April 20: Takayama
Apr. 22nd, 2012 09:39 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
blatherskiteForgot to mention that last night, as dusk was falling, we got to watch a small flock of bats (maybe half a dozen of them) swooping around overhead, sometimes as close as 20 feet. They looked to be similar in size to the familiar “little brown bat” of North America, and were equally fun to watch. The way bats fly blows my mind: they make turns that no reasonable creature should be able to make.
Today was our day to sleep in and prowl around town. We actually did sleep in until nearly 8. Once we got going, we headed up to the morning market along one of the rivers that runs through town. It’s still too early in the growing season to expect much variety, so there was not much in the way of vegetables: mostly stuff that can survive the winter, like roots and leeks, or things that pop up quickly once the soil warms, like various leafy greens and mushrooms. In that sense, it was disappointing. But there was other interesting stuff like several variants of pickled daikon radish, cucumbers, bamboo, and roots, and most merchants provide free samples. (This is also true of many of the shops that sell prepackaged snacks like rice crackers, candies, and cookies. You can eat quite a bit of food if you’re willing to adopt the hunter-gatherer lifestyle.)
We had a nice snack of sticky rice coated in caramelized barbeque sauce, served on a popsicle stick, to hold us while we sought out heartier fare. We stopped for a really good, but really pricey (about $5) cup of coffee at a local coffee shop, then stumbled across a shop that sold stuffed buns. These are the kind made from sticky white-flour bread and cooked in a bamboo steamer while stuffed with various kinds of yummy stuff; we chose savory Hida beef (a local specialty) and miso paste, and shared them. We were all set to leave when Shoshanna noticed they had free wi-fi, so we took the opportunity to scarf down another bun and check e-mail. (We can check at the minshuku, but it’s less convenient because they don’t have wi-fi, and it’s necessary to unplug their shared laptop and sit on a tiny stool in the lobby while you type.)
I don’t think we mentioned the vending machines yet, and they are definitely worth a mention. It sometimes seems there are more of these things than people—certainly more than North American tourists. It’s rare to walk more than a couple hundred yards without stumbling across one or several huddled together. Oddly, we have yet to see one that sells any kind of snack: it’s all cigarettes or drinks. My favorite weird drink? “Pocari Sweat”, which is basically a local version of Gatorade sold for rehydration. I have not idea what a Pocari is or why one would want to consume its sweat, but there you have it. Most of the machines sell a mixture of cold drinks in bottles and hot coffee served in cans. Canned coffee from a vending machine didn’t sound all that promising, but for about $1.50 per can (cheaper than anything we’ve seen in a restaurant or coffee shop), it was cheap enough to give it a try. (I’m a caffiend, and need my daily fix.) I forgot that this is Japan, and that they therefore do most food things very right indeed: the coffee was actually quite good, and I’ve been drinking at least one can per day. You can get the coffee black, brown (with milk), or white (basically a latté), and the first two are quite good. Might try the third tomorrow, but I like the brown well enough to feel no need to experiment. I’ve also occasionally seen an espresso type that looks worth a try.
The rest of the day was spent walking in the local historical preservation area, which comprises the buildings along two main streets (six or seven blocks on each?). The streets are lined with old buildings, many dating back more than a century. Proof of their age: really low doorways, sized for Meiji-era Japanese, not 6-footers like me. The second floors of most of these buildings I wouldn’t be able to stand in. I only banged my head once, and not hard enough to see stars. Mostly we enjoyed the ambience of the streets, spending our time window-shopping and poking our heads in the door if something looked interesting. But we also continued doing the hunter-gatherer thing, trying out a great many samples of different foods. Unfortunately, the several sake stores weren’t handing out samples, but the rest of the samples were nice.
