4 posts tagged “trips. travel”
Too long, too long, but I don't want to dwell on that because the story I have to tell you about one of our prior destinations is just too interesting to focus on the lapse in writing (plus, well, I just like covering my tracks and stuff).
The Hub and I had made our goal, this first year, to visit our local areas in Kyushu via the MWR tours we had access to so we could then start rippling our traveling our further and further from our tiny home in Sasebo. We had signed up for the Kumamoto trip once before but was thwarted in our attempts to visit by a mistake on the tour company's part, which led to our exploring post from before about Jusco and the wonderful appliances found there for sale.
At any rate, we headed out on our typical bus with my coworker, Eriko-san, as our guide. After stopping for lunch at a mall called You-Me where we had a strange, cheesy pseudo-Italian breadbowl, we continued on with the history lesson I am about to relate as given to us by our adept speaker (settle in and get comfy, okay?).
In the 1500s, the Samurai class was very powerful but often fought among themselves. One Samurai named Nobunaga was extremely ambitious and very crafty, enlisting the people he thought would help him to the top most quickly, even if they were not of the traditional sort. His second-in-command, for example, was a Shogun named Hideyoshi who was nicknamed the "Monkey," both for his wisdom as well as his reported 2 thumbs on his right hand, which led to foolhardiness in his youth as a skilled tree-climber. Hideyoshi was born to a servent family, but his ability to understand the desires of the common man combined with his ability to quickly analyze and respond earned him much respect until Nobunaga promoted him to a Samurai after he defeated one of Nobunaga's enemies and a powerful warlord of the time.
When Nobunaga was assassinated by Katsuie, his other advisor, Hideyoshi and Katsuie fought for control of the territory, and although Hideyoshi was miles away from the castle, he marched his army day and night to fight, and defeat, Katsuie. Once he began rule, he determined that no longer would the samurai be only warlord but instead should be skilled in all forms of war and of art. His belief was that every person should be balanced, and because of this, he crafted the castle we stopped at later, while his advisor, Hosokawa, who was extremely crafty and later placed his own kin as the leader of the samurai class, began the garden we stopped at first. Japan, he believed, was comprised of 54 distinct areas, and his tribute was to create 54 corresponding areas within the garden.
Walking up to the entrance, we could spy a huge lake just beyond where a solitary white crane rested perfectly on one of the islands. Arched bridges connected the islands and led to a path that circled the lake entirely and invited each person to meander pleasantly, allowing the calm of the gardens to soak in while stresses melted away softly. Rounding the first corner, we found two Japanese women drinking from a fountain before a shrine; Eriko-san explained that the Japanese believe this to be the fountain of life and that one could not die soon after drinking from it. I took my chances and strayed away towards a picturesque group of torii gates that caught my attention a short distance from the fountain. So reminiscent of a scene from one of my favorite movies, Memoirs of a Geisha, I had to stop and admire. Coming up behind me, Eriko-san said that the red torii gates, when set so closely together, symbolized the entrance to a shrine dedicated to business or to money. Upon closer inspection, each of the gates had family kanji inscribed, which she then explained was a gift. The benefactor likely hoped it would bring extra blessings to give to such a place.
Hosakawa also believed that the samurai should be knowledgeable of the most ancient art of the tea ceremony and had a tearoom built to his specifications where he hosted other samurai, officials, and local citizens together. During the ceremony, all were of equal status, and blades were not allowed in, so just to the side, we found a spot where each samurai were forced to relinquish their blades or else not fit through the small door where one would have to crawl through to get into the tearoom. Although the side is open, as you can see in the picture, it was impolite to come through the area and thus block the view of the guests, so each person had to bend in half and crawl through. With a sword attached at the waist, a samurai would never have squeezed through, and thus Hosakawa ensured no one would be armed when coming to the ceremony.
