japan diaries - vol. 7

My last run.

M and I woke up at six and got ready. She was tired and I could tell she wanted to sleep by the way she kept squinting. It was sweet of her to come along. Her on the bike. For the last time.

We set a course for Asuka based on the directions her father gave us the day before. Asuka is a part of Nara that boasts old temples, lush farmland and a series of nature trails. It remains quite a popular attraction and most of the tourists travel the area on bicycle. As such, the streets and sidewalks were very accommodating.

I enjoyed the looks M and I received. Given my appearance, I must have looked like either a professional runner being timed and photographed, or simply a foreigner chasing a Japanese woman on a bike. I never shied away from saying good morning or hello. Given that we were not in or around Tokyo, my acknowledgements were almost always well received.

We arrived in Asuka after 3 or so miles and came upon a series of paved hiking trails. I stopped the watch and implored M to go on a hike with me. She was already beginning to show signs of fatigue. Asuka draws its beauty from its hilly terrain. And it was draining her. Still, she agreed and we set out into the park.

Only several steps into the walk and we were heading up a major incline. We stopped occasionally for a picture or two. A Buddha statue with an accompanying offering table. An excavation site of an ancient kofun. M swatting at mosquitoes with hormone problems. The kind that make Chinese people over 8ft. tall. Huge.

At the top of this hill was a lookout. The steps were made out of earth and framed by wood. I walked them one by one. No need to rush. I had an idea what was in store at the top. I could hear M taking pictures of me perhaps two or three steps behind. I pretended not to notice. She prided herself on taking shots when I wasn’t aware.

A man, covered in sweat, was sitting on one of the seats fashioned from cut tree trunks. There were many of them. Maybe 9 altogether. No particular order. He was breathing heavily and wearing a bright orange shirt. He had a radio strapped around his neck and seemed to be listening to the news. I heard voices. Not singing. The radio was old and covered in a worn black leather case. Holes were cut out where the single speaker was. My grandparents used to have a radio like this. Always set on the A/M stations. It was played during ironing sessions, or in the workshop. I never really listened to what was being played. I nodded and said good morning to the man on the seat. He responded as clearly as his scratchy radio. He needed water.

At the center of the circle was a larger tree trunk with a series of carvings. Names of the surrounding cities and their corresponding directions. Looking out, houses and buildings, temples and towers rose in the few places a mountain did not reside. The sun was burning the last remnants of the morning haze. But it lingered. Like incense around a gravestone. Cigarette smoke in a pachinko parlor. I snapped a couple of pictures and we made our way down the hill.

After a couple of more shots, M had had enough. She was being assaulted by mosquitoes and, in between all the swatting and slapping, couldn’t appreciate the beauty of the place. It was time to go.

We made our way back to the parking lot where we locked the bike and headed toward Asuka temple. It was closed. Nonetheless, I leaped across the small moat and took a picture of the courtyard over the wall. It would have been nice to visit there during the fall I thought, but I wasn’t to put off about not being able to enter. A corresponding gate picture and shot of M looking tired and bitten and we left.

I stopped to take more pictures of random things and eventually came upon a temple. I ran up the stone steps as M waited. She didn’t know how many steps there would be and didn’t like the idea of heading back into another densely wooded area with, most likely, standing water. After not too many stairs, I came upon a temple with a priest praying inside. I decided to quietly snap a few pictures and head back. He looked serious. And I didn’t want to disturb.

After those last few pictures, M and I settled into the run/bike back and finished strong up the last hill before her house. The one I ran the first full day in Japan. It is even more oppressive when the base comes at the start of the 10th mile. But we made it. And not too much longer we made it home. Hitomi and M’s dad were still sleeping. I cooled off outside while M brought me some water. She asked if it was OK if she left me to take a shower. “Yes,” I responded, “it’s OK. Thanks for coming with me.” “Un,” she responded. And slid the door closed.

japan diaries - vol. 6

Yesterday was a big loss on the pachinko boards. We are still positive for the trip, but barely. It seemed so easy to win the first three days that I thought it must not be a very lucrative business. Not so. Especially after I witnessed other people slamming the machines in frustration. Japanese people.

