The Kyoto My Heart

Following the advice of the college roommate of our friend Kendra, we made a day trip to Kyoto, a city with a dense concentration (17, to be exact) of World Heritage sites. We found our time in Kyoto to be our favorite part of the trip to Japan, and deeply regretted not having spent more time here. As a city, Kyoto is lovingly ensconced amidst verdant hills, and the city unfolds before you as you make your way from one neighborhood to another. One online reviewer compared Kyoto to his native Chattanooga, Tennessee, which has to be the single most over-the-top compliment ever paid to Chattanooga. In truth, our Kyoto trip also benefited from some serendipity; Vik happened to come across a stray Word document about Kyoto in our hotel’s computer lab that gave us several well-written tips on where to go (and where to shop!).

Our day started with a rush-hour foray, and we were definitely overwhelmed by the central Tokyo railway station. We bought our tickets without much problem (other than our raised eyebrows at the $125 per person one-way fare), but couldn’t find the right departure track for the Kyoto-bound train. Our frantic running-around the station elicited enough attention that two undercover policemen (who politely flashed their badges to us) approached us to help us find the right departure track. We caught our bullet train with barely a minute to spare.

Riding the bullet train was quite an experience, best described as being in “super pursuit mode” for 2 hours (you’ll have to pardon Vik for that gratuitous Knight Rider reference). Vik still believes that we were a mere 10 mph or so away from going fast enough to reverse the earth’s orbit. As we raced westward from Tokyo, we watched Mt. Fuji whip by our window. We had to avoid holding our gaze too long on the snow-topped peak out of fear that we’d give ourselves motion sickness.

Upon arriving in Kyoto, we caught a bus downtown to the central shopping district. After making our way to Kyoto’s Nishiki Food Market, we discovered a store that has made samurai swords for 460 years. Today, the store has expanded its repertoire to other hand-forged metal goods. Given Vik’s ignominious history with overeager U.S. airport security personnel, we passed on purchasing a sword and opted instead for a copper bowl with our names engraved phonetically in Japanese characters on the side. After sampling some of the offerings from the market’s sundry food vendors, we ventured to Kyoto’s antiques district of Shinmozen and then watched amateur samurais train at the nearby Heian Shrine.

The highlight of the day was undoubtedly the walk to Kyoto’s Silver Palace. Navigating by one of our 8 Kyoto tourist maps, we happened upon a cobblestone path running alongside a pleasant canal on Kyoto’s east side. Known as the Philosophers’ Path, the walkway was dotted with charming crafts galleries, cafes and artisan workshops. We felt like we’d been transported to another place and time. We can only imagine how stunning the scene must be when the cherry blossom trees are in full bloom, but even in the stark winter, the serenity of the walk enchanted us. After a brief pitstop for some heavenly thin cinnamon cookies, we arrived at the Silver Temple.

The majesty of the Silver Temple was unlike any other we had seen in Japan. We are not entirely sure that our pocket camera has done it appropriate justice. Vik initially balked at paying the 1,000 yen admission cost (roughly $10) a half an hour before closing time, but Kaberi made the executive decision to buy the tickets. It proved to be a remarkably-sage course of action given the beauty of the setting, the layout of the grounds and the delicacy of the architecture. Vik expects Kaberi to stop saying “I told you so” some time in 2014.

Had we had more time in Kyoto, we would have toured the world-renowned Kyoto Botanical Gardens and the Golden Palace. But there just weren’t enough hours in the day to fit everything in. Suffice it to say that we have already begun plotting our eventual return.

Duomo Origato (Gozaimasu)

The next morning, we took a more uneventful bus ride back to the airport (and one in which a kind Honoluluan helped unload Vik’s bags from the bus and then proceeded to pat him on the back while shaking his hand). Luggage in tow, we approached the United check-in counter with three hours to spare before takeoff.

We then proceeded to wait for two hours as the United agent inexplicably examined every leg of our ticket on the phone with United’s rate desk in a mysterious back room. The process was ostensibly undertaken to ensure the validity of our tickets, but we suspect that the two United employees, when out of earshot, were mocking us for being stupid enough to use United to fly around the world. Either that or the United rate desk heard Vik’s earlier Indian government productivity crack and decided to give him the business (how you like us now, Murthy?).