After leaving the gardens, Eriko-san passed out newspapers to everyone so we might make our own samurai hats in preparation for our next stop at the Samurai Castle. Giggling, Hub and I posed for a picture that I'm very sure he never thought would make it online but which I could not pass up. He, however, refused to take the hat into the castle, and I opted to go au naturel (well, not-hatted, anyway!) as well, so as the driver parked our bus, we stashed our hats to the side and shuffled out the door to Kumamoto Castle, home of Hideyoshi and his Samurai. Though the castle is not the original (the original castle and most of the walls were destroyed in a fire and rebuilt in the 1970s), one of the turrets and part of the walls are and date back over 400 years in age. Opting to climb the original turret rather than the rebuilt castle (we didn't have time for both, really), Hub and I set off, removing our shoes at the door at the insistence of a small Japanese guide, placing them in plastic bags, and walking sock-footed up very narrow flights of stairs with no handrail made of 400 year old wood. Nerve-wracking? To say the least, yes! Climbing consisted of watching first for Japanese tourists who insisted upon coming down the stairs regardless of who might be coming up or of the fact that only one person could go at a time, shifting to the side to allow others to pass while gripping (anything--the walls if you could reach them, the ceiling, or the Hub!) with fingernails dug in as deeply as possible, and attempting to not slide on the well-worn wood which I imagine the guards likely braved with something more than socks. Still, climbing to the top to look out arrow-slits built four centuries ago to see the fortress grounds made impregnable by the high walls, slick with no handholds, and the moat. It was said even ninjas would not attempt to raid or to kill anyone staying within the castle, and patrons of the grounds could close the gates and live, comfortably, for weeks at a time via deep wells that led to fresh water supplies and tunnels to the neighboring farms for food.
This year, 2007, celebrates the 400th anniversary of Kumamoto Castle, so while we were there, we stopped a passing "samurai" warrior to snap a quick shot before loading back into the bus, stopping briefly at an old Samurai home, and then on to the house where we gladly rested our tired legs after climbing so many stairs!
To continue on our travels, but to make them separate entries so no one's eyes cross too badly...
Now, Hub and I have taken so many trips since we've been in Sasebo that the women working at the MWR office know us by name, which always makes me (proudly) think of myself as the travel-addicted version of Cliff from Cheers! on television. Knowing that near us is the world's largest indoor beach (the OceanDome), Hub went in to inquire about a tour there several months back and was pleased to find that one of our favorite travel agents recommended an upcoming, not-yet-released trip to a nearby island. Calling me for confirmation, he booked us the first seats on the bus, and I began relishing the thought of getting in some great board time, possibly a bit of cancerous tanning, before reporting to work the following week. We even managed to persuade other friends to join along after leaking out the good news to a few others.
Early Saturday morning, we boarded a bus, bound for a ferry port a couple of hours away; again, I have absolutely no clue where we actually picked up the ferry at. I tend to spend bus rides huddled in my own corner, praying desperately for the Dramamine to kick in, and hopelessly attempting to look as if the shade of green my skin has turned is completely normal and enviously flattering.
Once on the ferry, I found it easier to settle down, even snapping a quick shot with Hub while chatting with Andy and Becca who were sitting next to us (Andy trying to catch up on the final Harry Potter book while Hub was attempting to block out any conversations so he wouldn't hear spoilers since he just started the series). Sooner than we thought, we were deboarding the ferry, having arrived at Iki Island, reboarding the bus on our way to the beach.
I really meant to take a picture, as strange as this will sound, of the bathroom/changing room area as I keep forgetting to show everyone what a traditional Japanese toliet is like, but with the gigantic samurai spiders nesting in each corner, it was all I could do to peel off my clothes, slap on my swimsuit, and shuffle quickly out to guard the door for Becca's frantic attempts to do the same. Needless to say, I think we were both happy to walk out through the beach huts out onto the warm sand. Hub and I shared a rueful glance at the completely flat water, realizing a little late that the boards we'd lugged around were completely useless. Still, we swam, playing in the water and getting in enough salt to satisfy us for a solitary day before returning to set out for the hotel within Iki City.
