Finally . . . Kyoto

After nearly four years of living in Japan, I can now add Kyoto to the places I’ve seen in this country. In truth, I haven’t traveled extensively in Japan at all: Yokosuka to Yokohama or Tokyo mostly, with winter forays to ski locations—to include Hokkaido, mind you—and that pretty much sums up all my travel adventures in Japan . . . until Memorial Day weekend.

Theresa—a friend and colleague who has lived in Japan FIVE years, who has received a transfer to Sigonella and will move to Sicily this upcoming summer, and who had never been to Kyoto either—and I rendezvoused at the Yokosuka-chuo train station early Saturday morning, just as train service began for a new day, so we could train it to Tokyo’s Shinagawa station. There we would connect with the Shinkansen, perhaps more famously termed the “bullet train,” headed to Kyoto. It would be the first trip on the Shinkansen for both of us as well.






Japan—beyond the vast sprawl of the Tokyo/Yokohama metropolis, a sprawl that long ago annexed Yokosuka, the city where I reside—still displays the sizes, shapes, and colors of the Japanese signature style of construction: cramped, functional, and largely aesthetically unsatisfying. The difference is that outside of its major cities Japan looks like pieces of a puzzle picture of Yokosuka dispersed across a table surfaced in rice paddies. (A rice paddy in my area is rare, miniscule, and always singular in number.)

That said, Kyoto is a truly Japanese city while Tokyo is an international city. And, despite all of its modern functionality, pockets of “old Japan” continue to exist within Kyoto. Along with the Gion district—think geishas—all manner of Buddhist temples and Shinto shrines, castles and palaces, have sites within the space of Kyoto. Nijo Castle, with its “nightingale floor,” and Fushimi Inari Taisha, with its thousands of torii gates, were my favorites of the places we visited.

Originally constructed in the seventeenth century as the official Kyoto residence for a Shogun, Nijo Castle is comprised of several buildings, including a palace where the Shogun actually lived. The palace has the “nightingale floor”—a floor that squeaks/chirps/sings like a nightingale when you walk on it. It was designed to help protect the Shogun from assassination, especially by ninjas! And, yes, shoguns, samurai, and ninjas are true characters in the story of Japan! No matter how quiet the footstep, the transfer of weight makes the floor sing. It is just so amazingly cool!

(DISCLAIMER: Because no photos are allowed to be taken inside the buildings, I have only exterior shots of Nijo Castle.)








Dedicated to the fox—farmers believed foxes were messengers of the harvest god—the shrine in Fushimi actually has over 10,000 torii covering the paths of various “philosopher walks” up and down a bamboo forested hillside. It, too, is way cool!

(That's Theresa philosophizing as she walks!)







If any of you will come visit me in Japan this next year, I promise to take you to Kyoto. Then you, too, can traipse across the “nightingale floor,” composing nightingale songs, and meander through tunnels of torii gates inside a bamboo forest.

Gion District edifice and geisha...who's probably not an authentic one...just a temporary geisha...someone who paid to be dressed and painted like a geisha for a few hours

90-Mile Beach and the Top of the North (part 2)

Dream Jobs and Ninety-Mile Beach

During the seventh Christmas season of my life, my mother took me to see The Nutcracker—an experience which revealed to me my first ever idea of a dream job: ballerina, of course! When I reflect on the various phases of my life, my notions of dream jobs cycle—dancer, writer, artist, sailor, dancer, artist, teacher, writer, teacher (could you guess that my favorite subjects in high school were English and art?) . . . and I feel exceedingly blessed that in reality I do have the chance to engage in the labor of a dream job. Even now, though, when people ask me what kind of job I would like to do besides teaching, I still feel drawn towards career paths involving art and writing. Set designer for the stage, cinematographer, film editor, . . . or writer! Yet, while in New Zealand one day in April, I had a fleeting dalliance with the possibility of another sort of dream career: bus driver on 90-Mile Beach!

Robin, our guide and bus driver for our tour “Cape Reinga via 90-Mile Beach,” informed us that the tour companies were looking to hire more “local lads” as driver/guides for this tour route. Obviously, “lad” and “local” would totally negate any application I might put forward, but, as we traveled away a morning along this national highway—90 Mile Beach—I couldn’t help but be seduced by such caprice. How would it be to drive along this achingly beautiful stretch of beach (more accurately speaking, about 65 miles long) every day, 364 days a year—no tours on Christmas Day—whatever the weather. I was enthralled from the instant we surrendered pavement for sand.

Okay, whether the tour starts with the journey along 90-Mile Beach or ends with it depends on the tide; low tide presents the preferred highway conditions. And Robin did admit that in certain weather conditions his most favorite moment of the tour is when he finally reaches the turn off to exit 90-Mile Beach! And, too, a proper driver must become acquainted with what portions of the beach look like when quicksand-ish properties are operational. Driving over such places works, but parking there for any length of time can quickly result in catastrophe. (We did view the rusting appendages of a few vehicles where a parking moment evolved into a more permanent relationship with the beach!)

Nevertheless, I suspect I could be rather easily convinced to learn how to drive a bus if my assigned route could be 90-Mile Beach!





Beth waits to reboard the bus after one of the photo ops on 90-Mile Beach




Other travelers...not in a rental vehicle and not on a tour


Robin locating pipis for us to sample, Robin opening the shell of a pipi to show us how its done, Beth with a pipi in hand, and me ready to consume one

I really liked pipis. A squirt of lemon--and Robin had fresh ones on hand--and they were even more delish!








