KYOTO, Japan, Monday, November 26, 2012 — So we’ve been a little busy and I haven’t had time to blog, but Will has been doing a fine job capturing the tenor of our days. We arrived in Kyoto yesterday and experienced the most unbelievably crowded fall leaf-viewing scene I’ve ever seen. Of course, Will was nearly in tears after we muscled our way up to Kiyomizudera, surrounded by mostly couples and families out enjoying the last of the beautiful weather, three-day holiday and fall leaves. It was insane. It reminded me of visiting Meiji Shrine in Tokyo on New Year’s Eve — massive crowds, moving forward at snail pace, patiently edging toward the goal. Once we got to the hillside temple, I kept worrying that the wooden super-structure of the temple deck, which juts out over the hillside, would collapse under the masses, but we managed to get lots of lovely photos of the temple, the city below, and the surrounding hills, all at sunset — super good planning on my part — oh right, sheer luck. We then dodged tour buses on the narrow streets leading off the hill and managed to grab a cab home.
I’ll skip today (Will will fill you in after dinner — rain rain rain!) to tell you about our crazy night in Nara. A little background: Rick and I trade barbs all the time because my mother’s family comes from Monroe, a tiny town outside Corvallis, while Rick’s mother’s family comes from the slightly larger Junction City to the south. Junction City people look down on Monroe people, and let’s just say his mother and he don’t let me forget it.
So I never thought I’d hear the word “cool,” much less the Japanese word “kakouii,” of the same meaning, in the same sentence.
But two nights ago, I had the concierge of the Nara Hotel call to make a dinner reservation at a cool-sounding Oden (hot pot of sorts) restaurant. The staff looked at me askance, and it wasn’t until we got to the restaurant that it made sense why. It was a total hole-in-the-wall — a super cool old eatery in the old Nara-machi part of town. There was a small U-shaped bar, maybe 12 seats, and only Japanese (and Japanese menus) surrounding the bar. Well, it was a challenge for me to order for us, and I kept asking the young man next to me what they were having (I could see the food at least) and he gave me advice on food, etc. Anyhow, I really did bug him a lot, but he and his two dining companions (one of whom was his wife) were very nice.
He asked me where we were from; Oregon. He said young Japanese think of Portland as the coolest city in America. Then he said something about Corvallis, (this is all in Japanese of course) and I exclaimed I was BORN in Corvallis. And then to my shock he said the word “Monroe.” Monroe? Yes, the coolest place in America is Monroe. I just about died. I said my grandparents are buried in Monroe. My mother’s family is from Monroe. My great grandmother drove a damn antique taxi in Monroe. He couldn’t believe it. He was a designer and he had “visited” Monroe virtually on Google drive, and he thought the DariMart and other buildings just had the coolest vibe. He had made and sold T-shirts that say “Monroe Oregon,” and people actually bought them. He had photos of Monroe on his iPhone. I am not making this up, though Junction-City-Rick would like to think I am –- but Rick witnessed it, and this little tiny Oden shop in Nara, half-way around the world, yes, the guy loved Monroe. He was as shocked as I was to meet someone from Monroe. His wife said it was “guzen” and “unmei” – chance fate, that we happened to meet. What are the chances?
It made me think later about my grandpa Charlie, my mother’s dad, who was indeed from Monroe. A good friend and fishing buddy of his was of Japanese ancestry, living in Oregon, — Mom remembers his name as Yashui. His friend’s family had been interred during World War II. Anyhow, it seemed another unfinished connection between Japan and Monroe.
Anyhow, my new friend, Yosuke Wainai, also said he loves Hemingway, Steinbeck, but mostly Raymond Carver, who is also one of our favorite writers. Anyhow, we exchanged email addresses, and our final goodbyes that we would see him and his wife in Oregon. Who knows? The world is a very small place indeed.
The Thompson Attigs 