Outside dumping large amounts of cash waiting for M to get her hair done, her dad and I ate some ramen, gyoza and had some beers at around noon. Thats it. No new pictures.

Here are a few videos, though. One of the automatic golf cart.

Another of the wind playing with the stalks of rice. I could watch this all day.

japan diaries - vol. 5

Yesterday we went to Osaka. The drive was pretty much non-descript. A couple of toll roads, a bridge or two, lots of small cars, and then a sprawling metropolis home to millions of people living obscenely close together. Par for the course. As it was approaching lunch time, we made our way directly to the sushi restaurant. This was the main reason we were in town. We drove to the dock where fish is unloaded and processed. The air was thick with the smell of fish oil and salt water. The building that housed the restaurant was an architectural hiccup. I didnt even notice it until we parked nearly 20 feet away. I assumed a wrong turn had been made and we were using the parking lot as a turn around. Not so.

The entrance was adequate. There was room for 8-10 people to sit against the wall and only 6 people at the bar. There were 7 patrons when we entered and it never dropped below that. We ordered some beer and their omakase option. They choose what we eat. It started with 5 pieces. Followed by another 5. And then followed by, you guessed it, 5 more. I have never had more than 10 pieces of sushi, but by the end of the last plate, I wanted 15 more. Needed 15 more. Incredible. I have had sushi many times in my life, but I have never had that. Given the large number of autographs from celebrities, sports stars, and even sumo rikishi that decorate the walls, I assume I am not alone. I have a picture of me after the event.

M's dad then dropped us off downtown and M and I went shopping. We first went below ground and shopped in a place called Namba City. There was a Paul Smith store where the shoes were too small and the jeans too tight. I picked up some underwear and am wearing them now. Too tight. We then walked to the 5-story shopping mecca called Namba Parks. I found a lot of things I would have liked to make mine, but staying consistent with theme that is Japanese fashion -- too small. M picked up some Birkenstocks, I picked up a Porter purse for myself (me stealing the thunder from someone who will undoubtedly make this comment when I return) and some Japan-edition Levi 501 jeans. I like the color, and the fact it was half off, but they need work. I plan to sand them down and get them a bit more worn. Good color.

After a tako yaki dinner and some beers, we decided to go to the Pachinko parlor again. I understand no one wins all the time, but I have yet to be witness to that. We walked into a crowded room and took a seat at the older Sea Story boards. M and I were just not lucky. Before we knew it, we had burned through $200. M's dad was not having any more luck either. Down $150. M abandoned her board and moved to another machine, but I stuck with mine. Patience. M's dad slipped into her chair and decided to put in another $100. He got down to only $20 left when I had exhausted my board. We were down nearly $500. That's a lot of jackpots necessary just to break even. He then told me to use all the remaining money in his board and left to find another machine. Find some luck in the joint. With only $10 left, I hit the first jackpot of the night. Its an odd number, so that guarantees another jackpot. I hit another odd. And then another. And then an even, but it turned into an odd. And this continues for the better part of 2 hours. 14 total jackpots. $770. After we split the earnings, I pocket $100. Sweet.

Another run this morning. 5:15am. Sun already risen for the better part of 20 minutes. I started along the path I always run and felt good. Great. I dropped the pace and hit a 7:40 opening mile. I continued with the speed session and strung multiple sub 7-minute splits. Breathing was paced. I followed the alleyway route and listened to the slaps of my shoes echo along narrow corridors. Water flowing from an unknown location to an unknown location. With purpose. Bellows of bullfrogs along the river. Crickets singing to one another. I forgot how accommodating nature could be in such an urban sprawl.

9.5 miles. 1 hour 8 minutes.

M's sister arrives later tonight. We plan to eat and drink a lot. Enjoy ourselves. Finding it more and more difficult not to do this. In no particular order.

japan diaries - vol. 4

Although I continue to wake up at 5:30 every morning, I have decided to run only every other day. Yesterday was a good day to run. So I ran. M joined me behind on the bike recently dropped off by her aunt. Herself a runner of over three marathons. We started on the same route and although it was M's intention to show me around, I led for the first three miles. I took her through the side streets that I discovered on my first run, which eventually led us past her grandmother's haka. We stopped to wash the stone and the offering cups. And pray.

