The Glico Man

Asian metropoli have neon. Colorful, eye-popping neon. Above you'll see the famous Osaka Glico man, symbol of Glico, Japan's top snackfoods maker. He dates back a long, long time. Behind him are famous Osaka symbols Osaka Castle and the Tsutekaku Tower.

Also in this photo are signs for, loan sharks, cold medicine, real estate and cosmetic surgery.

That's quite a lot of genres, no?

The giant yellow one reads 'Promise,' as in "We promise to break your leg if you do not pay us back." It's legalized loan sharking, with published interest varying between 15%-29.9%. Promise vending machines dot train stations and anywhere commercial impulses overpower the realization that when the wallet's empty, it's time to stop buying.

To their credit, though the loan companies, all with English names like Promise, Lake, Acom and No Loan, will give money to anyone in a 'pinchie,' except foreigners. I can't say I blame them. Reputable lending institutions might want some collateral to lend money, like your house, passport, spouse or something else keeping you grounded and a 'payer-backer.'

Due to regulations, though commercials for the loan companies cannot specifically say they are loaning money, so they have scenes like falling off an inflatable banana boat and everyone getting angry. It's pretty vague, at least this observer. So if you ever need money, and you're Japanese, just look for a neon sign, like a cash-poor moth drawn to a Mafia-underwritten flame.

Sakura Time!

Yamazakura found when trying to reach a temple seen on a nearby hillside. It turns out the temple is ground zero for the city's largest commune, which some might call a cult. But the people are nice, offering free Nike sneakers and all the Kool-Aid you can drink...

The cherry blossoms seem to be affected by the unusually cold spring Japan has been experiencing. By affected I mean falling off, wilting and turning brown before they can flaunt.

The next week should bring about the height of Sakura-viewing parties, where you scout out prime territory in parks and drink yourself silly. It's like being a sophisticated wino, but only on the most temporary basis. Honest.

Spring Flowers

Flowers smell great. Our apartment is next to a busy road. It doesn't smell so great, so when spring rolls around we enjoy smelling th flowers. Spring is nice, but spring leads to the humid Japanese summer.

Though a sweatfest, summer's heat onslaught is lessend by the wide assortment of icy cold malt beverage from the vending machine down the street (which is across the street from a junior high school).

Three Legs Are Better Than One

This pup is the dog-in-residence at Eiko-In, a temple open for overnight home stays at the Zen center of Japan, Koya San. He was, as they say here, genki (jovial, happy and so on...) He took a liking to me and found the scent of my running shoes especially interesting.

The monks house and take care of him, and he does his part, too filling the role of friendly doorman whom accepts remuneration in kibbles.

Located up in the hills of the Kii Peninsula, it is chock full of Buddhist and Zen temples for those seeking enlightenment, or burial in the famous cemetery near a cool spot called the Hall of 1000 Lanterns.

I started to count them, and there are lots, though in modern times electric bulbs have replaced candles. It was good fun playing with such a cool dog, especially since it was snow. Snow makes everything better.

Moss is the stuff of the Gods. It keeps the tree roots moist in dry weather. It looks nice. It feels so soft. And it's green, so as to do us a favor and make some oxygen. I found this VIP moss at Ginkakuji, the Silver Pavilion in Kyoto.

I had been peddling around the city trying to fill up a book for Buddhist Pilgrims, a passport to enlightenment of sorts. But, I won't pretend, it's all about the stamps. I even get the stamps, which include some wicked calligraphy which I can barely read, artfully filling up the page around a particular temple or shrine's inked seal. Cool stuff.

This pilgrimage record is supposed to be for Japanese going to various Buddhist temples to work off some bad Karma and get a little closer to a Zen-based lifestyle. Its one of those do-it-yourself souvenirs that you won't find at the airport.

You just go to a certain counter (Signed in Japanese) and pay 300 yen for the monk's or nun's talents with a horsehair calligraphy brush. And all of the seals/stamps are different. I am about halfway to filling it up. Expect some stamp images here soon.

Happy pilgrimage!

Rice.

Rice.

And more rice.

Ever since I've lived in Asia it is all about rice. Brown rice now excites me the way a Burger King Whopper, Jr. used to. But the benefits to this dietary shift are many. You really don't get that gutbomb feeling eating out in Japan. In the US I get it all the time. It's not because the food is any tastier; both places have foods that send my salivary glands into sheer epileptic spasms of joy.

