Hundred Acre Woods

The old broken down sign is your first warning this may not be a good idea. You’ve heard rumors, but nothing prepares you for what will happen when you enter. It;s nothing you tell yourself. It’s just an old building and you don’t beleive in gjhosts anyway. What’s the worst that could happen?
You enter the original reception area of the hosptial. There is just enough light to see what once would have been a beautiful 1930’s-40’s style hall. The original chandeliers and front desk are still in place. You are surprised to see the original check in book and pen still in place as if the place was simply frozen in time. If it weren’t for all the dust and flickering lights it could be brand new.
A very pale faced nurse in an old fashion uniform beckons you to follow her. Was that poorly put on lipstick or blood around her mouth? Surely it was a bad lipstick job, right? She does seem awfully pale… Oh, well, foreign country and all that.
She leads you into a dark room and hands you a small flashlight. Your hand brushes hers and she feels ice cold. You pull back quickly and she smiles. Her mouth is stained red and glistening. Hmmmm, really bad with lipstick?! You hurry away from her before she can draw nearer.
You flick on your flashlight and it produces a narrow yellow beam. You walk down a darkened hallway with doors lining both sides. Swinging the flashlight back and forth you get the sensation someone or something is watching you. You start to hurry past the doors wondering if they might fly open. Nothing happens. Suddenly you hear a moaning behind one of the rooms. As you scuttle past something starts banging on the door. Almost dropping your flashlight you race down the hallway and find yourself entering what appears to be an old prep room for surgery. You gather your wits and tell yourself it was just your imagination. All around you are medical carts filled with old surgical instruments: scalpels, drills, saws, forceps. Some of the carts are tipped over and piled in a corner. Ahead you see a closed curtain. If you want to leave the room you must go past he curtain. You creep closer and hear nothing. You see no movement. As you edge closer you feel a heightened awareness of your surroundings. Was that heavy breathing coming from you? No, it is from behind the curtain. No, something is definitely behind the curtain. You are certain of that now. The breathing is raspy with a slight gurgle sound. If you didn’t know better you would imagine someone trying to breathe through an open gash wound in their neck. You have no desire to pass the curtain. You stop frozen in your tracks when behind you you hear a loud crash. You whip around and see a pale faced nurse coming at you with one of the surgical carts. You can clearly see blood on her uniform and her arm appears to be missing. You finally give in the scream rising in your throat and tear past the curtain. She continues to follow you jangling the cart and bee-lining for you. Her eyes look out of focus but the scalpel she has picked up looks quite sharp. You run into the next hallway only to have her get closer and closer. As your eyes dart left and right for an open room you hear a scream and turn around. No one is there.

Steve and I stayed at our first ryokan in Matsumoto. It is a Japanese traditional inn loosely similar to a bed and breakfast. It is traditional to be served dinner in your room by a kimono clad woman who is assigned to you for the duration of your stay. As you enter your room you are required to remove your shoes. The floors are made of tatami, a woven reed or grass. It smells to me like strong tea. Only socks or bare feet are allowed on the tatami. Special slippers are given to you to wear within the ryokan outside your room. You are also given a yukata, a thin cotton robe, that is worn all around–even to dinner–if you are going to a main dining room.
After we arrived Steve and I immediately went to the hot baths. I will explain that later–no pictures though!
At 7:30, after relaxing and reading, our hostess came in to serve us dinner. First course appeared–it looked like–I say that because we weren’t really sure what anything was and even if we asked the language barrier was too great to overcome for some things–a salad, some sushimi, and some sort of avocado and raw meat in a clear gelatinous gook. I picked my way through that trying a little of everything- the salad thing was good, the sashima was great–even the raw squid–I figured that one out by the suckers!

The jelly thing was a lot like guacamole but it included the head trip of knowing what it looked like. Next came an entire fish… I was a bit freaked, but as you see, I ate it–except for the head and parts that looked like stomach, liver and other nasty things. It was pretty good.