It took only another 5 or so minutes of running along the river to reach the large toori gate. This time M helped me capture it's size. Only two and a half miles into the run, though. I was craving distance. We decided to turn around and run to the Miwa temple. The route became decidedly historic and the houses aged the closer we drew. The last 1000 meters were uphill. M and I raced. I won.

The temple grounds were much larger than I had imagined. Not only was the main temple impressive, but the surrounding grounds were also noteworthy. I love these places. The smell of pine. Incense. Architecture completely devoid of plaster and cheap materials. The sound of walking on crushed stone. Echoes of a steel bell. The residue of history.

After several pictures and a well-timed bathroom break -- thank the gods -- we decided to continue the run. M's uncle had told us that her grandpa would be on one of his farm lands this morning. As they were not spaced too terribly far from one another, we decided to run/bike to each one. The first plot was only two miles away. We started down the hill and away from Miwa.

More pictures of the temple and surrounding area:

M was not too sure of the location of the first plot. Still, after about five minutes of searching in the area she was certain of we found it. He was not there. Which was not much of a problem. The next plot was less than a mile away. I forgot to mention, I was running low 7-minute miles by this time and feeling great. The run, surprisingly, was not a main focus.

Found. We looked across the length of field to see M's grandpa working in a squat. He had his back to us. With his poor hearing, we were going to have to make our way across the field. As we approached, M called out. He didnt hear the initial attempt, but the second one was successful. In fact, Im sure there was at least one other grandpa in the area that turned around. She was intent.

You sure did well to find me! he exclaimed from behind a beaming smile. He loves his granddaughter and she does he. All the way out here, come come! I've got some great tomatoes and cucumbers for you.

Before we even reached the spot where he was working, he was busy collecting items to give to us. Like my grandpa, he will never know that the greatest gift is himself. His love. But we took his offerings just the same. He immediately went to collect items from his bike. Still riding at 87.

Here, here. Lots of cucumbers. They are really good for you.

But we can't take all of these. There are over twenty!

Oh yeah? Hmm. Well take them anyway. Just throw away what you cant eat.

Grandpa!!

Logic will always find defeat in the arena of kindness. M took eight. He then sat down in his tomato garden and began picking the ones that were ripe. He carefully selected them. M squatted next to him and kept him company. We then received a tour of his plot. Azuki beans, watermelon, cucumbers, cantelope. There were much more planted, but my understanding of Japanese food stuffs is weak. There were also insects I had never seen as well.

After promising to watch some Sumo and show up to a farmers event on Friday we left. He did as well. M couldnt have been happier. We set a course for home and I started clicking off some really fast splits. We stopped at a convenience store and picked up breakfast. Another great run.

More pictures:

japan diaries - vol. 3

9:17. Our tee time at the Yamato Country Club outside Tenri-city was set. At approximately 7:00am, we left the house and began the nearly hour-long drive in the mountains. After a number of dips and turns, climbs and falls in an ever increasing green landscape, we finally reached our destination. I was once told that Japan owns less than 40% of land available for proper settlement. Humans need space. So where would one create a golf course? On the tops of mountains. Naturally.


Initial reactions were tempered. I have lived in Japan before. I have golfed a number of times. Driving up and dropping off our clubs was like any other place. The gentleman's locker was nothing special either, although I was surprised they did not allow smoking. Heck, you can light up in the maternity ward in this country. I was curious to understand why it was off-limits here.


We had coffee in the cafe and made our way to the cart. Things became novel quickly. The cart, for starters, is fully automatic. In fact, the wheel is locked. It's impossible to move from the track. It follows the course at a pace so slow at times that I am sure it was done on purpose. But after several very steep inclines/declines, I realized this was necessary in terms of safety. Always first. It came equipped with a CB radio (I didnt shy away from this picture), individual space for putters, multiple baskets, Suntory cooler to house individual water bottles, water-proof seats, and every possible information necessary for one to score their good/bad day.