The key I think is oil. Japanese food, with a few notable exceptions (deep fried items on skewers and fatty pork cutlet being two) has less oil in it. This is not science, but using a field napkin test that could probably pass as evidence to convinve anyone, as would Japan's utter lack of obese people. The aisles at the supermarket are simply too narrow to accomodate the perversely overweight, and the locals eat accordingly.

Had a tasty fried rice and some spicy tofu for lunch today. The two of us ate for under $7 each, and no real tax (well, just a 5% consuption tax) or tip either. The rice went straight out of the behemoth rice cooker and into the wok. It wasn't oily like American fried rice, because Chinese people chuck oil and uncooked rice onto the wok and heat does the rest.

But the Japanese style fried rice has a nice taste and afterwards you're, as the saying goes, 80% full. And it's enough. And you won't have a need to do test the plumbing immedately afterwards. Delish!

The franchise, Ou Shou, is pictured above. They're all over Kansai (Osaka-Kyoto-Nara-Kobe)

The sweet smell of cherry blossoms. A sweet, tangy aroma combines with a multitude of textures, in a plethora of whites, reds, pinks and purples.

While most people would get more excited about a bowl of Bings than the flowers they came from, flowering cherries are all the rage here in Japon. Yesterday I braved hoardes of bipeds and errant drivers to bike around Kyoto and see what was blooming.

Kyoto by bike was different, as I covered tremendous ground on my rent-a-cycle and saw the city in a different light. Every time I visit is different. You don't have to try that hard to alter the experience. That's alright in my book, having an easy time scrounging up new, contrasting expereinces. Sidewalks are narrow, people cannot estimate when to move out of your way and a few steep hills provide great speed-biking potential.

I rented a MTB, or in layman's terms, a mountain bike. I am 187 cm tall and the "L" size bike was a wee teensy but what it lacked in size it made up for in gumption. Nuff said. Do try and ride around this city sometime. It beats walking.

Donuts on my Mind...

Salt, Flour and Sugar: A Japanese Odyssey

Yesterday myself and several fellow donuteers made a pilgrimage to Mister Donut #0001, the first Mister Donut franchise in Japan.

It opened April 2, 1971. And then down the street, we stopped in to check out the original, wood-paneled design of Mister Donut #0419.

The roof style is similar to that of the old-style A and W. Situated on corner of routes 43 and 171, it even has a parking lot, something most Misdo's lack due to their usual placement in or near train stations.

Delectable!

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As I mentioned A & W above, and I was hungry thinking about those creamy Root Beer Floats, I did a Google search. According to their home page there are only 3 locations left in the Beaver State. All of them are on US 97. Next time I'm in Redmond...

Actually I ate at an A &W in Bangkok, Thailand and it was good. But I'll have to say the lack of Walla Walla sweet onion rings was a bummer. My wife thinks my nostalgia for childhood fast food favorites is a misplaced attempt at denial of aging. I couldn't agree more.

Why, what would be more American right now than a 2-Liter of A & W and a gallon of the cheap store-brand vanilla ice cream?

Adventures in Eavesdropping 1

Cafe conversations...or should it be cafe confessionals?

Basking in the smoke-free environs of Mos Burger (That's Mountain...Ocean...Sun) We were keeping the baby in the booth next to us occupied.

As I eyed the baby I enjoyed the sandwich pictured above. Leave it to the Japanese to combine a bun made of grilled, pressed rice. Then, add a pork cutlet covered in tangy curry sauce. There was, to my surprise, a dollup of macaroni salad in there, too... Maybe seven different tastes in one palm-sized appetite suppressant. But, back to the baby...

Stick your tongue out, squint, it doesn't really matter, Baby X was wholly and drool-profanely entertained. But that is not the main point.

Turns out, with a bit of eavesdropping (C'mon, how can you not, when the next table is 0.2 meters away?) that the baby's mother is married. Before you start tossing rice at her and buying her that new Hamilton Beach food processor, she has...Well, to put it simply...Married the wrong man.

Halt, and judgeth not, you cry out. Wait wait, before you boil that tar and pluck those chickens.

This man you see, has forgotten something. He forgot to tell his family that...

1. Hey mom, I'm married.
2. Hey mom, we've had a daughter.
3. Hey mom, I'm sooooo walking away from all this commitment.

Yowser! I have never heard of that before. But, as today is evidence of, it does happen.