Nine hours later found us on the ground in a new city, a new country and a new continent. Tokyo was seemingly created with Kaberi in mind. She loved the order, precision and logic found in the workings of the city, from everything to the airport buses and subway trains which ran like clockwork to the impeccably-groomed public spaces of the sprawling metropolis. Every person we encountered in Japan was unfailingly courteous and patient. And it was impossible not to be charmed by the Japanese convention of bowing, undertaken with exacting precision. Toto, we’re not in Boston anymore.

Vik managed to book surprisingly-hip accommodations at a corporate apartment in Roppongi, an eclectic neighborhood in inner Tokyo trafficked by expats. We were given a charming, spacious studio for our stay and at much cheaper rates than the local hotels. The space was modern with clean lines, and the attention to detail was beyond expectation. In addition to a kitchenette, washer/dryer and flat-screen TV, we had heated floors which made it a treat to walk around, even without the slippers provided. Our unit featured a remote control that heated the shower to the desired temperature at precisely the desired time, and (craziest of all) a toilet with a massive control panel to regulate the heat of the seat, the force of the bidet and the pressure of the follow-on (ahem) backside-dryer. The heated seat was a godsend in the middle of the Japanese winter, but Vik was admittedly not a fan of the other features.

Once we ventured out of our apartment, we could explore the city with ease. We checked out Roppongi on our first night and sampled yakitori (which translates literally in Japanese to “burnt chicken”) served alongside exorbitantly-priced edamame and diet Cokes at a joint up the street. We also found a cool, chic housewares and travel store called Axis where Vik had to muster all of his persuasive abilities to keep Kaberi from taking out a second mortgage.

The next morning, jet lag had us up at 5 am, so we headed out promptly to the northeastern district of Asakusa. After managing Tokyo’s superb subway system, we arrived early enough to enjoy the tranquility of the temples and shrines without having to brave any large crowds. We especially liked the large urns with incense representing the breath of the gods. In the hour that we wandered about, we watched the local vendors set up in preparation for the inevitable mass of tourists pouring in.

We ended up having a breakfast of street food, a theme of our trip as it proved an effective way to minimize the cost of meals. We’re not exactly sure what we ate (one woman told us we were buying vegetable cutlets but the piece of squid that was clearly identifiable once we bit into it suggested to us that maybe something was lost in translation), but it was still delicious. After a little sustenance, we wandered into the many artisan shops that dominated the area. Kaberi, of course, immediately found a number of things that caught her eye, but controlled the impulse to shop given the lack of space in our backpacks. After another hour or two of walking around, we took refuge in a cup of Green Tea Latte at the local Starbucks to get back feeling in our extremities before continuing on to another part of town.

At Vik’s insistence, we then made our way to Akihabara, Tokyo’s electronics district located just south of Asakusa. Our visit was a short one as even Vik’s enthusiasm for gadgets waned in the face of a million gaudy, blinking lights and endless booths hawking anything and everything boasting a screen and a microchip.

From Asakusa, we journeyed to Hibiya and its imposing Imperial Hotel complex, where on the suggestion of Kaberi’s cousin Amit, we had a drink at the bar that was the only original feature remaining from Frank Lloyd Wright’s design. Wright’s hotel managed to withstand earthquakes and world wars, but could not survive an unsentimental Japanese property developer’s bulldozer in the 1980’s. Nevertheless, as a Chicago girl, Kaberi enjoyed seeing such familiar patterns in the bar’s walls halfway around the world. And the Asahi Dry hit the spot too.

On our last day in Tokyo, we woke up at 4:30 am to get to Tokyo’s famed Tsikiji (pronounced Tskeejee) fish market where we labored to dodge the numerous oncoming, singlemindedly-driven mini-tractors. The sight of assorted marine life, in various states of presentation, was a sight to behold as was the backroom auction of tuna ranging from the size of motorcycles to passenger cars. Unfortunately, Kaberi’s brand-new, high-powered digital camera decided to stop working properly midstream, so we weren’t able to get all of the pictures that we intended. Kaberi was not at all pleased by having to revert to a lower-resolution existence. But the breakfast of fresh sushi with our last 3,400 yen still made the excursion worth it.

