Kyoto: Geisha Girls, Sakura, Sushi, Sweat and Shinkansen

Sakura (Cherry Blossom season) is ending but I've made it - 

just in time to catch the last of this stunning array of blossoms

Kyoto was once the capital city of Japan, but it’s hard to feel that on arrival at a railway station whose outside plaza looked like a smaller version of Tokyo’s, with fewer bright lights but the same style of cafe, taxis and nearby office buildings (again shorter). In fact it was originally the capital of Japan when most of the inhabited parts of Japan could only properly be called ‘villages’ or, at best, ‘towns’. Prior to 1550 Kyoto was one of the two or three places which could rightly be called a city.
I was so tired and aching on the plane that I did not manage to accomplish my customary pleasure of reading the guidebook or history of the place to which I am about to fly. I knew I would not have time to visit Nara, where Kyoto was first established as capital.

Pork Curry. Yum. Nomnomnom.

Little wonder I needed a lie down afterwards...

Straight off to lunch at a restaurant by the railway station, I had my first taste of ‘real’ Japanese food in the form of pork curry (a bit like katsu curry for Wagamama lovers everywhere), accompanied, of course, by rice, which I think I have now (as I write this days later) have fully accepted as my dietary staple, along with whatever fresh fish it comes with. Other items on the menu at the restaurant included spag bol, ham sandwiches and pancakes. Hmmm. Yes, I think that the brand strategy of this restaurant was: let’s offer something that could be eaten at any time of day from USA or that’s vaguely European and throw in a couple of Japanese things as an afterthought.

My feet were by this stage in a pretty awful state and my eyelids dropping, so after a rainy walk along a few of the city’s streets I tucked myself up in bed in our hotel room for the afternoon and left the girls to visit the Geishas in another part of the city. What a change from a couple of years ago where I would have exhausted myself by ignoring all of my body's and mind’s pleas. Sometimes I now know that I have to, and their photos – particularly this one Helen took of Geishas by a vending machine, showed to me the bizarre but somehow quite natural mixture of the very modern and ancient traditions of the country.

Vending machines are everywhere, selling a variety of drinks with simple names such as Pocari Sweat, which is not the labours of ancient Samurai bottled in liquid form, but a bit like a saline drip in a bottle, and just what I needed to try to address my dehydrated head and body from the 15 hour flight. Now, don’t take my word for it, because my sense of smell and taste were damaged in my fall, but it’s actually not too bad. I’m sure it’s a bit like Lucozade Sport with less sugar; I’m equally sure the name might not catch on in the west!

Pocari Sweat. A drip (IV) in a bottle by another name.

Further natural needs are addressed with a very hi-tech approach, namely, the W.C.s. Never in my life have I been so baffled by the complexities of a toilet. Some of you may remember shivering in winter on well ventilated, unheated toilets: not in Japan. Here you more often than not (in cities) can have your rump pampered with a warmed seat! We stayed at the Karasuma Kyoto hotel and had a lovely warm loo seat. You can also have a bidet, more water, and a host of other things I am not quite able to interpret with my Japanese being as it is, limited to ‘thank you’, ‘hello’, ‘yes’, ‘goodbye’, and of course the all important, ‘sake’. I have (yes I know, I’m weird, but come on, you knew that) taken some pictures for you to see for yourselves. I think this definitely could catch on in the UK. Forget under floor heating. Let’s go for heated loo seats. (Then again, the loo readers among us would then take even longer to vacate the premises, especially in winter. Perhaps that’s why (to my knowledge) it hasn’t yet featured on Dragons’ Den.)

There appears to be a musical option here I didn't try. 

Make sure you don't let the opportunity pass?

Waking in the evening just in time for drinks and dinner, we visited the hotel bar where an entire jamon Iberico appeared to be on display as well as lots and lots of single malts and other whiskies. This is something I had read about before I came: Japan loves its whisky, so much so that one man has created an extremely successful whisky business (Suntory) – Insert website information – and this is readily available in cans a bit like one might by a G&T from the station.

Delicious sushi for dinner

If you don’t like fish at all, you can still eat in Japan, but I am pleased to say that despite my muted taste buds, I adore fish, not lessened since I found out it helps build up vitamin D levels, and therefore prevent further fractures or breakages, fall or no fall. I came to realise that the Japanese like saying sorry perhaps even more than we do.

