January 19
Sunlight streaming in through the blinds over my windows woke me before my alarm went off. Rising, feeling refreshed and well rested, I got ready for breakfast, taking the elevator down from the seventh floor.
We ate a quick breakfast, earlier than usual for the bus tour left the New Sanno not long after 8 o' clock. We boarded, with Debra and I choosing the last seats -- for the aisle gave way to a middle seat there, and room enough for both of us to stretch our legs. I shot a few candid photos when she wasn't looking, eliciting laughs, but mostly we just talked a bit, finding ourselves in a good, perhaps silly, mood. This may have been the result of getting a more decent amount of sleep, or maybe because of having finally shifted onto Tokyo time fully.
After stopping at various other hotels to pick up passengers, our tour guide finally began his monologue. Within a few minutes, we quickly noticed that his favorite words seemed to be "okay" and "you know." Mrs. Medlin also noticed this, for she later reported that she had counted and that he had said, "you know" over 40 times in 5 minutes. Sometimes a stream of "you know"'s would come out all in a set, punctuated by an "okay." Still, it was entertaining to listen to, as well as being informative.
We arrived at Tokyo Tower, a 333-meter tall structure of orange and white that is landmark of the Tokyo skyline, as well as serving as the broadcast point for various radio and television stations. We took an elevator up to the observation deck and looked out over the city. I found myself remembering the view from the Empire State Building I had had the previous summer, back in New York before September 11th. Yet here in the city that was the jewel of the Land of the Rising Sun, lit by the fires of the rising sun, everything looked small, peaceful and calm.
From this height, we finally glimpsed Mt. Fuji for the first time, a looming hulk of white snow in the distance. We had not seen it before for all our other moments had been shrouded in cloud and fog. It projected an air of stability and calm, a reassurance that although ancient times had long passed by, their memory and lessons would be treasured and valued for ages yet. I snapped photos, for such an interesting perspective is not often afforded. I re-realized at how fragile human life is, at how very many of us there are on this planet. And yet, for all our billions in population, each one of us has a unique, independent life -- a gift with which to make an impact upon other fellow souls, all dwelling for a time upon this pale blue dot of a planet. The time came when we had to descend from the lofty heights of Tokyo tower and so we did, taking the elevator back down and re-boarding the bus, led by our tour guide.
We next visited a Shinto shrine, wrapped within a secluded patch of wilderness. As we walked on the gravel path leading to the shrine, I looked at the trees, taking their life from the light of the sun, and at the various people coming to pray and meditate in this peaceful location. The picture contrasted with what I had seen atop Tokyo Tower. There had been the bustle of humanity, spilling out to the edge of vision with development and technology, growing every minute with the promise of hope. Yet here was the peace of nature, steadfast, secure -- present yet distant, like Mt. Fuji, offering solace and calm, and perhaps a deeper understanding of what it is this being of ours is truly. We continued into the shrine, passing beneath the gate, walking by a wedding ceremony done in the traditional Japanese style, kimonos included. People lived lives, bound within nature and natural existence yet brushing by the edges of something greater, visible only at times when the bustle subsides and only audible in peaceful silence. People fell in love and married, had children -- these children in turn, would fall in love themselves, and onward the circle would go, generation after generation, with everything else fading away. It would not be the technology that we would remember in fifty years, nor would it be merely the beautiful architecture. No, it would be the people -- the interactions between souls -- these would captivate our memories and lift aloft our imagination. Humanity's greatest prize is itself -- its own humanity, tender and precious, fragile and weak, delicate and fading. Yet out of weakness, hope born of choice: the liberation of freedom that enables us to live our lives in such beautiful ways. Musing quietly, wrapped in thought, I silently snapped a few photos and then, when the time came to return to the bus, strolled back thoughtfully, pondering.