Favorite shop: Osagiya, which I immediately dubbed “the bunny store” because everything in it was a rabbit or related to rabbits (osagi = rabbit). (I think I’ve got the name right; the English was a tiny block of text half-hidden by the window.) Much cute stuff, including a “maneki osagi”. “Maneki neko” is the famous Asian cat statue, standing on its hind legs and holding up one arm. “Maneki” means “beckoning” or “welcoming” in Japanese, and that’s what the cats do: different colors mean different things (e.g., black = business success), and different combinations of which arm is held up mean different things: one arm welcomes people, another arm welcomes money, and both arms welcome both.
There’s an odd mixture of English and no English, presumably based on the clientele a given place wants to attract. Most places don’t have English signs, or have only a few words of English, though the streets are mostly well marked bilingually, including numbers and highway numbers. Oddly enough, many of the restaurants don’t clearly identify themselves as places to eat: some have little signs saying “coffee” or “lunch”, and many have menus hanging somewhere, though where is not always obvious. Some have 1-foot or larger cedar balls to indicate they serve sake, but most don’t. Some have lanterns outside, and some don’t. There doesn’t seem to be any consistent identified, and since many have sliding doors or bamboo curtains that conceal the interior, sometimes you have to just guess and poke your head in to see if you’ve guessed right. I haven’t yet seen any consistent identified of a restaurant.
Favorite silly gaijin trick: I found a woodworking shop that had boken (wooden katanas) in a basket, and couldn’t resist trying one out. (I studied kendo in university, so I knew how to hold it right.) Mine at home is better made, but it was still fun, and an old Japanese gentleman was all smiles when he saw me testing the balance. Speaking of wood, this part of Japan is well known for high-quality woodworking, and we found many shops with beautiful carved goods, ranging from tabletops made from a single huge piece of tsugi or hinoki (cedar and cypress, though I might have the order wrong there) to tiny animal carvings. Some of the nicest work was small sake cups, and particularly a square cup with rounded corners made from four flat pieces of wood joined together almost seamlessly using dovetailing. Beautiful work. Also much gorgeous ceramics, elegant in design and with a stunning range of beautiful glazes, something Japanese craft-folk are justly famed for. We didn’t buy any because we weren’t willing to risk trying to travel with something that fragile for more than another week. We’ll undoubtedly get some in Kyoto, pack it well, and cross our fingers.
We found several things interestingly different from in the west. First, there’s no litter to speak of; we saw an occasional discarded coffee can or scrap of paper, but it was rare enough to be worthy of comment. This is doubly unusual because it can be tricky to find a garbage can, and not all vending machines have a recycling bin beside them. Second, nobody appears to be worried much about theft; many of the bikes were left unlocked, products for sale are left facing the street without much (or any?) supervision, and we even came across some high-quality art (framed paintings) displayed openly in public in a poorly trafficked alley behind the public archives. Third, there’s no graffiti. None. These are all signs of one of the things I’ve always loved about Japan, namely the social contract that says people should take responsibility for living together in mutual respect. We could learn a lot from Japan about this.
Tonight we decided to try the Japanese dinner offered by our hosts at the minshuku. It was a good call, since everything was delish. Miso soup, as expected, and a hot-pot containing beef, chicken, mushrooms, and bean sprouts that sat there simmering in savory broth until the beef was cooked; then you throw in a beaten/blended egg, which cooks into the broth to create small clumps of eggy goodness. There were two types of raw fish, which I threw into the broth to cook—I dislike the texture of raw fish. Shoshanna ate hers raw, the proper way. Both excellent. Two crustacean things I passed right over to Shoshanna without a second glance; I’m also not fond of them. She didn’t much like the raw shrimp, but the breaded one disappeared quickly. Steamed greens on the side. A small dab of potato salad, which was just odd, and pickled daikon, which is fairly standard. And eggplant au gratin, which was excellent but not what I expected at a Japanese meal. Washed down with a shared bottle of Asaha Extra Dry beer, and a pot of ocha.