After Tsujiki, we made a quick stopover in the western Tokyo district of Shinjuku (site of the elite Park Hyatt hotel showcased in the movie Lost In Translation). Navigating Shinjuku’s railway station proved a bit baffling to us, but we eventually made our way to the Park Hyatt lobby, where we regaled ourselves with a magnificent birds-eye view of Tokyo. After collecting our bags en route, we caught a subway train to Ueno, in northeastern Tokyo. When the subway ride there took over an hour, and the 56-minute Keisei Skyliner express train to Narita Airport took an uncharacteristic 80 minutes, the thought of missing our flight to Seoul made our pulses quicken considerably. Fortunately, we encountered the world’s smoothest, white-gloved check-in process at Narita with Asiana Airlines. The only downside to this is that Kaberi will have to endure for another 8 months Vik’s oft-repeated refrain that “if you’ve never missed a flight in your life, you’re spending too much time in airports.”

Moby Dick, Tortuous Bus Rides and Lap Dance Sushi

Our last day in Maui was devoted to visiting the west part of the island (also known as “the head”). After getting a late start to the day in order to finish our packing, we made our way to Napili for a late breakfast and an oceanside view at The Gazebo restaurant. While we stood in line awaiting our table, we chatted with some amiable fellow tourists, one of whom spent time in Bhutan filming a documentary with the king. We were also struck by the almost uniform demographics of our fellow visitors. Hawaii, after achieving statehood in 1958, was recolonized in successive waves by the Japanese and the Californians. While in Maui, we saw plenty of the latter, but virtually none of the former. This is almost certainly a reflection of the highly-successful Bush administration policy to protect the U.S. from terrorists by first ridding it of all affluent Asian tourists.

Afterward, we drove down to the tourist hell of Lahainia to inquire about whale watching trips. Unfortunately, the tours conducted by the Pacific Whale Foundation (the most reputable and eco-friendly operator) were sold out. As the skies grew increasingly overcast and the whale watching boat pitchmen grew increasingly obnoxious, we settled on passively watching the whales from the shore. Despite our best efforts, we were really only able to catch a glimpse of one speedy sperm whale’s backside, which caused Kaberi to grumpily pronounce, “we came all this way just to get mooned by some whale?!!”

With the west side of the island pretty much a washout at this point (our hopes of taking the scenic northern route of west Maui dashed by increasing precipitation), we decided to make our way back eastward. One of the locals had told us earlier that if it was raining on one side of Maui, it would likely be sunny on another. We found this phenomenon amazing, kind of like finding out that John Kerry moonlights as a motivational speaker in his part time (well, maybe not). Back in sunny Kahului, we ran a few errands before making our way to the airport to take an earlier evening flight out of Maui.

After a short flight, we touched down in our friend Martin’s hometown of Honolulu. Staying only one night before catching a flight to Tokyo didn’t allow us to take advantage of any of Martin’s helpful suggestions, so we contented ourselves with the notion of having a nice dinner. As we awaited the arrival of the Honolulu City Bus, we had no idea what was in store for us. Apparently, Honolulu’s bus system is managed by the same superstars who run Boston’s MBTA. The City Bus showed up about 20 minutes late, stopped once every 13.5 feet, generously boasted enough seating for about one quarter of its ridership and took 90 minutes to cover the 6-mile stretch between the airport and Waikiki. Thrilled to finally arrive at our hotel after being jostled around like crash test dummies, we quickly sought out a dinner recommendation. With the concierge desk closed, we found a friendly bellman, Marvin, who suggested a sushi joint around the corner.

When we showed up at the restaurant, we immediately recognized its appeal. Situated in a seedy, neon-festooned strip mall fronting an unmemorable back alley, it sat directly next to the Tres Jolie exotic dance club. Vik’s suggestion that we forego the sushi for some “visual” nourishment was immediately dismissed out of hand (and, in his opinion, without being given even the appearance of due consideration). All kidding aside, Vik was actually voting for finding a less seedy alternative, but Kaberi, being the daughter of the ultimate adventure traveler, overruled him. It was a wise decision as the meal turned out to be pretty spectacular. The self-satisfied grin on Kaberi’s face lasted for at least 4 hours.