Given the location, the course rolled and banked and boasted elevation changes on nearly every hole. It offered breathless view after view and the few gasps of air I did manage were reserved for expletives. It was terrible difficult. Actually, it was mainly different. Unlike America, Japanese courses do not celebrate the power game. The term "smart golf" does not exist here because there is no other golf that could be played and remain effective. I shot near double bogey golf for the first four holes and then it clicked. A couple of well-shot 3-woods, some chips, and I finished out with 5 consecutive pars.


Time for lunch. Right. I had been told that most players in Japan take breaks between the front and back nine, but I didnt expect it would be mandatory. Regardless, there is nothing like lightly-breaded tonkotsu, curry, rice and grilled vegetables to recharge the cells. And beer. Two of them.


I opened up with 3 pars in 5 holes, but another beer mid-round and my bad habits began to spill out. Still, playing with M's dad was one of the most comfortable things I have ever done. Although M had hyped up my skills, he never questioned why I was falling apart. In fact, he made it a habit to excuse my poor shooting before I had the chance. "The fairways are too small in this country; oh, I made you practice too much at the range yesterday; the grass they use here is really difficult -- I cant imagine what you would look like when you get used to it." Apprehensive play he wanted to avoid. Just not fun he said. It reminded me of Dad. Victory in the small. Pin high. Straight down the pipe. Perfect line. Perfect time.


More pictures:

This incline was over 30%. It's also a great tool shot.

japan diaries - vol. 2

Late morning and early afternoon yesterday were reserved for haka mairi (visiting family grave sites). Although I have accompanied others on trips like this, my connection with M and the manner in which her mother and grandmother passed away made this special. I watched as M and her father washed the stone and laid offerings of tea and coffee -- drinks that both of them enjoyed in life. After the flowers were watered and repotted, we lit some incense and prayed. All I could muster was a hello, yet M's dad seemed to realize that. "Her mom would have loved to meet you. I couldn't even imagine." My day was made.

We then drove to M's grandpa's house and met her uncle and aunt as well. Although quite nervous at first, the welcome was so warm and genuine that I almost forgot I had never met them. The uncle is major Karate instructor, but has turned to boxing recently to stay fit. He is not able to drink alcohol for the next two weeks, but we never really discovered why. The aunt is a runner and it didnt take long to discover that she is an enthusiastic host. There was no way she could have known we were coming, but she had prepared a whipped cream, almond, and blackberry pound cake "just in case." We were also offered cantelope and blackberries that were grown in grandpa's garden. Delicious.

M's grandpa mirrored my father's dad to the point in raised a near painful dichotomy of feelings within me. He couldnt say enough about how happy he was that I was so proficient in Japanese, but although I worked so diligently over the last 10 years to endeavor the language, I did so at the expense of learning Spanish. I never was able to understand my grandpa in his native language like I understood M's yesterday. It hurt at first, but then I began to realize that although I may not have remembered/understood all the words my grandpa used, I could never forget the feeling of his course hands holding mine crossing streets or walking through a flea market. Or the way he made me and my brothers laugh. A curled finger against the strength of all three of us. A smile during the darkest times. Shoulders and arms that held an entire family together.

After the visit we went shopping at various stores. I picked up a knit hat and some golf shorts. Although I enthusiastically looked for items not available in the states, I increasingly discovered the reason why -- pretty over the top stuff.

We returned home, watched some Sumo and then went out to the driving range. I hate the ranges in Japan as most all are infested with mosquitos and force the player to hit off mats. This one was no different, but I still managed a good time. I shanked a lot because of the mats (for some reason), but had a great time. We hit a lot of balls. Had iced coffee and cooled off with cold rags a number of times. M's dad hits a good ball. M was having issues like me.

Dinner included high-end meat purchased from a store in town. We grilled it ourselves in the"shabu shabu"style. Delicious. We had beers and then I made the mistake of getting in the automatic chair. Again. Asleep in less than 5 minutes.

Here are more pictures of M's house.

RAMEN!!!

japan diaries - vol. 1

I'm here. Japan.