The island with a hole in it--different views along 90-Mile Beach










At the northern end of 90-Mile Beach, we turn off and head toward the sand dunes to go sand boarding.

British History a la Television

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This last year several friends asked if I’d ever watched Showtime’s series The Tudors. Then, learning that I had not, each suggested that I might like it. In April, I succumbed and visited my Netflix queue, adding the first season of The Tudors to the lineup and sliding it to the top. With unplanned timeliness, the last movie I viewed, courtesy of Netflix, before commencing the foray into the realm of The Tudors was A Man for All Seasons, Sir Thomas More’s story during the very time frame the series begins.

And so I have started season one and am currently about half way through. Unlike my pattern while viewing a season of Lost, one episode per sitting fills me up. Watching Lost is like the adrenaline rush of skiing—amassing the details of slope, snow, skis, body, and speed at the very edges of control. Watching The Tudors is like reading The New York Times—intellectual density requiring focused analysis and critical questioning but often a satisfying endeavor in the end.

As one who has always thought Henry VIII and his world appalling on most levels, I have found it intriguing to watch an actor I like—Jonathan Rhys Meyers—portray him. This production does not attempt to rewrite history (at least with regard to Henry’s ego, ambition, and appetites) and so Henry does not endear himself to much of anyone in the viewing audience, but Meyers’ portrayal, as my friend Molly points out, does capture the charisma Henry must have exerted over so many.

The accepted brutality, social injustices, and unrighteous male dominance of this era often shock me; in fact, the perceived status and worth of women in is chilling. Granted, women learned ways of surviving, even how to achieve certain kinds of power, and in this sexed up production one witnesses first hand the feminine wiles employed at court. Really the only character I like very much so far is Sir Thomas More; one can’t help but admire his humanism, honor, and integrity. The few moments I almost like Henry are when he and More are discussing politics, law, or religion.

However, this last week I have had the boxed set of Lost, season four, in my possession, and Lost continues to sustain its preeminence in my viewing habits. Two more discs to go before I can return to the realm of King Henry VIII—despite the King in the guise of Jonathan Rhys Meyers!

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90-Mile Beach and the Top of the North (part 1)

During the flight’s descent into Auckland, I adjusted my watch to New Zealand time as the flight attendant’s voice announced details perhaps relevant to our arrival—you know, immigration and transit procedures, weather and time particulars. With Saturday, April 4, 10:30am—four hours ahead of Tokyo—established as arrival details, Beth and I wended our way around Auckland in our rental car and then meandered northward up the east coast. Late Saturday afternoon we settled in for the night at Waipu Cove. Sunday we continued our journey north along the east coast until we reached Kaitaia, the northernmost town with multiple retail and municipal structures, that afternoon.



Now, 90-Mile Beach--one incredibly long beach and also one of New Zealand's national highways--ranked at the top of our Northland to-do list with Cape Reinga following right behind. We also knew, though, that we would have to book a 90-Mile Beach and Cape Reinga excursion because rental car companies do not generally allow their vehicles to be driven on 90-Mile Beach; in other words, should you run into trouble on 90-Mile Beach while driving a rental vehicle, you own all costs involved with rescue, recovery and reparation for your own person and for the vehicle!


At our Kaitaia accommodation, we booked a full-day excursion—Cape Reinga via 90-Mile Beach—with a motel pick-up scheduled for 9:00 in the morning. Then we headed to the only serious grocery story in town to purchase picnic sustenance before commencing a wee jaunt, one suggested by the couple who ran our motel, to the southern end of 90-Mile Beach in time for sunset. With Greek salads, cookies, apples, and McDonald’s drinks (Beth indulged me with a drive-through detour on the way out of town) for dining purposes and an expanse of beach, endless sea, and a sky lit by a setting sun for viewing pleasures, what more could one ask for a memorable evening?


Monday morning we shuttled over to the McDonald’s for breakfast and had the establishment all to ourselves with the morning work crew all at our command, not even a vehicle in drive-through to divert their attention from us. Back at our motel, we finished packing our backpacks and moseyed over to the motel entrance to wait for our pick-up. Maybe five minutes or so later, the motel manager walked out. “Ladies, are you waiting for your pick-up already?” We nodded in the affirmative. “But, it’s only about 8:00. Your pick-up isn’t for another hour!”


Come to find out, New Zealand “fell back” to standard time Saturday night while Beth and I just continued to operate on daylight savings time all weekend long. It hadn’t made any difference to us or anyone else all day Sunday, but Monday played out differently. So, Sunday morning when I thought I awoke at 7:00 to begin this glorious run along a seemingly forever stretch of a virtually empty beach at Waipu Cove, I actually finished my run at about 7:00. And Monday morning when we awoke in time to be at McDonald’s by 7:30, we really arrived just after they opened.


After a good laugh with the manager, Beth and I puttered around for another hour in our motel room and bemoaned a missing hour of sleep. Then, at the true 9:00 hour, we had one more laugh with the motel manager when our pick-up arrived and he waved us off on our day’s adventure.






No wonder I had the beach at Waipu Cove all to myself...it was just after 6:00 in the morning!






We actually witnessed more than one vehicle stuck in the sand--usually at the entrance locations to the beach--and, on the Monday excursion, we viewed the remains of some vehicles that got stuck in quicksand on 90-Mile Beach.