November 4 – 11 2024, Japan. (I’m writing this travel log based on memory 1 1/2 years after the fact.) This was my first trip to Japan. My boyfriend Shawn had lived in Tokyo for 10 years, and loved waxing poetic about Japan. I was skeptical that it could be all that, but given recent affordability, decided to find out for myself. Shawn planned our itinerary based on his favorite places in central Honshu. I added Hiroshima to the mix, as I wanted to visit the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum. I suggested we determine where we would stay prior, as I guessed places would fill up fast.

We lucked out and found an apartment in Setagaya-ku, a beautiful part of Tokyo. After a long flight, bus, and metro rides, we arrived at our stop, and lugged our bags the few blocks to our place. It ended up being one of the nicest places we stayed on the trip. The next morning, we decided to hike in Todoroki Ravine Park, a short walk from our place.

It was the day of the US presidential election in the US. I had timed the trip as such, and dreaded the outcome, as I had a creeping suspicion that Trump would manipulate the results. Unfortunately, a friend told me the bad news, and I was devastated. On top of that, Shawn was giving me a scolding about cultural norms in Japan, in this case which side of the street I should walk as a pedestrian. I pointed out that people were on both sides of the street, which he seemed to ignore. Finally, I asked him to let me make my own mistakes here, and do his best to stop judging me, at least openly. I was tired of his criticism that I was culturally insensitive and couldn’t read the room.

He grudgingly agreed, though said he would probably keep judging me. I said fine, just try to hide it a bit. We were umbrellaed by a canopy of trees casting emerald shades and started up the path along the ravine, but soon came to a closed sign. I couldn’t see any obstacles in the trail, but the Japanese are extremely safety conscience. After the lecture from Shawn, I wasn’t about to investigate whether the closure was warranted. Then I noticed a small park with a koi pond, nice plantings. Gingerly, I walked along the stepping stones, and got to a shady spot. And started sobbing. At the injustices I knew were about to begin thanks to Trump’s criminality. I shook with pain, knowing what would happen, but like the prophetess Cassandra of Greek mythology, not believed. I’ve experienced the skepticism of others to the truths I have known much of my life.

I shared my misgivings with Shawn. He said how different could it be from his first term? I said it would be devastating, but he remained unconvinced. After a while, I kept walking. The forest was calming, and frankly, I didn’t know what I could do to stop him. I was flooded with helplessness and futility. And a strong desire not to live in a country where people willingly elected tyrants. I started thinking about leaving the US, and wondered where I’d go. Meantime, Shawn and I kept walking, out of the ravine to a sports field along the Tama River where he used to play soccer.

From there we walked to Tamagawa station, and discovered a covered market selling handcrafted wooden utensils like spoons, spatulas, chopsticks. We bought a spatula and spoon for use back home. Shawn knew this area well, and suggested we go down a side street. I spied a coffee shop and went in. There was one customer, and I noticed he was writing. Most of the Japanese people I met didn’t feel comfortable speaking English, but I took a chance and asked if he was open to talking about the US election. I appreciated his thoughtful responses, and we talked at length for a good 15 minutes. Suddenly, I noticed that the proprietor had audibly increased the background music volume. I asked if he did so because of our conversation, and he said that political discussions weren’t allowed. I was confused since we weren’t disturbing anyone. It didn’t seem to matter. Apparently any discussion perceived as contentious was problematic.

I thanked my fellow conversant and left. Shawn was hungry and I wasn’t far behind. We found an izakaya, a casual Japanese pub-style restaurant designed for socializing over drinks and sharing small, tapas-style dishes like yakitori, sashimi, and fried foods. Izakayas became my go to on this trip, and I thanked Shawn for introducing me.

The next day we headed to Shibuya Station, where Shawn showed me the famous Hachikō statue honoring an Akita dog known for his unwavering loyalty. The story goes that he waited for his deceased owner daily for nine years in that spot outside the Shibuya Station. It made me think about the importance of loyalty in Japanese culture. I wanted to get a latte at the Blue Bottle in Shibuya Kitaya Park. What a beautiful spot! I learned that the park had been recently renovated, as it used to be a gloomy spot full of smokers. Designed as an urban retreat situated between two parks, the interior is the second Blue Bottle Coffee produced by the  Keiji Ashizawa studio. Tiles covered in a volcanic ash glaze connect the interior and exterior and were developed as a collaboration between London material manufacturer, Dzek, and the Amsterdam-based design studio Formafantasma. The entire interior space, including all the furniture, was also designed by Ashizawa.