My friend Caro overheard a disgruntled hotel guest berating a Japanese maid for her room’s failings; the Japanese maid in question then returned to her friend around the corner, out of earshot of the fearsome fraulein and started to sing a kind of impromptu karaoke: Sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry I kept you waiting in a bizarre but potentially successful bid for a place on Japan’s Got Talent. Clearly they (like us Brits) don’t always mean it, but say it as a reflex response. But they do say it. They say it A LOT. We ordered sushi, sashimi and tempura in our Kyoto hotel bar: the waiter apologised it would take an hour to prepare. (It didn’t.) We passed someone on the train. The people we passed apologised to us. (We hadn’t touched them, a big no-no in Japan, nor they us.) I visited a temple and was asked to put my brolly down with gesturing and "Sorry" as this was the only word which could indicate polite but obligatory request...And on it goes.

Geishas and vending machines. Majestic meets modern. 

(Thanks to Helen for the photo)

Although consistently cloudy weather out paid to any chances of seeing Mount Fuji, we made our way among a thousand other tourists, armed with our transparent umbrellas, to the Kyoto imperial palace, on one of its many open days. The palace is sprawling, with many chambers open for tantalising views of the inner sanctums of Kyoto’s ancient elite. One Japanese stereotype I had forgotten was that they love to take photographs. They sure do.

Imperial Palace, Kyoto, gardens

Bird of prey in distance (just seen)

These days it’s more iPhones than Nikon but queues within the palace were everywhere as people patiently waited for their chance to photograph every aspect of the palace’s gardens and buildings. The roof, made of cypress bark, amazed me, as did the beauty of the architecture. I think I associate it with calmness because of the many Japanese films I have watched. There is always something spiritual in the way that people interact, and with such stunning landscapes, my mind was calmed and the rain seemed immaterial to appreciating the serenity.

Imperial Palace, Kyoto

Next stop, Tokyo, and a stay near the Times Square equivalent. Anticipating a further culture shock, we boarded Shinkansen again as a three. Like all of Japanese transport it runs like clockwork (or perhaps that’s inaccurate; it runs as clockwork should!) and the seats quickly rotate so that all passengers are able to travel facing forward should they wish. I was delighted to eat my first Japanese bento box for lunch, which followed not by the work I had hoped to do, but by drooping eyelids once more, as the train lulled me seductively into a deep sleep. ZZzzz.

A Bento Box Like No Other

Japan is an Anagram: TOKYO to KYOTO

TOKYO to KYOTO, Shinkansen style.

Travelling on the Shinkansen (bullet train) has long been an ambition of mine ever since I saw it as a child featured on Blue Peter, and of course that other time I saw it – in Entrapment – where Catherine Zeta Jones magically disappears, which probably would have been the best course of action for that watchable-though-terrible film in its entirety. It was pretty exciting, therefore, that this is how my journey in Japan began. Or nearly anyway.

Yep, These hair cuts were totally acceptable when I was a child.

And the shirts are now in style if you're a Brooklyn hipster.

Travelling has now become something I almost never do, so to contemplate a 14 hour flight was no mean feat. I flew business class to enable me to lie flat, armed with enough pain killers to tranquilise a horse and my usual coterie of anti depressants and side-effect-countering medication to stem the tide of anxiety at the unknown effects of travelling such a distance after such a catalogue of ailments and injuries over the past year.

Merci Beaucoup Air France!

Business class is an extremely strange experience. Rather than feeling you're crammed into a carriage of four hundred people all sitting within spitting distance, and that's just the adults (let's not talk about the children...not on fourteen hour flights. Just no) I felt like I was practically the only person on the flight at all. (And luckily it was very quiet in business so I did what I do best and nicked all the pillows to make myself a little comfy nest for my back, elbow etc.)

Seats appropriate for the vertically challenged. 

In the sense that being vertical is a challenge.

Menus in three languages were presented; Champagne offered; real glass, real knives and forks and, most importantly, real pillows were mine for the taking. Food was presented in a way that almost looked tasty, and even my breakfast croissant tasted like a croissant and not some half defrosted packet of puff pastry. Films were available (more than the usual number in French, well this was, after all, an Air France flight). I love the way the French rename their films to suit their own preferences. I remember laughing when my French pen pal circa 1995 confirmed that Home Alone was – in France – called “Maman, J’ai Raté L’avion”. (I think Home Alone Two was also called “Maman, Encore J’ai Raté L’avion”.)

Admit it, you thought I'd made that up. See?!

I had never thought of "Silver Linings Playbook" as "Happiness Therapy"...

Luckily I made it – arriving in Tokyo at 7am on a grey morning not unlike weather one might expect to see in England, and managed to move my (hand luggage only) bags along the many moving walkways towards the immigration desks.

At which point I realised I had made a gross error in assuming it would be a smooth pathway through super-efficient Japanese gates. Although my foot problem has now been diagnosed as not a stress fracture but tendonitis, and although I have been wearing (off the shelf) orthotics in my shoes to correct my gait and help me walk without pain, I just cannot stand up in line for more than about 3 minutes before I feel distinctly unwell. In fact standing is without a doubt the least possible of all postures for me, as it fatigues my back, my arm and my feet and I’ve never been able to stand up for long anyway.

