New Sentimentality

Day 5 in Tokyo (August 29th)

We ended up getting about 3 hours of sleep before it was time to get up again, attempt to remove the olfactory evidence of having danced in a smoke-filled room for hours and hours, and head out to the bus station. On the way out, Kensuke's grandmother gave me 2 pieces of calligraphy paper on which she had written mine and my sister's names in kanji that I'd picked out with the Suzukis a few nights before. Mine is read Kokurin Jou (黒林譲), meaning Black Forest and Contribute. Maryann's is Kokurin Marian (黒林真理杏), Black Forest and Truth Apricot. LOLWUT? Apparently it's not uncommon here for given names to mix philosophical concepts with, uh, fruit. Mmmm.

I was not confident enough in my spoken Japanese to be able to express my thanks to the Suzuki family by myself, so I asked Kensuke to translate between us one more time. Even so, it was hard to maintain composure while doing so. I had been, in all honesty, pretty scared that arriving in Japan would either scare me to death or cause some sort of irrepairable mental fracture. But the Suzukis had made the transition from one society to the other so comfortable, so easygoing, so delicious. 75 years from now, my grandchildren are still going to be working off the debt I owe them. (Of the intangible/favor variety.)

Kensuke's grandfather drove the two of us and Reina to a bank near Takadanobaba station so I could get traveler's checks changed. Considering how long it had taken us to find a place that did this, I didn't bother with small change. It was payday at Rancho Joe. The poor teller had to speak keigo (formal Japanese) to this ignorant foreigner for the better part of half an hour while his exhausted friend translated the entire process. (If someone doesn't give Kensuke an honorary PhD in the next 6 months...) From there, Reina, Kensuke and I headed toward Shinjuku. Along the way, Reina split for home. Arriving in Shinjuku, we dragged my oversized luggage to the bus terminal at the other side of the station. Kensuke had some printed directions that featured not only overhead maps, but photos of the inside of the station, showing landmarks to orient ourselves by. Somebody on the Internet has a heart of gold. Eventually, we found the place and had about 10 minutes to give our arms a break. Finally, the driver called for boarding and we lugged 110 pounds of clothing up 6 miles of stairs to the waiting buses.

Kensuke, you are the greatest person on this planet.

The bus pulled out and for the first time since arriving in Japan, I was completely on my own - the only foreigner on the bus, the only foreigner at the rest stops, the only foreigner at Nagoya station when the bus pulled in. (Coincidentally, I was the only person not able to sneak in a nap in any of these locations.) A trek across the street, an inquiry for directions from an equally bewildered Japanese, one last stretch of pavement to a large fountain, then Yuka.