Needless to say, in the course of 2 days I had fallen in love with Tokyo. We left Blue Bottle and headed for Yoyogi Park, a beautiful forested park where a 70-hectare forest surrounds the imperial Meiji Shrine and Meiji Jingu Gyoen. On the way, Shawn pointed out the ultra-modern Yoyogi National Gymnasium, which reminded me of the Guggenheim museum. We came to a wide pedestrian tree covered walk called Zelkova Avenue, and proceeded across the pedestrian crossing into the green expanse of the park. Ahhh. It seemed I could feel the increased oxygen from the myriad trees in the park. We headed toward Meiji Shrine, where the imperial family had prayed to Shinto dieties. Trees towered overhead. Though the forest looked natural, I found out that it was actually artificial and had been planted by gardeners for the imperial family. The dominant species were evergreen broadleaf, especially camphor, chinquapin, and evergreen oak.

I took a photo of Shawn in front of rows of cedar barrels donated by brewers nationwide. Wrapped in straw blankets and adorned with colorful brewery logos, they are ceremonial offerings donated by Japanese sake brewers to honor the spirits of Emperor Meiji and Empress Shoken. While they are actually empty, they signify a connection between the Shinto religion and traditional Japanese culture. Directly opposite the sake barrels is a smaller display of French wine barrels (Burgundy), representing the emperor’s interest in cultural exchange and modernization. As Shawn is a wine lover, I took a photo of him in front of this display as well. I pored over informational signage, trying to retain information that would take years to assimilate. We walked through Minami Shinmon, the main entrance/torii for the shrine.

As usual there were flocks of people. One New Year’s Eve, Shawn and friends had arrived for hatsumode, or first shrine visit of the year, to pray for health, happiness, and prosperity in the new year. It took several hours to wind their way up the path to the shrine. Meiji shrine is one of Japan’s most significant and crowded hatsumode, drawing over 3 million visitors during the first three days of January. The shrine stays open through the night on New Year’s Eve, with crowds forming late on December 31 for the midnight atmosphere. Just before midnight, a large drum is struck, and the Japanese national anthem is often played to signal the new year.

I finally made my way to the front of the line. I had seen several people take photos despite signs with an X through a camera. I surreptitiously took a quick snap, though I felt guilty. It was a compulsive desire to capture the beauty of the shrine, though I was quite far away and couldn’t see detail. Shawn suggested that I consult the Waka Omikuji, poems composed by Emperor Meiji and Empress Shoken providing guidance. I considered buying an ema (wooden plaque) featuring the 2024 year of the wood dragon. Instead, I purchased an omamori (protective charm) specific to the Meiji temple featuring a purple iris on a white background. When I got home, I hung it from my rear view mirror.

After taking in the shrine, including the two trees growing close together that are seen as a symbol of long-lasting relationship, we wandered the rest of the grounds. I wanted to explore Meiji Jingu Gyoen, also known as the Inner Garden, famous for its iris garden, tea house, and Kiyomasa’s Well. Though November isn’t a good time for flowers, I enjoyed wandering through the peaceful sanctuary. I smiled at the traditional fishing spot at the edge of Nanchi Pond where Empress Shoken enjoyed carp fishing. Despite the rigid roles of women in Japan, the fact that the Empress fished tickled me. This time of year the iris garden was a muddy ditch and the azaleas dormant. The well is actually a spring believed to have been dug by Edo-period warlord Kato Kiyomasa. Renowned as a “power spot” for positive energy, it maintains a constant 15°C water temperature and flows year-round, making it popular as a lucky tourist spot. I breathed in the powerful energy of the spring, shocked by the cold water on my hands and face.