The baby was a cut little diapered bundle of Joy. Uber-genki as they say.

The mom wasn't so bad, but has a killer wave of issues, including Bad hubby, Bad marriage, Baby and no job. Her friends seemed quite genuine to pitch in.

What are friends for?

Oh, if these cafe/bathroom/hotel room walls could talk!

S.E. Hinton's Genre Shift

From gangs and discovering group identity to....Deleware vampires and insane asylums.

Remember that childhood literary tale, The Outsiders? That tale of greaser versus sosh; poor and destitute versus rich and provided for? Well, after almost 20 years, S.E. Hinton has resurfaced with her new book, Hawkes Harbor.

The plot is progresses from IRA gun-running to coke parties in New Orleans and the main and fearless character is in an insane asylum recovering from being possessed by a Deleware Vampire. Hmm...

So this begs further investigation into...

Book critics: where do they come up with their book jacket comments/Crtiques/praises? How can a sentence or two summarize a book that is so, so far off the radar from Hinton's other books? Well they wrote them, nonetheless.

You are in the bookstore and see a title that catches your eye. There will undoubtedly be some sort of bold-faced back-up for how wonderful the book is, and what a life-altering experience reading it will be for you.

Some 'rave reviews' just are window dressing, like these I've noticed recently

'An orgasmic smattering of prose not found north of the Yukon drainage'

'More fun than eating a pomegranate!'

'This author can write!'

'A calliope of whirligig-composed wonder!'

I mean c'mon, there is nothing like this backup marketing for Photography. Imagine every photo you see in a glossy magazine is emblazoned with 'This photo is really something,' or "the photo you are about to enjoy is extremely good.'

Marketing writing is important, and fills those lonely pages at the front of the book.

Tell us too much, like 'in chapter 1, the main character is introduced." "In chapter twenty-four, the plot thickens." "By chapter 67, you'll have lost interest."

Right.

Isle Formosa...Part Deux

Back to Taiwan I went, to try out the mountains. There were many of them. Some forested, some only partially.

Like other mountains I had seen, Taiwan's were beatuiful. Long ridgelines plunged a couple thousand feet into boulder-strewn valleys. Mist, hail and snow danced around trails hugging sticky-mud covered paths. Camping, we huddled down and ate the bare necessities- Salame hoagies, chunks of Gouda and the occasional Snickers. Wearing a 20 KG backpack, it does indeed really satisfy.

One of the other guys who came along brought a bottle of wine. I enjoyed drinking the smoky French red wine in my titanium camper's mug (whole lotta ounce shaving going on here) whilst being buffeted by unexpectedly strong wind gusts that at several, points seemed to be doing a good job of exceeding the forces the not so top of the line tent was designed to resist. Rip-stop nylon tent, I love you.

Since we camped at almost 3,500 meteres (exceeding 11,500 feet) Tylenol pills deterred nagging headaches brought on by the height. Cloud-veiled valleys the Taiwanese call White Forests dripped with a constant dose of moisture absorbed every sound but the wind.

Back in Taipei and its many day-tripping options, the Taiwanese are always keen to meet foreign visitors. My habit of noisily slurping up water-laiden tapioca balls drew a curious snicker from a teashoppe girl. I returned the smile, she was so charming.

Taipei's roster of art museums, delightely free from tourists during the weekdays, volleyed inspiration my way.

A cheap, easy-to-use metro train network whisked me from destination to destination, always offering up nice, robin's egg blue molded seats for my weary tourist endoskeleton.

Though the Island is small, (about 300 miles by 80 miles, give or take) after two week-long visits there, Taiwan has given me two totally different experiences: Wintry mists in the north, Snow-free high altitude camping in the Southeast and mild temple walks in sunny Tainan. And plenty, plenty of bubble tea.

On the drive back from hiking, I couldn't ignore all the brightly flowering mango trees. Next time, summer's humidity will be rewarded with oh, so many mango and ice treats. Ice Monster among the most famous mango dessert stands on snacky Yong Gang street was less that busy last week when I passed by. Give it a few months, and the lines with lenghten as the temperature soars. Since it was both wintertime and blustery, I nipped in to Chocoholic for the thickest, richest mug of hot cocoa ever. Swiss Miss ain't got nuthin' on this establishment.

Pictures, anyone? Will have more on file soon.