This morning, we got up early to try and beat the tourist crowds to the bamboo forest. We didn’t beat all of them, but it still wasn’t too bad. Then we walked around the residential neighborhood behind the bamboo forest. We came upon a pond with a shed-sized shrine, and we’re walking toward it when a monkey ambled out of the woods toward us. It was bigger than Piyo, and was pretty casual about whatever errand it was on – until a couple of big ol crows came swooping in toward a tree. That monkey took off, up a pole, across some limbs and disappeared into the same tree, and then there was a lot of noises and leaf shaking. We decided not to get in the middle of it, and walked the other way. Then we wandered around the neighborhood, checking out the yards and houses. There was a couple of temples and some shrines just tucked in among the residential properties. It was nice to get away from the tourists.
We could not find a breakfast place, or any place open, until around 11 when we got back to the tourist area, so we decided to try soba again (this time at a place that had good yelp reviews). Having been scared off the cold soba, we both got hot soup – which wasn’t exactly what we were looking for. Then we noticed everybody else in the room had cold dipping noodles – apparently the correct way to eat cold soba. Next time!
We hit the Nijō Castle, built in the 1600s and totally comade of Japanese cypress. There were no pictures allowed inside the building, but the grounds were beautiful. My favorite part is that the castle has ‘Nightingale’ floors, which were wooden floorboards made to purposefully squeak so the shogun would know if somebody was coming for him in the middle of the night. With all the tourists walking around, it really sounded like they had piped a recording of birds in there – until I was lucky enough to get to a room that was almost empty and realized the noise really was just the floorboards.
John wanted to find a shop near the castle that had woodworking tools, so we went to find a cafe with wifi. What we ended up at was the Charanke Jam House, which smelled like patchouli, had rock lamps, tables that looked like tree stumps, plants everywhere, and a real Colorado-kind of vibe. ‘Charanke’ is an Ainu (native Japanese tribe) word that means ‘Talking Circle.’ The Ainu (according to the menu) kept the country in peace for more than 10000 years by living together in an open and democratic society. We were the only people in there, and the guy behind the counter did not speak very good English. But after he served us, he gave us a deck of oracle cards and showed us how to … do something. You bang your fist on the deck three times, then choose a card. I got one that was basically about embracing your need to dance and happy energy, and John got one that told him he needed to relax, and maybe try a hot springs.
The tool shop was closed, and it was starting to rain so we crossed the street to this covered pedestrian walkway and strolled around. A lot of the shops were closed or closing – we later discovered this was a big local market. We really really had to use the restroom, so we popped in this fish shop with a baseball game playing on the tv, pieces of wood balanced on crates for tables, more crates for seats, and styrofoam coolers lining the floor and a deli-like counter with suuuuper fresh seafood, waiting to be prepared. At one point a guy plucked a wiggly thing in a shell from the styrofoam box next to us, threw it on a plate with garnish, and give it to a guy a few tables down! It was full of Japanese people (always a good sign!), and after we sat down there ended up being a wait. The staff spoke very limited English – they brought over a phrase book to ask if it was ok if two other people could share a giant table with the two of us. We weren’t exactly hungry so we decided to order just something little.
We were given a sheet in English, and checked three things – tuna, salmon with cheese, and fish sausage with cheese. The guys next to us had raw fish so we kind of thought that’s what we would get. The guy brought us three tiny skewers. Apparently that was all we had ordered – three tiny little fried pieces. It was only $3 for everything, which made sense but still – Too funny!
There was a random shirt displayed hanging up in the restroom, so I tried to use my translation app to ask if I could buy it. After a lot of confusion, smiles and shoulder shrugging, she got permission to sell us a grey staff shirt (not the one hanging up, but still cool) – but she only had one. It wasn’t 100% cotton, but John wanted one and doesn’t care about the fabric makeup of his clothes. After we paid, she bought over a pink tshirt, and the translation of ‘old clothes’ on her phone, and gave it to me for free! Plus it was 100% cotton! I was so excited. After we walked away, I got the giggles because I was (and still am!) so excited about being given a used staff shirt!
Time for real dinner – a ramen adventure! There was no windows and we had to slide open this tiny (about 5 foot high) door to a hallway where people were lined up to order from a machine. You hit the buttons of what you would like, pay and it prints out a ticket – this is pretty common, even at kind of nicer places you wouldn’t expect. While we were waiting, the door opened behind us and our American friends popped in! What are the odds?! (Very, very slim, we decided. They just found this restaurant because the one they were looking for was closed. it wasn’t even a destination, must-eat place or anything.) This food ordering machine was all in Japanese, so we asked the guy in front of us to help. He spoke very limited English, and John and I both got our translators favorite. When he showed us a button for beer, and a button next to it and said ‘rice,’ I assumed he meant rice wine and hit it. After we waited just a short while longer for an open seat at a counter that maybe 10-12 seats, we handed the cooks our tickets. Instead of rice wine, I got a side of rice plus a raw egg! We all got a kick out of that. The ramen was rich and warming – perfect for a rainy evening in Kyoto.
Meredith R. Allen 