After meandering through the paths of the Inner Garden, we walked along a tree-lined path, ending up at the Meiji Jingu Treasure Museum (Homotsuden) north of the shrine. I was attracted to the Japanese azekura-style architecture, and learned that it was built in 1921 as a repository for the belongings of Emperor Meiji and Empress Shoken. Unfortunately it was closed. It was getting later in the day, and we decided to go in search of food. I had wanted to see Shinjuku Golden Gai, a historic nightlife district renowned for its narrow, six-alley network containing 200+ tiny themed bars. The area in Kabukicho offers a nostalgic, post-war “old Tokyo” atmosphere with 5–10 seat establishments.

Luckily we found an izakaya before we got to the nightlife district, since I don’t drink and wasn’t interested in actually cramming myself into one of those bathroom-sized bars. As we walked through the area, I spied a long winding queue. I got in line, and a few minutes later arrived at Hanazono Shrine. We had lucked out in catching Tori no Ichi, a vibrant, centuries-old November festival held on “Days of the Rooster” at Otori shrines like Hanazono. There was a crowded, energetic market lined with food stalls, lanterns, and stalls selling kumade (bamboo lucky rakes) decorated with masks, gold, and cranes. People apparently often replace last year’s rake with a larger one to “rake in” wealth. Sellers and buyers perform rhythmic hand-clapping (Tejime) to seal the fortune of a purchased rake. 

I was overjoyed. These were just the kind of authentic experiences I’d hoped for. I was so happy to be surrounded by locals celebrating wealth abundance with their comrades. It was an ebullient atmosphere and I felt buoyed up just being there. Shawn was tired, but I didn’t want to leave. Unfortunately, though, I was uncomfortable taking the Tokyo metro, and felt I’d get lost unless we went back together.

The next day we set off for Ueno Park. En route we had discovered Latte Graphic Jiyūgaoka, an excellent Australian owned breakfast spot next to Jiyūgaoka Station, and it soon became a habit. The lattes were superb and the poached eggs and bacon on English muffins were magnifique. And only 2 stops from our apartment at Oyamadai Station. The neighborhood around Jiyūgaoka Station was fantastic, featuring one of a kind shops and even what looked like a Banksy mural on the side of a building. I bought a pillow at the Muji Store, a maker of all things generic and beige. Loved the raw cotton and muslin feel, and the fact that everything appeared to be dye free.

From there we took the metro to Ueno Station. The park is Tokyo’s premier cultural hub, housing a dense concentration of world-class museums, including the Tokyo National Museum, National Museum of Western Art, and National Museum of Nature and Science. I was particularly interested in the National Museum complex, consisting of several distinct buildings, including the Heiseikan (Japanese Archaeology and Special Exhibitions, Honkan (Japanese Gallery), Hyokeikan, Toyokan (Asian Gallery), Kuroda Memorial Hall, Gallery of Horyuji Treasures, and the museum garden and teahouse. The Hyokeikan was featuring a Hello Kitty Exhibition titled As I Change, So Does She. I was intrigued but only had one day, and wanted to at least see the Japanese Gallery if not the Asian one. And given that I read every sign and description, I didn’t think I had enough time. There was also a special exhibit celebrating the 50th Anniversary of the Designation of the Warrior in Keikō Armor as a National Treasure Haniwa: Tomb Sculptures of Japan in the Heiseikan building. Unfortunately, I had no time.

Just before closing (most lunch places in Japan close at 2pm), Shawn got a table at Yurinoki, the onsite restaurant in Toyokan. We each ordered a sumptuous lunch special featuring miso soup, teriyaki, rice, salad, and tofu. I was grateful for the food, which kept me sated till evening. After gobbling down our vitals, we headed back into the gallery. I managed to get through both the Japanese and Asian galleries, housed in the Honkan and Toyokan buildings, respectively. It was a lot to take in, and by the time we left, I was dazed. We headed to Shinobazu Pond to see Shinobazu no Ike Bentendō, a reconstructed 17th-century Buddhist temple on an island. In spring, the pond is full of lilies. It was dusk, and I liked how the lamps lit the walk around the pond, casting a soft light on the path. Everything in Japan is done with exquisite detail, thought, and care. That seemed the hallmark of the culture.