Then IT came. It looked innocent enough, a small covered bowl that we were cautioned was hotto (hot). I busied my self with the other things in front of me for awhile and then I opened IT. Honest to God the thing was MOVING! Steve glanced over at my look of absolute horror and asked what was wrong. IT”S MOVING!!! IT”S MOVING!!
Naturally he didn’t believe me. He opened his dish and quickly sat back. He conformed it was, indeed moving. It looked like it was pulsating and breathing in a rhythmic way. We both stared in horror and it continued to flap or pulse or do whatever it was doing. Were we supposed to wait until it was dead? It sort of looked like a giant panting beetle with all it’s legs taken off. It was mottle brown and MOVING, for the love of GOD–not scurrying around the bowl, just breathing through it’s gills or something. It was imbedded with what Steve assured me was brown or dark rice. I was seriously thinking it looked like brown maggots with sesame seeds.
Our hostess returned with more food– we asked her what IT was. “Hamate” Ha wha? Hamate–she said it over and over again willing us to understand. We grabbed our language books and poured over the section of “Things you eat while they are still breathing”–ok, there isn’t a section on that, but nor did we find anything resembling the word hamate. I tried to ask her if it was alive…our language books don’t give that phrase. Both Steve and I pantomimed something breathing and pointed at IT. She looked in the bowl and said yes, it breathes–or she pantomimed with us and laughed. I think the absolutely horror stricken look on my face finally clarified what we were asking. She started to laugh and said, “Hotto….hotto” “Not alive?” “No no hot hot.”
That was when WE suddenly had an epiphany…oh, you it just looks like that and “breathes” because it is hot! Turns out it was a large mountain grown bean type vegetable. After all of us laughing–I bet that story of the Americans who thought their bean was alive is going to make some good maid stories–I actually ate it. Well, first I had a shot of sake-rice wine– and then I was fortified enough to eat it. It was sweet almost like yam, but the insides were white.
One good thing, after all the confusion and laughter, the hamate was no longer hot!

Today we visited Sensoji Temple.

It is in the heart of the Asakusa area of Tokyo. It has a touristy feel to it, but is in fact a real temple where people come to pray. It is surrounded by food hawkers and souvenir shops.

As you enter you see the Gods of Thunder and Wind guarding the entrance.


Once inside you wash your hands in the fountain to purify yourself for the deity housed in the temple–in this case Kannon, godess of mercy. Supposedly this statue (which you are not able to see because she is enclosed in three separate boxes or rooms to keep her safe) was rescued by two fishermen from the sea.

As you near the actual temple you come across a huge roofed vat filled with burning incense. The smoke is said to have healing powers and it is customary to rub the smoke over your body paying special attention to areas of pain or confusion.

Once inside the temple you can shake the special can of joss sticks until one falls out. The symbol on the stick corresponds with one of at least 100 drawers. You open the appropriate drawer and pull out your fortune. Then you think about what it is you want and tie it to a special rack. It is also advised you leave an offering of money to ensure your fortune.

It was quite an experience!

Interesting packaging on this treat!

Hey Scott-this is one we took just for you–a “shrine” to your favorite bird!

Our first night in Tokyo we went to a tempura bar on the 53rd floor of the Tokyo Opera House. We had a bit of difficulty finding the place–We couldn’t read any of the signs and couldn’t locate an elevator. Finally through trial and error we went from the first floor to the fourth floor and found the elevators to take to the top were on the second floor. Of course, once we got the right floor there were 5 different restaurants all of the names were in Katakana–the Japanese symbol system. We had only the Romanji name–the English spelling of the word. We went to every place and carefully scoured the menu–no luck, all in Katakana. Finally we randomly picked one and showed the hostess our reservation slip from our hotel concierge. She spoke to us in Japanese and graciously led us to another restaurant. Once there we were seated at the “bar” near the tempura sensei (master). Luckily they had an English menu–well, sort of. Many of the dishes had names like “Special plate little.” Ahhhhh, my favorite. Finally we just picked two fix priced menus and decided to go with that. We watched the sensei as he prepared various foods. I would say 3 out 5 things we could figure out. He was very nice–spoke very little English–we did find out he had been a tempura sensei for 20 years! WOW! That’s a long time to be on the restaurant biz!
For a fact I know we ate: prawn–Steve ate the little tempura crunchy head…that was a bit much for me. Sashimi–raw fish -different from sushi which is served with rice and wrapped in seaweed. This was just plain old sliced raw fish-tuna and some kind of white fish. Tempera yam, green bean, asparagus and some white root like vegetable. I ate all that. As we watched the sensei we noticed he was tying a knot with what looked like a long thin white slimy fibrous thing and dipping it in the batter and making tempura from it. I thought it was a root vegetable cut the long way. Steve thought it was a squid arm. We were both wrong. It was the spine of the eel we had eaten earlier. Bone? You betcha! The sensei then fried a couple up for us free of charge. Steve ate his first and said it good–crunchy. I needed a few more minutes to mentally remove the thought of eating an eel’s backbone deep fried, but I did it! It was crunchy and delicate and a little like shoe string potatoes, but tied-in a knot. I was immensely proud of myself. Not every Minnesotan can say they have eaten deep fried spine and thought it was pretty good!

I find all the signage in Japan to be very amusing–especially their penchant for anitooning (my made up word crossing anthro and cartoons). Here are a few examples of what I mean. I have no idea what these little guys are advertising most of the time–although some are readily apparent, like the smoking ones.

One is for a bowling alley…see, it’s a happy ball! hee hee

One is on the subway–reminding you to get your “tail” all the in befroe the door closes.

One indicates the bus/bus stop.

Hmmmm, what are they saying?