Hub and I showered, dressed, and set out for a restraunt, guided by the maps our guide had thrust into our hands before we checked into our rooms. Spotting a yakiniku on the map, we walked the few blocks, stopping to take a picture of this plaque, obvious throughout the city as some sort of talisman, while a small group of teenage girls attempted to engage us and practice their English, giggling the entire time. We spoke to them for a few minutes before waving and continuing on, the trio following us like chattering puppies for a short time before disappointedly breaking away. Finding our doorway, to climbed to the second floor where we spotted another family from the tour trying to decide if they wanted to chance an all-kanji menu. The owner, a very sweet, older Japanese lady, advised that she knew English and could assist, so Hub and I shrugged and asked to be seated, sure we could figure things out on our own.
Ushered into our little room, sectioned off by sliding doors of the most delicate paper, we (Hub shot a nice pic of yours truly, I think) sat and waited for menus to arrive.
Only then did we realize just how WRONG we had been.
Our server, a young Japanese man, was extremely friendly, but it was obvious from the get-go just how little (to us)English he spoke and just how poor our Japanese was (to him). Our menu had no pictures, just amounts and characters written on 10 different pages. Alarmed, we began the wild gesturing (my favorite was when he pointed at one word, then at his tongue, signaling that we could order an entire round of tongue) that comes along with random, known words (we understood "kalbi;" he understood "beef"); looking fairly desperate, I finally spotted some artwork on the walls and used that to convey what we wanted. Unsure as to whether this yakiniku would supply vegetables, I pointed at a sign just behind Hub's head and noted that we wanted two orders. Feeling more confident, we settled back as he turned on the grill between us, and waited for our meats and veggies to arrive.
Imagine our surprise, a few minutes later, when he showed up with a couple of glasses of what appeared to be tomato juice! Confused, we shook our heads, and he pointed back at the sign of the vegetables I'd kept referring to; laughing, Hub deduced that what we thought was an order of different vegetables was actually fresh-juiced carrots and tomato. Blushing a deep red, I bowed from where I sat and gulpingly took a sip (I hate tomato juice) so as not to be rude.
Worried about what we might have ordered from our "friendly" picture helpers, we were relieved when the usual plate of meats and veggies arrived, and Hub began piling things on the grill with the tongs. Upon closer inspection, I realized that what we thought had been the usual meats actually was a lovely cut of steak, a thinly sliced bit of pork, chicken SKIN, beef KIDNEY and some sort of sausage whose contents I attempted to not think about. Asking for rice led to fish-flavored rice balls held together by a seaweed wrapper, which, thankfully, I manged to bite into before Hub had a chance (allergies and all). Having eaten bits and pieces (yes to the sausage of unknown origin, but a BIG NO to the chicken skin which was the chewiest and most disgusting substance I've ever put in my mouth in all of my years), the owner/host stopped by to see how we managed and to offer us "crawree." Puzzled, we shook our heads, but she seemed to understand that we hadn't grapsed what she meant and, grinning broadly, brought the two tinsiest cups of coffee I've ever spotted. Blushing red for the second time in one night, we tried to graciously accept our cups, sipped, then paid and left, bowing low for all the trouble we'd managed to cause in one sitting.
Leaving, we headed to the local RIC shop (convenience store) to stock up on goodies for the next day (my favorite might have been the crustless peanut butter and azuki bean spread sandwich I snagged, although Hub was really fond of the custard-filled biscuits) before throwing our sunburned selves onto the bed, tuckered out.
The next morning, we again checked out of the hotel, boarding the bus headed for a local, natural phenomenon known as "monkey rock." I found myself staring dreamily out at the water, replaying the previous day in my mind while vowing to be more on-top-of my sunscreen applications, only to turn to find that Hub, of course, had managed to find a local ice cream stand. Only him.
After hours of snorkeling among the coral reef (I actually saw a blowfish blow up--a first for me!), relaxing on the sand, we were ready for the journey home, snoozing along the way. I'm unsure if we'll ever visit Iki Island again, but our time was absolutely a refreshing point before the craziness of work descended. I can only hope we find a few more of those spots while here.