Note: this picture is from Google images.

I wasn't rude enough to photograph the genuinely long queues. And then put them on here.

When I started dating my (now) husband almost ten years ago one of the biggest compromises in our budding relationship was the fact that there was no way that I could stand at a pub bar for a drink. Even in my injury-free state, it was sit or go home. Cursing myself for not asking for a wheelchair from the aeroplane, I asked a very nice security guard who brought another official who brought another official with a wheelchair – success! – and suddenly my tired and aching back, arm and feet were rolled through customs without a second glance at the other four hundred people waiting.

One of the many, many, MANY reasons why Nige and I are unmatched.

So sad. So very, very, sad. 

The Japanese (I have now found consistently true) are unfailingly kind and go out of their way to be helpful. In general I am so grateful for the help available to people like me who have (albeit temporary) disabilities which make travelling pretty impossible without flat beds along the way and moving vehicles the rest of the time in which to sit or lie. The Japanese, however, take this to a whole different level, and in transit I was always able to find an escalator or elevator to help me toddle along to my next point of transport.

Thank you, THANK YOU, Japan, for realising that English people are not thoughtful enough to prepare and actually learn your language. I'm sorry!

Having exchanged my Japan rail pass for an actual Japan Rail card, off I crawled towards the monorail, then the JR train to the Tokyo hub where I could catch the Shinkansen to Kyoto and take the bullet train. From some of the photos you will see how many different options were available. It is absolutely incredible to me now, having visited many of Japan’s subway, monorail and Shinkansen stations, how any visitor not used to the Roman alphabet can possible comprehend our London underground system or our trains. I haven’t attempted this myself, but I’m fairly sure that you cannot press a button on any of our various automatic ticket dispensing machines that turns all the instructions to Japanese. No longer any surprise to me now that many Japanese tourists arrive in coaches for their tours of England. How on earth would they be able to navigate a country which expects you to have a pretty darn good working knowledge of the English language if you want to do anything at all?

Yeah baby. This is how we roll.

In Japan there are three classes of Shinkansen, the fastest being the Nozomi, mostly used by commuters, which travels at roughly the speed of light and helps you to arrive at your destination before you left. Okay so none of that is true, but it doesn’t make as many stops so is the ideal commuter train. These trains are unavailable to the Japan rail pass holders. (Note: if you’re going to Japan make sure you buy your JR pass a few days before and have it sent to you / pick it up in your own country, as it’s far, far cheaper to do this than to buy it in Japan itself). The next option is the Hikari, which travels very fast, but makes more stops, so you reach your destination about the time you left. Ha. I’d recommend the trains. (Then again I am a nerdy train spotter by all accounts.) They’re very clean, run like clockwork, have lovely staff offering you many completely indistinguishable food and drink items, and beer / wine if you feel that 9 am is an appropriate time to be drinking (It isn’t).

From rural...

I may have slightly exaggerated the true speed of Shinkansen, but the speed at which the landscape changed before my eyes kept them open in spite of my enormous fatigue and pain, and I took many, many photos of varying degrees of blurriness to capture the city blocks, apartments, houses, fields, mountains, rural land and rivers we passed along our way. Like a time-lapse capture documentary of the geography of a country, the bullet train is worth the ride just for offering a true glimpse of the very varied landscapes of Japan, at a glance.

...to industrial, in under three hours. Like magic.

Given my aforementioned slightly wounded state, to which I now add painful blocked ears from the plane’s descent and a sudden raging cold and sore throat, which I would be unsurprised to learn came from my general anxiety at flying thousands of miles away from all the support networks available to me at home for my depression, it would be fair to say that I was feeling rather delicate on the train. It was, then, by some miracle that I made it in my jet-lagged, pained and dazed state onto the Shinkansen, though not before watching a curious TV show in the station waiting room featuring two men each sitting on a basketball trying to dislodge the other from his seat by yanking on tea towels which both held (two towels, crossed over) over a number of minutes. Bizarre. I’d rather watch Gardener’s World, I think.

Yeah, Lorraine. Sorry, you still don't make the cut. Sorry. 

Although if you fancy trying the basketball game I might tune in. Maybe.

2.5 hours later I arrived in Kyoto, which is just under 300 miles away from Japan. Amazing. More amazing still, my friends successfully found me at the station without any use of mobile phone technology, especially despite the many, many exits there appear to be at most railway stations in Japan. More on Kyoto soon. But immediately after lunch it became apparent that no, I would in no way be making it through the afternoon without a good three hour ‘nap’ and that yes, the travel had not left me unscathed. More soon. Now sleep. さようなら Sayōnara for now!