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Published: August 6th 2007
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As we sat Buddha style on the floor of the temple for Morning Prayer service, we couldn’t help but wonder how much practice was required before the diaphragm was strong enough to allow a monk to chant for minutes on end without taking a breath. As the monks chanted in sync for nearly an hour straight, we watched as other Buddhist followers inched their way over to the burning embers, sprinkled incense and bowed in praise to Buddha. Not sure whether it was disrespectful for a Catholic to pay tribute to Buddha, Gene and I sat out our turn in line. Gene, however, after being nudged by the Japanese man seated next to him, scrambled over to pay his respects. Feeling as though I was back in the first grade, I struggled to hold in a laugh as Gene held up his hands in prayer, dropped incense onto the burning ashes, and bowed twice in homage to Buddha.
While the service was unlike anything I had ever experienced, I was relieved when it was finally over. I didn’t think any of us would oppose squeezing in a quick nap before check-out time. However, as we navigated through the long hallway
past the front door, we noticed the other guests being directed to change out of their slippers and into their shoes. Having had my full dose of Buddhist prayer for the day, I begrudged the inconvenience of having to leave the monastery grounds without a clue as to where we were going.
Following in tow like mechanical ducklings, we were led into a smaller wooden temple up the road and instructed to take a seat around the sacrificial table. Our eyebrows were nearly singed off as the monk threw bundle after bundle of firewood into the steel pit, creating huge clouds of smoke overhead. I wondered how they managed to keep the wooden structure standing.
Buddha’d out for the day, we thought we had reached nirvana as we slid open the door to our private sanctuary. Having pushed our breakfast trays to the side and cranked the heater on high, we sprawled out across the floor, using the ass pads as head cushions. After a few minutes of twisting and turning, we were fast asleep face down on the hard wood floors.
I tried to make sense of my surroundings as the door jerked open and roused
me from a deep slumber. Blurry-eyed, I focused in on the oversized figure standing at my feet - it was one irate-looking monk. As he exited with our trays without uttering a single syllable, I could have sworn I read his mind -
Lazy Americans! Jess, not quite satisfied with his cat nap, stretched out across the seats on the train to catch up on some shut-eye. Gene and I enjoyed the peacefulness of the nearly empty train car while we continued to blog our travels. As we neared the city, the train grew more crowded and Gene and I moved our belongings out of the way to allow other occupants to sit. Not even a trumpet could have stirred Jess who all but drooled on himself as the train car packed to the brim with people. Watching as a Japanese woman tried to squeeze past Jess’s slouched body into the seat opposite him, Gene and I waited to see the crowd’s reaction before waking him. As the Japanese began to stare and snicker at the rude American occupying three of the four adjacent seats, I thought it a good time to kick Jess in the knee and
tell him to move.
Opening his eyes only long enough to move into his own seat, Jess was almost instantaneously back counting sheep. Gene and I laughed as we watched people get on and off of the train, all the while leaving the seat next to Jess unoccupied. For the first time since we reached Japan, we prayed for him to start snoring.
We arrived to our hotel two hours ahead of schedule. Unable to get a room before 3 o’clock, we chose to be productive with our time and inquired as to where the closest laundry facility was located. The gentleman behind the counter provided us with a map and directions and sent us on our way.
Like the three stooges, we dragged our luggage in circles trying to locate the Laundromat. Distracted by the rent-a-Ferrari sign and flashy vehicles on display in the lot, we wandered right past the building marked on our map. Gene, tired of lugging around his bags, left us behind with all of the luggage to explore the storefronts up the street. He returned minutes later and reported that he had found another Laundromat right around the corner.
Peering through the finger-smudged door of the Laundromat, which appeared to be older than dust, I could see all of three washing machines and three dryers lining the narrow walkway. Bearing in mind that beggars can’t be choosy, we crammed into the small corridor with our suitcases and speculated as to how we were going to unload our dirty laundry without coming into physical contact with any of our surroundings. Gene and I piled our suitcases on the washer as Jess ventured out in search of a vending machine and laundry detergent.
Having separated our clothing into the three machines, we dropped in our coins and waited in silence for the machines to malfunction. Instead, we were suffocated by the sudden stench of human feces. Choking as we pushed our way out of the building, we worried that our clothes were being washed with recycled sewer water. Not having the nerve to reenter the poop-infested corridor, we decided to wait it out until the cycle was finished. We would later come to find out that the odor was released from the sewage vent on the floor of the Laundromat.
We returned to our hotel with folded clothes in hand and followed Jess as he rushed up to the room. Inconsiderate enough to dodge up the toilet, Jess found himself trapped inside the coffin-sized lavatory, toying with the control panel, trying to figure out how to flush.
“I can’t figure out how to flush this thing,” Jess shouted from behind the closed door.
“Well, don’t even think of coming out until you do,” Gene retorted.
After another five minutes of absolute silence, Jess reappeared from behind the door and headed back downstairs to talk to the receptionist. Gene and I were in hysterics when Jess showed up with the gentleman from downstairs and led him into the confined water closet. We imagined the guy puking in his mouth as Jess tried to nonchalantly explain that he didn’t know how to flush.
I, on the other hand, was dealing with a different crisis. Gene tried to persuade me to drink the grass-flavored potion that we purchased in Australia in lieu of milk of magnesia. Putting up a fight, Gene concocted a mixture of liquid meds and Asahi beer. Holding my head back and pinching my nose, Jess rooted me on as I chugged down the antidote. Not convinced it would do the trick, I sent out my two representatives in search of something more tasteful. I was certain Gene would be able to relay my needs to the pharmacist with his gift of sign language.
After holding Gene and Jess hostage in our room for most of the day, I agreed to vacate the building in quest of dinner. Jess, with his brilliant ideas, strongly advocated eating dinner at Dotonbori Gokuraku, a theme-park based around food. Not in any mood to fight the mobs of Japanese, let alone walk the 2-floor theme park, I decided to suck it up and keep my mouth shut.
Aside from the tasty pork dumpling that we shared with Jess, I enjoyed every moment of watching him down the disgusting fare, too proud to admit that he dragged us to a place with less than edible food. Gene and I were unconvinced that even Jess would enjoy eating the rubbery-looking Octopus balls that he insisted on finishing.
The three of us would end the evening over pizza and pasta at a nearby Italian restaurant.
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darby
non-member comment
that arcade...
started a pork dumpling fetish that would recur throughout the rest of the trip. the look on their face was priceless as we left the laundromat, i wish i had a functioning camera at that point. gina was giving it 2 -1 odds that our clothes were being washed in gray water and would all smell like that horrible little hole. and it was just about everything they owned in those machines...