After dinner, I headed downstairs for a steaming-hot bath, which is something I’m increasingly getting addicted to; nothing quite like steaming the flesh from one’s bones to soothe the aches and pains from all that walking. Had a good night’s sleep afterwards, aided by the fatigue from all that walking, combined with the torpor generated by a bath hot enough to make soup if you fall asleep in it for too long.
Today was our day to sleep in and prowl around town. We actually did sleep in until nearly 8. Once we got going, we headed up to the morning market along one of the rivers that runs through town. It’s still too early in the growing season to expect much variety, so there was not much in the way of vegetables: mostly stuff that can survive the winter, like roots and leeks, or things that pop up quickly once the soil warms, like various leafy greens and mushrooms. In that sense, it was disappointing. But there was other interesting stuff like several variants of pickled daikon radish, cucumbers, bamboo, and roots, and most merchants provide free samples. (This is also true of many of the shops that sell prepackaged snacks like rice crackers, candies, and cookies. You can eat quite a bit of food if you’re willing to adopt the hunter-gatherer lifestyle.)
We had a nice snack of sticky rice coated in caramelized barbeque sauce, served on a popsicle stick, to hold us while we sought out heartier fare. We stopped for a really good, but really pricey (about $5) cup of coffee at a local coffee shop, then stumbled across a shop that sold stuffed buns. These are the kind made from sticky white-flour bread and cooked in a bamboo steamer while stuffed with various kinds of yummy stuff; we chose savory Hida beef (a local specialty) and miso paste, and shared them. We were all set to leave when Shoshanna noticed they had free wi-fi, so we took the opportunity to scarf down another bun and check e-mail. (We can check at the minshuku, but it’s less convenient because they don’t have wi-fi, and it’s necessary to unplug their shared laptop and sit on a tiny stool in the lobby while you type.)
I don’t think we mentioned the vending machines yet, and they are definitely worth a mention. It sometimes seems there are more of these things than people—certainly more than North American tourists. It’s rare to walk more than a couple hundred yards without stumbling across one or several huddled together. Oddly, we have yet to see one that sells any kind of snack: it’s all cigarettes or drinks. My favorite weird drink? “Pocari Sweat”, which is basically a local version of Gatorade sold for rehydration. I have not idea what a Pocari is or why one would want to consume its sweat, but there you have it. Most of the machines sell a mixture of cold drinks in bottles and hot coffee served in cans. Canned coffee from a vending machine didn’t sound all that promising, but for about $1.50 per can (cheaper than anything we’ve seen in a restaurant or coffee shop), it was cheap enough to give it a try. (I’m a caffiend, and need my daily fix.) I forgot that this is Japan, and that they therefore do most food things very right indeed: the coffee was actually quite good, and I’ve been drinking at least one can per day. You can get the coffee black, brown (with milk), or white (basically a latté), and the first two are quite good. Might try the third tomorrow, but I like the brown well enough to feel no need to experiment. I’ve also occasionally seen an espresso type that looks worth a try.
The rest of the day was spent walking in the local historical preservation area, which comprises the buildings along two main streets (six or seven blocks on each?). The streets are lined with old buildings, many dating back more than a century. Proof of their age: really low doorways, sized for Meiji-era Japanese, not 6-footers like me. The second floors of most of these buildings I wouldn’t be able to stand in. I only banged my head once, and not hard enough to see stars. Mostly we enjoyed the ambience of the streets, spending our time window-shopping and poking our heads in the door if something looked interesting. But we also continued doing the hunter-gatherer thing, trying out a great many samples of different foods. Unfortunately, the several sake stores weren’t handing out samples, but the rest of the samples were nice.
Favorite shop: Osagiya, which I immediately dubbed “the bunny store” because everything in it was a rabbit or related to rabbits (osagi = rabbit). (I think I’ve got the name right; the English was a tiny block of text half-hidden by the window.) Much cute stuff, including a “maneki osagi”. “Maneki neko” is the famous Asian cat statue, standing on its hind legs and holding up one arm. “Maneki” means “beckoning” or “welcoming” in Japanese, and that’s what the cats do: different colors mean different things (e.g., black = business success), and different combinations of which arm is held up mean different things: one arm welcomes people, another arm welcomes money, and both arms welcome both.
