As my year of ushering, shooing, and cajoling the Oakleaf Explorers draws to an end, I'm concentrating less on exposing newcomers to the various splendors of our host nation and spending more time helping the veterans squeeze in one or two more adventures before they move back to the United States later this spring.
Jen O wanted to visit Mashiko, the pottery town about two and a half hours north of Tokyo. My car's tires are too bald to support such an ambitious undertaking so I reserved a van through the base car rental agency while Jen engaged in the sort of complicated childcare arrangements that can only be comprehended by a mother of three with a husband at sea. We put the date and location on the Explorers' calendar and about three hours later I trudged back to the car rental agency to reserve a second van and started lining up additional drivers for what was fast becoming a major production.
And so this is how I found myself behind the wheel of a 7-passenger van on a highway skirting Tokyo on the morning, and then again in the afternoon, of the last day of March. Mike has always handled the driving to and from Narita Airport so this was my maiden voyage in Tokyo traffic. Fortunately, I was so busy laughing that I forgot to be nervous.
What was so funny? Well, my two navigators were quibbling over directions before we even exited the base. They finally settled on a route that sounded an awful lot like a game of Bingo to me: Yoko-Yoko tollroad to Shuto B to C-2 to S-1 to Tohoku Expressway. Gosh, I'm glad we got that settled. Just tell me when to turn.
Then a serious case of map envy set in. Jen O had brought along a map that every other woman in the van was absolutely, positively, dead certain possession thereof would contribute to a vastly improved quality of life. It was reminiscent of a slumber party in late December 1962 when Susie showed up clutching her new Barbie. In this case, the accommodating - more accommodating than Susie by a long shot - Jen O indulged their fantasies by trolling for "chizu Tokyo" at every toll booth within a 100-mile radius of Tokyo. (I stopped looking in my rearview mirror after the first toll booth when I spotted the guy two cars back flexing his hands and trying to remember which finger means "Stop holding up traffic!" in English sign language.)
Most of you have been to Mashiko with me twice already so I won't bore you with the shopping details. One thing that bears mention, however, was our visit to Daisei Gama studio, the only remaining studio that exclusively fires their pottery in a traditional wood burning kiln. Jane had arranged for us to see the
Noborigama (climbing kiln) behind the studio and I was pleasantly surprised upon our arrival to find myself at the studio where I had made my first pottery purchase in the fall of 2006. It's a tiny little vase, all I could afford then and still.
Because we were on a tight schedule, we limited our potty breaks to one in each direction. "Do not under any circumstances enter any door other than the one leading to the restroom!" With handy signs like the one above to guide the bladder-challenged and/or pregnant passengers, there was no excuse for wandering into a convenience store or gift shop.
But my favorite sign by far is the one hanging inside many truckstop restrooms, letting customers know at a glance which cubicles are occupied and which are available. This is the first time I've seen a symbol for ostomates.
Venerable Student was curious. "What route did you take to Mashiko, Esteemed Sensei?"
Jen O wanted to visit Mashiko, the pottery town about two and a half hours north of Tokyo. My car's tires are too bald to support such an ambitious undertaking so I reserved a van through the base car rental agency while Jen engaged in the sort of complicated childcare arrangements that can only be comprehended by a mother of three with a husband at sea. We put the date and location on the Explorers' calendar and about three hours later I trudged back to the car rental agency to reserve a second van and started lining up additional drivers for what was fast becoming a major production.
Most of you have been to Mashiko with me twice already so I won't bore you with the shopping details. One thing that bears mention, however, was our visit to Daisei Gama studio, the only remaining studio that exclusively fires their pottery in a traditional wood burning kiln. Jane had arranged for us to see the Noborigama (climbing kiln) behind the studio and I was pleasantly surprised upon our arrival to find myself at the studio where I had made my first pottery purchase in the fall of 2006. It's a tiny little vase, all I could afford then and still.
Because we were on a tight schedule, we limited our potty breaks to one in each direction. "Do not under any circumstances enter any door other than the one leading to the restroom!" With handy signs like the one above to guide the bladder-challenged and/or pregnant passengers, there was no excuse for wandering into a convenience store or gift shop.
But my favorite sign by far is the one hanging inside many truckstop restrooms, letting customers know at a glance which cubicles are occupied and which are available. This is the first time I've seen a symbol for ostomates.
Sue was not my only friend on the tour bus. Erin, whose husband is on the Seventh Fleet staff and currently sailing the ocean blue with the Ancient Mariner, brought her three boys: studious Ethan, mischievous Matthew, and - my special friend - the irrepressible Seth who was plotting his disappearing act when this picture was snapped. You might recall that Sue's husband, an emergency physician, was sent to Afghanistan in January and will not be returning to Japan until October. What an honor it was for me to spend a Sunday in the presence of these inspiring young Navy wives.
Why does this statue look so familiar? Gadzooks, it's Nichiren, the radical Thirteenth Century Buddhist saint who died in that place in Ikegami where the mysterious old lady kidnapped the Explorers just a few weeks ago. Kuon-ji, as it turns out, is the head temple of the sect Nichiren established, Nichiren Shu, and the place where he asked to be buried. I think I might prefer to be stalked by Van Morrison's moon shadow than the ghost of a radical Buddhist monk.
This is a statue of Shakyamuni Buddha, regarded by Nichiren as the Eternal Buddha as preached in the 16th chapter of the Lotus Sutra. Which, I presume, explains the lotus on which this Buddha is perched.
After inhaling some incense to purify our thoughts (note lotus blossom beneath incense burner), we rode the tram back down to the main temple where we flagged down a passing monk who was surprisingly amenable to having his picture taken.
This weeping cherry tree is over 100 years old, hence those timbers supporting its limbs.
We spent an hour or so wandering around the temple grounds, admiring the splendid buildings and lovely cherry blossoms. Since my buddy Seth decided to wander further afield than the rest of us, our fellow pilgrims were treated to the sight and sounds of a six-foot tall frantic American mother racing back and forth across the plaza, which is about the length of three football fields. This is the point when I checked out those 287 stone steps, saw they were as steep as a Grand Canyon cliff, and prayed (to St. Nichiren, of course) that Seth had disappeared in the opposite direction so I wouldn't have to rappel down to fetch him. My prayers were answered.
Our next stop was the temple town for shopping, which I eschewed, and festival food, which I embraced. On offer was sakura (cherry) ice cream, bananas and strawberries dipped in chocolate (above), and footlong hot dogs (below) plus a bunch of other stuff that did not stand a chance of passing between my lips although I was more than happy to egg on a young sailor sucking up his courage to taste something exotic before he moves back to the States in a few weeks.
A bun would have been a welcome addition in terms of soaking up residual hot sake.
Leaving Mt. Minobu behind, our bus took us to Katsunuma where we toured the Shirayuri Winery and sampled L'Orient wines. One tiny sip of cherry blossom wine later, I was elbow to elbow with Ethan, Matthew, and Seth at the grape juice station, comparing the virtues of white grape juice vice purple.