I seem to be backtracking in my ability to get out timely posts about our trips and our adventures here in the Land of the Rising Sun, so on this long Labor Day Weekend, my goal is to relate our latest little excursions for the masses (read: enjoy the pictures, cause I know that's what keeps most of you coming back).
Now, I've said before that Sasebo, while being 250,000 people strong, is actually considered a farming town; because of this, we lack a lot of the 'big city" resources--malls (or even multiple shopping arcades), a large selection of non-Japanese restraunts, and, most importantly to travelers, an airport. For those considering a visit, take note that the two nearest airports to my home are Fukuoka and Nagasaki, both equidistant really. Our friend, Kelly, was flying back to the States, and rather than deal with a train or wait for the Navy bus to come by, she asked us to pick her up at Fukuoka; thinking it a perfect time to explore more of the city we'd only really seen at two previous points (when we flew in and then when we went to the baseball game), the Hub and I readily agreed.
Knowing her flight came in late, we headed up after church, marveling at the signs along the way (most of which we couldn't read but enjoyed nonetheless)--every single town had its own small highway sign with a small, drawn picture depicting what they felt most important about their home. One had a traditional shrine gate, and another a temple doorway, but I was more surprised to see things like watermelons, strawberries, and rodents in other places! We would also see large, yellow flags warning us of the chance for rodents (or wild boars in SOME cases) potentially crossing the tollway. I kept trying to get a picture of one of those, as I nearly cracked up as much as I did the illegal immigrant sign in San Diego everytime I saw it, but alas, I failed.
Reaching Fukuoka, we parked at the airport's day lot and walked confidently into the subway, sure that if we could conquer Tokyo's lines, Fuk should be a snap. To our dismay, however, none of the signs were translated into English but were in full kanji, which we cannot read. Seeing our nervous faces, a friendly guard pointed out where we needed to stop once we explained where we hoped to go. Counting the stops from where we stopped til we disboarded, we made the transition, walked a few blocks, and came upon the Fukuoka Yahoo! Dome, which we'd visited earlier for the game. Snapping a quick shot of the giant Asahi can painted just outside, we wandered around the giant mall (easily remembered as Hawks Town) just next door where we languished for hours in the American-ness that was the Gap, Toys R Us, and, finally, Hard Rock Cafe.
Laugh all you want, folks; after enough time with only McDonalds, Mister Donuts, and KFC as your links to any American cuisine not of your own device, you'll run towards something familiar as well. :) Needless to say, I don't think I've ever tasted a Southwestern egg roll that was quite as divine, nor a pulled pork sandwich that I've enjoyed as much (not to say it was better than yours, Dad, but man--it's been a LONG time for some bbq).
Moving towards the train station again, we cruised over to the underground shopping area known as Tenjin (literally in meaning "underground'--the entire mall is underground), where I had to snap this picture of a movie playing at their local theater, just for you Harry Potter buffs back home. After that, we again rode to a stop that made the Hub break into a fit of very unmanly giggles: Eeny Meeny Miny Mo. Actually, it was another shopping area, but he couldn't get over the name and laughed everytime he saw it.
Opting to not run around in the mall, we strolled through the Kawabata Shopping Arcade, which wasn't as long as the one in Sasebo but definitely had different shops and lots of decorations for the passerby. At the end was, yet, another mall, Canal City (can you tell I have a shopping problem?), but I wanted to spend a bit of time near the Kushida Shrine, which, as you can see, was completely surrounded by the urban sprawl. Having been an extremely humid, sunny, and hot day, we were surprised to find that the wind picked up and large raindrops started coming down as we walked into the Shrine. Undeterred, I insisted upon visitng the actual Shrine to pay homeage, but was eventually pulled away by a superstitious Hub who believes that we might not be as welcome. He contends his astuteness at sensing these vibes with the knowledge that as soon as we exited through the entrance gate, the rain ceased, the wind slowed, and the sun came back out. I'll leave it to you to make your own determinations.
