daughter of Mr [Jacob?] & Tammafon Earl She died [illegible] 1778 [illegible] 61 [illegible]”

This one’s pretty illegible all the way around due to the moss and lichen growing on it, but that was part of the reason I liked it. “In memory of Dina Gilmore,” daughter of Mr. John and Mrs. Margaret [illegible], died some time in March, 1791. “In memory of Elizabeth Gilmore,” also daughter of John & Margaret, died in 1797, aged 24 years (maybe).

The Rockingham Meeting House might be easy to miss if you’re not looking for it. But if you’re passing through and have an hour to spare, it’s worth your while to look for it. (Bring some big sheets of paper and crayons!)