Heaven's Gonna Burn Your Eyes

On Wednesday, we awoke at the ungodly hour of 3:00 am to make the two hour drive to the summit of Mt. Haleakala. Haleakala means “House of the Sun” in Hawaiian and is positioned smack dab in the middle of the island. We were heartened to learn that the volcano last erupted in 1790, earning its now-dormant status. While the drive up was winding, it was not nearly as nerve-wracking as the drive from Christchurch to Akaroa on New Zealand’s South Island (during which Kaberi took a nap while Vik invoked the divine intervention of his ancestors) or the drive up Pike’s Peak in Colorado (which Vik had the “pleasure” of doing in a rental Hyundai).

Vik ferried us up to the top of the mountain, 10,000+ feet above sea level, early enough to find a parking spot and take a breather under the vivid star-filled sky. We’d been forewarned by a number of folks that it would be cold, so we wore all the layers we could – five on top and three on the bottom – and although it felt surreal being so bundled up in paradise, we managed to stay warm in anticipation of a grandiose sunrise.

It was a soulful experience to be above the clouds watching the sun rise from below you. It was almost an otherwordly experience (the top of Haleakala resembled the rocky outcropping of some faroff planet) while we braved the 20 mph winds alongside a few other hardy and well-bundled up souls. All of us enjoyed the good fortune of being up on Haleakala on a very clear day, permitting us to truly observe the majesty and subtlety of the colorful sunrise.

At the visitor information center, we overheard a park ranger say that Maui is actually the result of two volcanic formations (one creating the head of the tortoise and the other creating the body) and that the island is roughly 900,000 years old. Maui’s smaller size relative to Hawaii’s Big Island indicates its older relative age as water has had more time to inexorably erode its borders. At some point in the distant future, Maui will actually cease to exist as it is reclaimed by the ocean. So we’d suggest making your travel plans to visit here relatively soon.

The drive down Haleakala was almost more fun than the drive up as we could actually see the topography change from alpine back to subtropical. Vik was thankful that he couldn’t see what we were driving up in the darkness a few hours earlier. Some of the sheer drops were nerve-racking for those of us with a mild fear of heights. Yet, as we made our way back down slowly in second gear, the vistas that we saw of Maui and the Pacific coastline were spectacular. We had the perfect vantage point to see the ocean, mountains and Maui’s towns in miniature.

We also took some time to do a few of the smaller hikes (the three-day hike was a bit out of our league and attention span). One of the hikes gave us a different view of the 7-mile wide crater itself, which is large enough to swallow all of Manhattan (insert your own joke here). Another hike brought us to a breathtaking lookout point to see the island’s uninhabited coastline unfold below. As the sun continued to rise and we exerted ourselves, we warmed up quickly. In short order, we had stripped off most of our endless North Face layers and worked up a hearty appetite. Our friend Scott (he of the Hai’maile General Store recommendation) had urged us stop at the Kula Lodge on the way down the mountain for their Bananas Foster pancakes. Suffice it to say that we did, much to Kaberi’s delight.

Still being a little sweaty from our time up on Haleakala, we decided to indulge in a post-hike swim. At the recommendation of our waitress, we drove to the pictureseque and velvet-sand beach in front of the Maui Prince Hotel in Makena (about 30 minutes south of Kihei). One of the democratizing aspects of Maui is that all of the beachfront is public property, allowing value investors like the two of us to sun ourselves next to those paying a hefty premium to stay at one of the high-end beach resorts. On this day, the water, which seemed outrageously cold just a day earlier, felt divine. With the mats, umbrellas, and beach chairs provided by our hotel, we were well equipped to lounge the morning away.

In an effort to minimize the cost of our meals and to take advantage of the poolside grill back at the guesthouse, we stopped at the supermarket (which happened to be a Stop ‘N Shop, ironically enough) to see what we could pick up for an early dinner. Instead of grilling, we settled on spicy tuna tartare and diet Cokes and feasted poolside on our cheap eats. We were also fortunate to be steps away from home when the rains came (this was Maui’s rainy season after all) so that we could easily run inside to take cover.

The day ended on a somewhat-ridiculous note when American Airlines called to inform us that the duffle bag lost between Chicago and Los Angeles was now en route to Kahului Airport five days after the fact. As we ruefully reclaimed the 30 pounds of gear that we had just recently made peace with losing, we had to smile at the way life goes sometimes (the emergence of the smiles almost certainly being accelerated by our immediate surroundings).