After that, we had just enough time to return to the airport, find Kelly, and then drive back home (where I promptly told the Hub to take the wrong tollway so we ended up several hours away and had to backtrack--oops); our goal is to spend a weekend in Fukuoka so we can explore the rest of the city which is one of the largest in Japan.
Of all the trips we've considered and/or scheduled, by far, Hub was more excited about the prospect of watching a professional sport over any shrine, temple, or festival I could ever suggest. Laughingly, I agreed to join him for a baseball game in Fukuoka for two reasons: first, I want him to enjoy all of our trips too and want to experience various parts of Japan with him, but secondly, I mean, who doesn't enjoy baseball, really?
The trip up to Fukuoka takes around a couple of hours by our now-familiar, and friendly, MWR bus, and while the time didn't pass all that quickly, it was pleasant. Across from us sat a gentleman wearing a University of Florida t-shirt, and being the SEC-born gal that I am, I had to tease him a bit about the tournament and share my hopes that the Gators won again. Turns out, our bus-neighbor, Jose, was just in Sasebo for a few weeks working on a project as a civilian contractor. We swapped stories, being somewhat newcombers ourselves, and delighted in finding out he held the seat next to ours at the game. I told him that I was surprised he got tickets, as we had registered for the game as soon as tickets were announced and were told they sold out; he kind of blinked back at me and informed me that of the two buses headed up to the game, the one I was on was for the people who'd registered late and had to take the lesser seats. Hub and I grumbled quite a bit over that; he had been called just the day before by MWR, asking if we minded sitting in another location so a pair of friends could sit together. Not realizing we were taking the "late" seats, we'd agreed, knowing we'd hope someone would do the same for us if the situation were reversed.
Determined to not let that spoil our moods, we disembarked the bus under strict advice to come back to that exact spot as soon as the game ended. Sheep-like, we followed the rest of our bus up the escalators from the parking garage into the Fukuoka Yahoo! Dome, home of the Softbank Hawks. Turns out that unlike in America, Japanese baseball teams are owned by corporations, not by specific owners, and are not recognized by the town they play in but by that corporation. While the dome they held as home was owned by Yahoo!, the team itself is owned by Softbank, one of the largest cell phone service providers in Japan.
Grinning at each other, Hub and I ruefully admired everyone else's choice of clothes: either dressed to kill in trendy high heels, dresses, and suits or sporting the team fashionably in black-and-white jerseys. Not realizing the game was in a dome, we'd dressed for the expected rain with baseball caps and raincoats. Lesson learned for next time, for sure!
Just inside the doors but not yet into the seats, our noses were hit with smells uncommon to most American baseball fans. Now, I've visited a few stadiums in my time, and the food is always of interest. I can't remember much about Cinncinnati when I visited, but Baltimore prided itself on a mixture of everything from barbeque to the regional-favorite, crab cakes. In San Diego, it was just as easy to find a California roll as a hot dog, if not easier! In Fukuoka, however, it was ramen, udon, and fried chicken that assailed us both (yes, fried chicken--they fry bite-sized pieces of thigh meat and skewer it for ease). As we watched, open-eyed, we even spotted a few bags hosting a familiar symbol to the two of us: the Wendy's girl! Mouth watering, but not yet hungry enough to eat, we decided to find our seats and get settled in.
Now, just before, I told you how irritated we were at our seat change once we realized we'd been duped, but I couldn't have wished for a better area. We were sitting in prime foul ball territory, just up from the first baseline, and evidently, in the Hawks Wanna-be-Superfans territory. Now, I saw wannabe-superfans because a few sections over, right below the scoreboard, were three sections of fans, every one of them in jersey, with their own pep leaders dressed in traditional robes of white with the Hawk symbol on the back, waving flags, stirring up the crowd, and leading the stadium in dance.
Now, pause for a moment and drink that in: leading them in dance.