We arrived without much fanfare. The flight was long and somewhat cramped, but it would have been useless to assume it wouldn't be. Instead of listening to music or playing on the iPod, however, I read. A lot. I started with The Road by Cormac McCarthy and found it nearly impossible to put it down. In three hours, I had finished it. Beautiful, haunting, visceral. This immediately catapulted into one of my favorite books of all time. Thanks, Martin.

Back to Japan. After waiting in line with all of the other foreigners, we exited and picked up our bags. No problems. Before exiting, we swung by a Customs officer and he asked what was in the golf case. "A pair of golf clubs," I responded in Japanese. He freaked out. That wasn't the first time that happened, and it wouldnt be the last. That day.

In the car ride back to Sakurai from the airport, we talked about Toyota, eco-friendly marketing, and golf. I immediately took a liking to Maki's dad and it appeared he to me.

After dropping off the bags at home and getting a quick tour of the house, M's dad made a reservation at a restaurant located close by. As we intended to celebrate, i.e., drink scores of alcohol, we opted to walk. At 78 degrees, the walk was wonderful. Despite a higher level of humidity, nothing can compare to the oppressiveness of a Texas summer.

15 minutes later, we were at the restaurant. I dont remember the name, but it would take little for me to recall how wonderful the food was. Service is not an issue in Japan. Its always good. I made one of the waitress literally fall to the floor when I spoke Japanese. Although the overreactions are good for a laugh every now and again, it can get pretty old.

We had sashimi (sushi without the rice), grilled fish, squid, sea urchin, miso soup with crab, and several rounds of large beers. And sho-chu. All of it was beautiful and tasted better than anything I have had in the states. Which is why I dont go for a sushi/Japanese food when in America. No. Scratch that. San Antonio.

The walk back was filled with laughs, dim side streets lit by the lights spilling from house windows or a vending machine, and the sounds of a host of animals residing in the rice fields. I was drunk. And I couldn't be happier.

Upon return, we retired to the computer/TV room and began watching golf. M's dad and I began to critique the swings of the Japanese women on TV. It wasnt very difficult. There were some odd looking ones. He had me sit in his automatic massage chair and after playing with the settings, I passed out. Literally. My finger was still on the button that read, 'lower back.

I woke up the next morning to a gray light filling the room. I must have slept in, I thought. I turned to M. She was looking back at me through sleepy eyes, but looked mostly awake. I asked if she could show me around the neighborhood and take some pictures. She agreed. Within minutes, I was stretching in front of the house and playing with the dog, Jin. She got the motorbike ready and secured the camera. The dogs a bit shy, but warms up well and rarely barks. Really more like a string of gruffs. Odd.

We started with some flat sections around the house and near the library. The hills were nominal. Whats great about Japan is that the sidewalks are made of blacktop as well. I didnt have to run on concrete in order to avoid the cars. Still, most of the roads are not much larger than a one-way alley in America, so I found myself in the middle of most streets. During the run, I discovered that it was only 5:20am. Still, the streets had enough people and cars that it felt more along the lines of late morning. Sun rises in the East. Dont forget, I told myself. After around 1.5 miles into the run, M brought me to a large, long hill. At this point, I was beginning to lower the pace and decided to attack. I passed a group of young guys sitting at a park eating breakfast it seemed. They stared. One pointed. And we got a picture of it.

After M took me back to the house, I decided to keep going and went alone. I took a lot of side streets and alleyways. I ran under the awnings of houses that looked hundreds of years old and near temples that were definitely so. At every turn, I studied the surrounding area in order to avoid getting lost. Tanuki-sama, right. Biwa temple, left. Construction guys under the bridge, straight.

When I decided to turn back, I saw a huge toori gate towering over the horizon of roofs. I followed more small streets in an attempt to form as straight a line as possible, and it worked. I arrived under the gate and run through it. Nearly 100 feet tall, it was a great point to make the return home.

I was clicking off 7:20 splits at this point and it felt as easy as a jog. A lot of this has to do with the lower temperatures, but I have to assume other factors were at work. Oh..I was also a bit hungover as well.

I plan to open the blinds and read in front of the garden. Later we are scheduled to visit M's grandpa and watch some Sumo. Perhaps driving range later in the evening. Perfect.