There’s an odd mixture of English and no English, presumably based on the clientele a given place wants to attract. Most places don’t have English signs, or have only a few words of English, though the streets are mostly well marked bilingually, including numbers and highway numbers. Oddly enough, many of the restaurants don’t clearly identify themselves as places to eat: some have little signs saying “coffee” or “lunch”, and many have menus hanging somewhere, though where is not always obvious. Some have 1-foot or larger cedar balls to indicate they serve sake, but most don’t. Some have lanterns outside, and some don’t. There doesn’t seem to be any consistent identified, and since many have sliding doors or bamboo curtains that conceal the interior, sometimes you have to just guess and poke your head in to see if you’ve guessed right. I haven’t yet seen any consistent identified of a restaurant.
Favorite silly gaijin trick: I found a woodworking shop that had boken (wooden katanas) in a basket, and couldn’t resist trying one out. (I studied kendo in university, so I knew how to hold it right.) Mine at home is better made, but it was still fun, and an old Japanese gentleman was all smiles when he saw me testing the balance. Speaking of wood, this part of Japan is well known for high-quality woodworking, and we found many shops with beautiful carved goods, ranging from tabletops made from a single huge piece of tsugi or hinoki (cedar and cypress, though I might have the order wrong there) to tiny animal carvings. Some of the nicest work was small sake cups, and particularly a square cup with rounded corners made from four flat pieces of wood joined together almost seamlessly using dovetailing. Beautiful work. Also much gorgeous ceramics, elegant in design and with a stunning range of beautiful glazes, something Japanese craft-folk are justly famed for. We didn’t buy any because we weren’t willing to risk trying to travel with something that fragile for more than another week. We’ll undoubtedly get some in Kyoto, pack it well, and cross our fingers.
We found several things interestingly different from in the west. First, there’s no litter to speak of; we saw an occasional discarded coffee can or scrap of paper, but it was rare enough to be worthy of comment. This is doubly unusual because it can be tricky to find a garbage can, and not all vending machines have a recycling bin beside them. Second, nobody appears to be worried much about theft; many of the bikes were left unlocked, products for sale are left facing the street without much (or any?) supervision, and we even came across some high-quality art (framed paintings) displayed openly in public in a poorly trafficked alley behind the public archives. Third, there’s no graffiti. None. These are all signs of one of the things I’ve always loved about Japan, namely the social contract that says people should take responsibility for living together in mutual respect. We could learn a lot from Japan about this.
Tonight we decided to try the Japanese dinner offered by our hosts at the minshuku. It was a good call, since everything was delish. Miso soup, as expected, and a hot-pot containing beef, chicken, mushrooms, and bean sprouts that sat there simmering in savory broth until the beef was cooked; then you throw in a beaten/blended egg, which cooks into the broth to create small clumps of eggy goodness. There were two types of raw fish, which I threw into the broth to cook—I dislike the texture of raw fish. Shoshanna ate hers raw, the proper way. Both excellent. Two crustacean things I passed right over to Shoshanna without a second glance; I’m also not fond of them. She didn’t much like the raw shrimp, but the breaded one disappeared quickly. Steamed greens on the side. A small dab of potato salad, which was just odd, and pickled daikon, which is fairly standard. And eggplant au gratin, which was excellent but not what I expected at a Japanese meal. Washed down with a shared bottle of Asaha Extra Dry beer, and a pot of ocha.
After dinner, I headed downstairs for a steaming-hot bath, which is something I’m increasingly getting addicted to; nothing quite like steaming the flesh from one’s bones to soothe the aches and pains from all that walking. Had a good night’s sleep afterwards, aided by the fatigue from all that walking, combined with the torpor generated by a bath hot enough to make soup if you fall asleep in it for too long.