Kitchen table.
Coffee and french bread with cheese.
Hello all...
Don't worry. I am not going to have endless sequels to this particular posting of "The Return". How boring. "The Return 22: Aya brushes her teeth". Ridiculous, right? Right.
When I last left you, We had arrived in Kyoto. We had begun sweating.
After the hugs, Bob reached into his messenger bag and pulled out a bottle of water. He twisted off the cap and poured some into each cat dish in each carrier. 3 furry noses slowly inched their way forward to the front of the carriers. 3 sets of huge, paranoid eyes peered at us as 3 tongues slowly lapped up some water.
With the cats sufficiently rehydrated, we lurched out way to the train station that adjoins the Kansai Airport. Bob bought us reserved train tickets to get us to Kyoto station (an hour and a half ride). Getting ourselves, cats and luggage through the train turnstiles was rather comical, especially since Bob knew the next train was only 5 minutes from departure. All four of us frantically hoisted and dragged luggage and cat carriers while the bemused station agents watched and giggled behind immaculately gloved hands.
We stuffed ourselves and our belongings into an elevator which would take us down to the train level.
Elevator doors slid open to reveal our destined train, sleek and gleaming white, whirring, doors open, seconds ticking until it left. We quickly boarded the train and stowed our considerable luggage in the racks provided on this particular train (Non-airport related trains do not have luggage racks. But then again, normal trains usually do not need them.).
We found empty seats, stowed the cat carriers in a convenient space behind our seats and collapsed. Patrick and Bob sat in front of Aya and I, amusing themselves by exchanging sarcastic quips. As for the girls in the group, well, we took turns dozing off.
Sleeping on trains is, for me personally, a skill unique to my life in Japan, and one I have not had to use elsewhere. It takes balance and a certain type of 6th sense to pull off. One cannot fall deeply asleep, especially if one is traveling alone. One must also try to not fall over into the lap of a stranger. I am pretty sure that it is considered rude and weird in most train-traveling countries to have strangers suddenly collapse in each other's laps; here in Japan, having a "gaijin" or foreigner (namely, me) collapse into random laps would be off-putting, to say the least.
When sleeping on trains one must also develop the "whiplash-location-check" skill. This involves jerking awake (thus the whiplash), checking the electronic readout in the car to see what stop one is at, peering out the windows, then falling back into a doze. This is an advanced skill that requires patience and strong neck muscles.
My "whiplash-location-check" skills are rusty, but they quickly came back to me. Thus the hour and a half train ride from the airport to Kyoto Station went something like this:
SNAP! Random train station. Doze off.
SNAP! Huge "Meiji Company" building shaped like a massive chocolate bar. Doze off.
SNAP! Clumps of people on bikes waiting at train crossing, fanning themselves. Doze off.
And in this delightful way, we made our way to Kyoto Station.
Now, recall, if you will, my comment from the "The Return 1" about my black carry-on bag...you know, the one containing my blue tooth ipad keyboard, the massively important papers and my camera?
Remember how I said that this bag would become an important character later?
Well, later is now.
Because as we got off the train at Kyoto Station, I realized with a sick flopping in my stomach that the all-important black bag WAS NOT WITH US. Not at all. Not hiding. Not in the train (Bob and I left the kids with luggage and cat mountain and went back on the now empty train).
The bag was not with us.
It was, as far as I could ascertain, probably sitting in the elevator back at the train station in the airport. Tucked far into an elevator corner, hidden from our consciousness by the massive piles of stuff and people we had to stuff into the small elevator cubicle.
"Oh no" you are saying "What a shame! Gone forever! Oh no!".
Aha, my friends, but you are forgetting where we are. We are in Japan. And in Japan, lost things have a funny way of returning.
Bob found a station agent and explained our predicament.
The station agent took down my name, our address in Kyoto and a description of my bag.
Within 20 minutes, the agent returned to us. He had called the train station back at Kansai Airport. The bag had been found and taken to the Lost and Found unopened and unscathed, and would be shipped to our house in 2 days. We would pay 1200 yen (around $10) upon delivery.
Poof. Problem solved.
By this time I was so tired and jet lagged that my head felt like it weighed 3 tons. The kids were too tired to even bother with serious bickering. With Bob leading the way, we loaded ourselves into 2 taxis and, with Bob and Patrick riding in the lead taxi and Aya and I following in taxi number 2, we wound our way through the bustling Kyoto streets, onto increasingly quieter and narrow streets until we pulled up into a narrow one-way street in a dark, quiet neighborhood. Taxis were unloaded and bowing taxi drivers were paid. Bob led us from the narrow one-way street onto an impossibly narrower street that more resembled a thin driveway than an actual street. It was barely one car wide--and I'm not talking the width of a Hummer. I'm talking the width of a Smartcar.
Our house---which all of us had only seen in Bob's posted photos so far-- was wedged between two other houses. A space the width of my head was all that separated our house on each side from the surrounding houses. Bob unlocked the sliding front door and led us inside.
At this point I do have to pat Bob on the head for a job well-done on furnishing our place. He was lucky enough to stumble upon some departing foreigners who were heading back to their home in Turkey, and was able to purchase everything they had. It was a win-win situation. We got furniture, kitchen supplies, dishes, and they got he relief of not having to twiddle their thumbs waiting for their stuff to vanish before leaving (I have been in their shoes folks...).
On first glance, our house is like a doll house. Each room has sliding wood or glass doors. Each doorway is barely 6 feet tall. The optical illusion created by the framed doorways and low door height (well, as compared to American door heights at least) gives the impression of tiny Alice in Wonderland portals. Cute as a button for Aya and I. Cause for concussive alarm for Bob and Patrick, who are both hitting 6 feet in height.
After the first glance, however, one realizes that this house is nearly the size of our place in Davis, and rather larger than the house we had lived in before in Japan. This house is also 20 years newer than our previous Japanese house, so while the wooden floors do creak and echo when objects are dropped upstairs, this house feels substantially stronger and sturdier.
My only grump is the stairs, which have been modeled after the steps in much older Japanese houses--namely, they are incredibly steep and narrow. No wonder Bob slid down them a few weeks ago. None of us are particularly fond of the stairs, and at any time one of us must go upstairs we pause and stare up, at the 60 degree staircase angle, contemplating the journey. Coming down is even more fun, since each step is only about 8 inches wide.
However, I cannot truly complain, even about the ladder-like staircase. And so, I give Bob a smiley sticker for a house well done.
Next time: Meandering around Murasakino
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