December 25, 1986
It was my first Christmas living in another country, and Christmas in Japan can be kind of a schizo experience, even at the best of times. One day, a speaker truck rolled past, alternating "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" with "Battle Hymn of the Republic." The most popular gift that year in Japan was salad oil--and I read a recent survey that still shows salad oil near the top of the list, although it has been bumped by gift certificates (well, now they're gift cards, as our language continues to decline; in Japan, of course, they'd be geefto caados, but that's another entry for another day).
So, first Christmas, we had the day off--a lot of people didn't, it's not a real holiday in Japan, as everybody gets ready for the big shindig of New Year's--and had nothing do to, so another guy from the school where I worked and I decided to go to Nikko for the day.
At this point, I'd been in the country for about two and a half months. Ken had been there maybe a month or so longer. Because Nikko was so close to where we lived--under an hour by train--we'd both been there before, but neither of us had gone up to Toshogu Falls, or to see the lake.
As it turned out, the best part of Toshogu Falls is the bus ride up, which takes the narrowest, sharpest, hairpin turn road I've ever been on. No way those buses should make it up that road, but they do. The falls themselves look like a small but reasonable fall, and the lake is okay. It killed the day, we had no complaints, and I vaguely remember seeing some monkeys along the way. I don't like monkeys, but those would have been the first wild ones I'd ever seen, so it was pretty cool.
We must have gone to the temples, too, that day, although I don't really remember. Nikko is where the Toshogu Shoguns are buried, and the buildings are maybe the height of Momoyama style, which is as gaudy as gaudy can get. Bright colors, endless carvings, nowhere at all to rest your eyes. That's not to say it isn't beautiful; just that it's overwhelming, and not really what you expect from Japan.
Anyway, what stands out most in my memory from that first Christmas abroad is this: Ken and I got on the train in Utsunomiya, the ugly, industrial city where we lived, and sat and waited for it to leave. Early morning, we had the carriage entirely to ourselves, but then an old man came in and sat right across from us. He stared at us for a while, then hocked up spit for a good two or three minutes--like he was bringing it up from his toes. Then he spat into the space between his seat and ours, and walked off.
We absolutely howled with laughter.
So, first Christmas, we had the day off--a lot of people didn't, it's not a real holiday in Japan, as everybody gets ready for the big shindig of New Year's--and had nothing do to, so another guy from the school where I worked and I decided to go to Nikko for the day.
At this point, I'd been in the country for about two and a half months. Ken had been there maybe a month or so longer. Because Nikko was so close to where we lived--under an hour by train--we'd both been there before, but neither of us had gone up to Toshogu Falls, or to see the lake.
As it turned out, the best part of Toshogu Falls is the bus ride up, which takes the narrowest, sharpest, hairpin turn road I've ever been on. No way those buses should make it up that road, but they do. The falls themselves look like a small but reasonable fall, and the lake is okay. It killed the day, we had no complaints, and I vaguely remember seeing some monkeys along the way. I don't like monkeys, but those would have been the first wild ones I'd ever seen, so it was pretty cool.
We must have gone to the temples, too, that day, although I don't really remember. Nikko is where the Toshogu Shoguns are buried, and the buildings are maybe the height of Momoyama style, which is as gaudy as gaudy can get. Bright colors, endless carvings, nowhere at all to rest your eyes. That's not to say it isn't beautiful; just that it's overwhelming, and not really what you expect from Japan.
Anyway, what stands out most in my memory from that first Christmas abroad is this: Ken and I got on the train in Utsunomiya, the ugly, industrial city where we lived, and sat and waited for it to leave. Early morning, we had the carriage entirely to ourselves, but then an old man came in and sat right across from us. He stared at us for a while, then hocked up spit for a good two or three minutes--like he was bringing it up from his toes. Then he spat into the space between his seat and ours, and walked off.
We absolutely howled with laughter.
posted by e. Readicker-Henderson at 2:12 PM
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