As we drove to our next stop, we passed by the Imperial Palace, fenced behind tall iron fences. We also passed the Diet, the Japanese equivalent of our Congress. Western influences were evident in the design and architecture. Throughout this trip I have realized how wide a reach Western culture has had. Europe's art, music and fashion has spread around the globe, sometimes succeeded by Europe's heir, America.
We arrived at the Imperial East Garden and disembarked. The looks of the Garden reminded me of the Lazienki, the Royal Park in Warsaw, Poland, that I had visited in 1993 and 1997. It was calm and green, a peaceful oasis within the heart of Tokyo. We walked about, talking and snapping photos a bit, before entering into a museum where we looked at various pieces of pottery, sculpture and art. Once we wandered out, as Debra and I had lagged a bit behind the main group (probably due to my pausing to photograph something or other every so often), we locked arms and decided to skip to the front of the group, lightly singing "We're off to See the Wizard, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz." Whether or not we elicited states, I cannot say, for I was too full of mirth and joy to notice, or care. In any case, we skipped past the front of the group and back to the bus, bringing a smile upon the driver's face as he saw us arrive. Once we were back in our seats, we laughed for a long while, our hearts light as our feet had been but moments before.
The bus next took us to lunch, which consisted of traditional Japanese food lighted fried, known as kushiage. The food arrived in little groups, such as chicken, scallops and asparagus. I traded away my seafood for vegetables and ate to my heart's content. Dessert was something quite European -- a little scoop of Italian ice. After lunch, we had some time before the meeting time -- the guide had pointed out that we should meet at the "Park," which was actually a large sign that said precisely that.
Debra found a stuffed animal shop nearby and brought Mrs. Mizoguchi, Mrs. Medlin and I along. The Japanese have taken a liking to small, fuzzy creatures -- though smallness is not a requirement, as giant fuzzy creatures were also popular within the shop. Some more wanderings accompanied with singing, a little bit of pigeon chasing (the pigeons were most lethargic, and as Debra put it, "fat pigeons") led to the realization that we were near where we had gotten off our van to see the Sony Showroom some days prior. That little realization made us feel as if we were learning our way around this tremendous city; as if we might be getting a better feel for Tokyo.
Shortly afterwards, we reassembled at our preordained meeting spot beneath the large "Park" sign. There, we said farewell to our old tour guide and met our new guide, a young lady who rather happily said that this was her second tour ever. She then mentioned that she had spent most of the night studying and taking notes – she held up a notebook with its pages filled with Kanji as evidence. She was filled with the enthusiasm of a person doing a job for the first time – hopefully her joy for her work would be maintained throughout her career.
The bus soon began rolling and we made a short stop at Tasaki Pearl Gallery. There our tour assembled in a room with many chairs, with everyone drawing a number upon entry. Then, holding our plastic tags with the numbers on them in hand, we watched as a technician skillfully irritated an oyster containing a pearl and demonstrated various other pearl facts. After the poor oyster (thankfully already dead for the purposes of demonstration) had been suitably manipulated and the pearl revealed, the numbers that we had received came into play. The technician, taking off his gloves, reached for a small electronic toy. This toy, after having a button on its top pressed, would make funny high-pitched beeping noises and spin an LED display with random numbers, before finally settling on one. Whoever held the number that matched the screen, the technician explained, would win the pearl he had drawn out of the oyster. Everyone sat at the edge of their seats, gripping their numbers and looking down intently at them as the toy beeped on. Finally, the beeping came to an end and a lone number appeared on the screen. Smiling, the technician held it aloft and called it out. I glanced at my number. I had 54. No, it did not match. After 30 seconds of tense waiting, someone ventured, "Seems like nothing matches."
The technician frowned a moment, but soon resumed his smile. He pushed the button again, causing a new melody of beeps to issue forth. Another number. More tense seconds. No match. Puzzled now, the technician (who thankfully bore no resemblance to Regis Philbin whatsoever) pressed the button again. Beep bop beep. Another number. No match. Finally, on the sixth or seventh number, a man in the front row sheepishly stood up and conceded that he finally matched the new number. A sigh of disappointment intermingled with relief passed through the crowd.