Turns out, the cool thing for any Softbank Hawk fan is to have any multitude of Hawk-sponsored noisemakers, generally plastic baseball bat-like sticks that produce lots of noise when hit together, but rather than just pounding away in excitement or happiness, they had official rhythyms, chants (my favorite sounds like, "Diamonds on his head, something something," which the Japanese lady sitting next to me laughed at and told me that in Japanese, the words they were chanting actually meant something like "Go get them, [insert player's name here]"), and movements. To sit in this section, we figured, was something akin to holding a box seat at the Kentucky Derby; if you managed to score those seats in a season pass, you never let them go. Our section, while missing the flag bearers, was close enough to earn our own pep leader. Our small section of Americans (all 12 of us) were surrounded by noise-maker bearing, organized cheer-spouting, Hawks fans decked out in their favorite player's gear, which, in some instances, was actually for the few Americans on the team. Each team in the Japanese professional league is allowed to have up to two non-nationals on payroll, and most of those come from the American Minor League.
Our little group was filled with fun-loving people intent on enjoying the game to the fullest, which made Hub and I happy because we tend to get loud when excited as well. One guy, finished with his tour in Japan but making a two-week travelling spree with his visiting girlfriend, kept buying everyone drinks, insisting that they were the best wine cooler-type of things he'd ever tried. Hub, taking a big sip of his, almost snorted the clear liquid out of his nose when he laughed while telling the guy that instead of a wine cooler, we were all drinking iced sake. Hub, of course, stuck to his favorite drink (beer), although he was forced away from his favorite American choices; making the supreme sacrifice, he flagged down one of the many Kirin girls to get a drink from the mini-keg strapped onto her back.
I can't even begin to describe all of the differences we found in Japanese professional baseball; Hub thought they were much more spirited than American fans, what with the flags, the mascots, the bands, and yes, even cheerleaders, until I reminded him of such teams as the Braves and the Yankees. And even though the fans were undeniably excited about the game, they still held onto the quiet Japanese reserve most of the time, unless the pep leaders signaled for everyone to cheer. Our biggest surprise came at the seventh inning stretch, however, when we were given balloons that vendors were selling in four packs by our neighbors and instructed to blow them up, but not tie them or release them. Holding our balloons, we waited til instructed by the announcers and the pantamiming pep leaders to stand, semi-stretch, and then release! While it wasn't the traditional "Take me Out to the Ballgame" that I was familiar with, the screeching of the balloons, the cheering of the fans, and the crazy flight of the balloons left me breathless with laughter.
Towards the end, as it became apparent the home team would indeed win, we tried to rally the fans around us into a wave, but could only manage to get our section and a couple of others before hushed by the fans around us for breaking the don't-cheer-without-the-pep-leader unspoken (usually) rules. When we finally did claim the victory, white balloons exactly like the yellow ones were bought and released instead, followed by fireworks INSIDE the dome (scary, yes, and only shot off when the team wins).
Encouraged by our cheering, the row of Japanese fans behind us posed for pictures (although the one displayed is obviously during the stretch, notice the obligatory peace sign that EVERY Japanese person does in pictures; it seems that it caught in as a fad from America in the 60s and never really died) and insisted our entire group line up for high-fives before we made our way back out of the dome. Hub and I, pleasantly tired but extremely happy with the day, promised to return with high hopes that our next group would be as much fun as this one was. While it might be America's Greatest Pasttime, the Japanese have certainly put an amazing twist on it that makes it distinctly their own.
As a final note on our trip, I must point out the last-minute bathroom stop, just because most of you will find it so different from home. I waited my turn in line at the ladies' bathroom (why must we always have the line?), only to find, to my dismay that the toliets were traditional Japanese ones rather than the western style I so love (and have grown to never take for granted after living here for awhile)--porcelain-lined holes in the ground which you squat over. Not the most fun situation, as it's been quite a bit of time before I've popped-a-squat to use the restroom. These "traditional" bathrooms are found at many of the rest areas, shrines, anywhere really, but hey--when you gotta go, you gotta go.
Sorry this one is two weeks late in coming, but I swear Tokyo will be up shortly! More from Nippon after my fingers have gotten a bit of a rest.
