Neil, Barbara and I waved good-bye to my husband as he was returning to San Diego with the University band members and the alumnus. In the afternoon, we headed to the Tokyo antique shops and their array of provocative wares. (More about that a bit later.)
We left the next morning with our smiling host, the head of the Yamaha Company to visit his Northern Japanese family retreat. He and Neil had completed their business affairs for Neil’s music publishing company.
The train was lightning fast and the heated seats were chili pepper hot. We took to slightly lifting one thigh at a time all the while continuously smiling at our smiling host.
Three hours later we arrived in the northern mountains where our thighs and the rest of our attached bodies were now introduced to incredibly cold weather as we trudged through the abundant and bottomless snow in this frozen wonderland to our host’s retreat.
In 1274 Kublai Khan and his powerful Mogul forces landed in Japan—BUT–they immediately——evacuated.
Extreme weather happens for about six months in northern Japan because, and I am quoting a Japanese author, “the penetrating, bleak, damp, cold winds blow from the Siberian wilderness.” (Small wonder, Khan retreated!) We did not.
We were to spend the night at a traditional Ryokan Country Inn.
According to custom we needed to get rid of our journey’s fatigue by visiting the hotel hot springs. Barbara and I padded to the onsen (hot-spring bath) in our kimonos, with our thin-dinner-size-napkin-towels, adequate for drying one arm.
The ten by twelve foot thermal hot-spring was three feet deep and held scalding water. Neat little stools were placed next to water taps along the wall where we hung our Yucatan and then perched on a stool to completely soap and rinse.
The Japanese like their communal bath waters to be at least 110 degrees Fahrenheit. It was a study in stop-motion to see us get into the baths and then watch two shrimp boil. Only Gauguin could have achieved our painterly red glow. And then the door opened—three Japanese men were about to disrobe, soap and join us. Now it was full speed ahead as we gathered robes and 12 inch towels to exit.
We were to dine heya-shoku in Barbara & Neil’s suite where bountiful colored ceramic dishes were exquisitely arranged on a rectangular table. The hosts were on one side, Barbara and Neil had another side and I was placed next to the host’s young son about eighteen inches from an outside wood wall. Once again, half of me was sizzling because we sat on floor cushions with our legs in a deep pit which had a heater radiating hot tidal waves. The top of my body enveloped in steely, pervasive cold——fried frog legs on bottom half. Agile hands flew across our table as chop sticks gustily scooped up dried squid, slightly boiled octopus, pickled chrysanthemum blossoms, dried salmon roe, etc.
Hours later we bowed and offered our arigatos.
I climbed an old narrow staircase to the second floor. My room had two outside wood walls. This was a de facto Siberian night!
My sleeping tatami was a futon hovering about a foot off the floor. Quoting again, “Although the exterior of Japanese houses are quite picturesque especially those in the country their construction makes Japanese houses extremely cold in winter.” A perfect quote for my two outside walls.
I carefully took everything out of my suitcase. Soon my tatami was brimming with the contents of the suitcase, underwear and all, plus artistically hovering on top—— (what else?) my cloth raincoat as I slid underneath and promptly fell asleep.
Loud, exasperating sigh! A need to visit the communal bathroom.
I know almost all reading this blog have experienced this sinister, slightly raised ceramic contortionist device. Suffice it to say; it was only one night.
I later discovered our ryokan also had American style guest rooms, but smart and curious Barbara lives with flair, loving real experiences. I was not surprised. She was born and raised among the Third Reich where her family carved and sliced out a life of survival throughout the war.
Formerly, on one occasion Barbara mentioned her childhood. We were sitting in her living room. Her sister-in-law entered and proceeded to empty an ashtray on a table next to Barbara.
Her sister-in-law said: “Where’s your apple core, I’ll throw it away!” Barbara said:” I ate it!”
Sister-in-law: “You ate the stem, core and seeds?”
Barbara: “I always eat the whole apple—I love the different tastes. When I was little we would scour the ground during the war, it didn’t matter if the food was old, spoiled or dirty. We were desperately hungry.
My mother always said a little dirt on food would not hurt anyone!”
Of course, she would choose an authentic ryocan——for our fantastic journey.
SHOPPING
I was enchanted with Asian art, pottery and wanted tangible keepsakes to define this trip. Of course I strayed from light, packable purchases when my eyes lingered on an enormous blue and white pot of fine-drawn scenes. Next to it was a smaller one of deep blue with equally lovely designs—-actually it was not a lot smaller.
My fate was sealed when the Japanese antiquarian offered to crate the pots and deliver and place them on our plane. I never looked back.
Also purchased were beautiful Imari dishes for our daughters AND all my treasures were certificated as being over one hundred years ensuring my not having to pay duty. I am a gifted shopper.
FLY AWAY & THEN SOME
It seemed simple enough——fly home——alas——who knew China Air would arrive hours late in Los Angeles OR that customs officials would not lift my crate onto a flimsy shopping cart that wobbled OR that the inter-terminal bus service was closed for the night OR that no taxi would pick me and my crate up to drive the teeny-tiny distance from the International terminal to the Main terminal OR that the last possible flight to San Diego had left for the night OR that cell phones had not been developed.
LAX is behemoth. So was my ratchety unstable cart with the crate gingerly balanced amidst the muted ghostly lights in that empty uninhabited airport. The landline phone booths were few and far between. It was a memorable undertaking as I juggled the phone to my ear while holding onto the cart with the other hand.
Barbara and Neil had deplaned in Honolulu to warm up at their condo. Sooo, where would I hunker down for the night?
My options were to push my cart on the 405 freeway to San Diego at 10:30 p.m.——124 miles——wearing my high heeled black leather boots and my raincoat or—— so much for independence, I called my husband. (I forgot to mention my crate when we talked. It was a surprise!)
He called my cousin who lives somewhat close to the airport. This call was the unreal about to become “real.”
“Hello! Wondering if you can help. Sheila’s at LAX…it’s closed for the night……” Her husband gallantly drove to the airport. They housed me and my crate with warmth and care to then re-deposited at the airport the next morning. Think about it, a long trip, abandoned and standing alone at an empty, ghostly LAX at night and a family rescue. How lucky can one cousin get?
When I emerged from customs the next morning in San Diego with a luggage attendant struggling to balance our treasures—-my husband’s look was unforgettable.
Equally unforgettable——the un-crating! We discovered the antiquarian shop merchant cleverly filled the pots in the crates with sand to keep them balanced.
Phew——Not only a trail of broken backs across oceans, but a trash bin of slithery sand. GUILTY! My coup de grace! I carefully placed my snappy high-heeled black boots and folded rain coat on top of that snappy sand!
And I now dedicate this blog to the empowerment, advancement and the orbit of family and friends! And the following, meaningful word to my husband, Neil, Barbara and my cousin and her husband,
ARIGATO!
Sy’s Salient Points: I love the fact that my antique pots exude a sense of history and sophistication for me. If I had placed the large pot by itself, it would be a very pretty pot, but by jaxapositioning it with more blue and white pots, a lovely ordinary transforms into the extraordinary. An eye-catching display!
P.S. Once again, Thank you for sharing your synergy to elevate my blog:
Betty Barnacut – Editor
Sue Berman & Caroline Meade – Artful Art
Matt Karl – Outstanding Blog Webmaster & Creator
Congratulations on Your First Theatre Performance
and
Graduating High School, My Darling Blaire!