With that, we departed from the Pearl Gallery, descending down a staircase back onto our bus. The bus's wheels rolled to a stop at the Tokyo harbor, where we de-boarded and assembled quickly on the docks. Soon, we were aboard a small, wide flat boat, with rows of seats that somewhat resembled pews in a church. The ceiling was clear Plexiglas, so that the sky could be seen through it. As the tour was not too full, Debra and I took a long bench for ourselves and stretched out upon it.
Idly lolling from side to side in the waters, the boat slowly began to move out into the harbor, taking us a ways upriver. It would pass underneath several bridges, which were depicted on a pamphlet that we had received. With the gentle rocking motion, regular and somewhat comforting, as well as the warmth in the cabin, the boat ride almost because half a dream for me. Looking through the windows, watching the shores of Tokyo pass by lazily, I felt quite relaxed and at peace, as well as being very content. I matched the bridges with their depictions on the pamphlet and so tracked the half-hour journey upriver. The experience felt rather surreal, a relaxing break from the day's tourist-ing.
When at last the boat pulled into harbor, we stepped back on land, and sure enough, sighted our reliable tour guide's small red flag, waving diligently to and fro. After a short stint of brisk walking, which felt very good after lounging around a rocking boat (as opposed to, perhaps, a rocking chair) for half an hour, we came before a great red gate. There we all huddled in and listened to our guide. She explained that we would meet at 5 o' clock at the other gate – which was beyond this one. Until then, we had the license to explore and shop as we willed.
Regrouping with our small Operation Cherry Blossom team, we all checked that we had heard the same information and then Debra and I went off, wandering a bit in the huge crowds of that shopping area. Peddlers and merchants sold almost anything – and in Japan, the old art of calling is still alive and well. Merchants would routinely stand a ways off from their stores and almost chant words advertising their products, their voices rising and falling rhythmically.
As I had been somewhat, err – lax in my shopping hitherto, Debra was of great aid in finding and acquiring items and gifts. At one point, after I took a photo upon my tip toes peering out over the tops of the dark-haired crowd that swarmed all about the plaza, she requested a moment's lift so that she might get a similar shot. I obliged, and after the snap of a shutter, we were soon back to wandering and shopping.
Time spun away, as it tends to when one is walking and talking in gladness. We loitered a bit under the second gate, observing the pigeons as they congregated on the rooftops in the gathering gloom. Finally, as the rest of the tour slowly reappeared, our diligent tour guide waved her small red flag and led us back to the bus.
Rather content and light-hearted, and perhaps yet with the vestiges of the silly mood of the morning, Debra and I skipped a ways back to the bus and re-boarded. The bus would take people back to their hotels – the New Sanno would be one of the last stops. And as a few more people had come on the tour since the switch of guides in the afternoon, we had lost half the last seat and thus sat one side. There, as night cast dark drapes over the sky, lights lit up in the buildings that we passed by. We talked a while, but soon Debra napped while I relaxed in calm thought, my mind going over the events of the day. Reality felt tenuous, almost dreamlike.
An hour or so after having boarded, we finally disembarked at the New Sanno. We waved goodbye to the driver and scheduled to meet for dinner in a 15 minutes, after dropping off backpacks and coats in our respective rooms. After dinner, which was peppered with conversation about the day's events, we set a meeting time for breakfast the next morning. Once we had stayed a short time on the net in the Cybercafe, Debra and I rented Final Fantasy and watched it. It was my third time or so seeing it, and I thought it somewhat appropriate to watch a Japanese movie in Japan. I appreciated the film's respect for hard work and faith and also enjoyed the technical wizardry that went into it. Perhaps because so much of the plot is tied up in dialogue the American public did not like the film enough to support more than a meager box office gross. In any case, after the movie Debra and I talked a brief while before parting. The day had been long, and though it had not been particularly tiring, sleep came easily to me once I lay my head on my pillow.