We walked to nearby Kan’ei-ji Temple, founded in 1625 by the monk Tenkai under Tokugawa shogunate patronage. As a premier Tokugawa family temple, it once covered all of Ueno Park and housed over 30 buildings. It had been built to protect Edo Castle from evil spirits. I was sad about its demise in the 1868 Battle of Ueno. Shawn said it had been one of the most important temples in Tokyo. I particularly liked Ueno Toshogu, located just behind the temple. It is a Shinto shrine built in 1627 in memory of Tokugawa Ieyasu (1542 – 1616), founder of the Tokugawa Shogunate. Having unified the feudal domains of Japan, this shogunate formed the basis of rule for the next 265 years, now known as the Edo period.

Tokugawa is one of the most famous warriors in Japan, and his reputation as a prudent and patient leader is still respected among Japanese today. Despite earthquakes and wars, the structure has remained intact, and is an important cultural property of Japan due to its representative nature of the Edo period. Ieyasu, the 8th Shogun Tokugawa Yoshimune, and the 15th and final Shogun Tokugawa Yoshinobu, are all enshrined at Ueno Toshogu. I loved the golden roof. Stunning. Hungry, we went in search of food. After a few tries, we found a place to our liking and ordered a myriad of small dishes. Izakayas had become my favorite kind of dining. They offered a nice variety of delicious, fresh, and relatively inexpensive food.

The next day we took the train to Ebisu Station, and walked to the Tokyo Metropolitan Teien Art Museum, housed in the former art deco style residence of Prince Asaka. The rain was steady, and we walked fast hoping to dodge raindrops. The residence is situated on the grounds of the former Shirokane Imperial Estate, and include a tea house and pond. I wanted to see an exhibit on the art deco-style glass fixtures used in the residence. Shawn wasn’t interested, and decided to head next door to Robo Botanical Garden at the Institute for Nature Study, National Museum of Nature and Science. I had a great time admiring the architecture and individual glass pieces, true works of art. I also appreciated the simple and spare Japanese architectural section of the residence where the prince and his family spent much of their time. The museum was fairly crowded, and I spent more than an hour looking through rooms and collections. Finally, I headed out and looked for Shawn, who told me the garden wasn’t worth seeing, mostly just a tangle of overgrown trees.

We headed back to Ebisu Station, took the metro to Shibuya Station, and then walked to the Japan Folk Crafts Museum, located near Komaba University. The neighborhood around the museum is dotted with architecturally unique homes, and we both admired their beauty. Inside the museum was a special exhibit on the World of Keisuke Serizawa. Serizawa, born in 1895, lived until he was 89, and used sketches of surroundings and daily life to stencil dye on pongee and other textiles. Yanagi said that Serizawa could see genuine beauty. Sadly they did not allow photos. I was hoping to look back at his work. We spent a good hour in the museum, and watched a movie giving us an overview of his life and work. From there I took at gander at his collection and that of the museum.

With my head full of folk art, I walked the few blocks in a daze till I saw the former Marquis Maeda Mansion. The mansion and grounds were stunning. Considered one of the grandest mansions in all of Asia, this Western-Japanese architectural masterpiece was an early-Showy era estate made up of a Western-style mansion and Japanese-style house. The mansion was designed by Yasushi Tsukamoto for Marquis Toshiinari Maeda, a military attaché and descendant of one of Japan’s most powerful daimyo families (he was the 16th head of the prestigious Kaga clan). It served as a luxurious aristocratic residence and reception venue, featuring Tudor-style architecture, imported marble, French silk, and a distinctive winged lion crest.

After WWII it was requisitioned by the SCAP (Supreme Commander for the Allied Powers) as a residence for top generals, and in 1958 became a public park. It serves as a cultural hub and a glimpse into aristocratic life in early 20th-century Tokyo. It was a truly magnificent building, and we both reveled in exploring the myriad rooms, marveling at the stunning textiles, stone, and other materials. We had hoped to see the Japanese house as well, but by the time we left, the Wakan was closed. We got a chance to see it a few months later in April during our second trip to Japan.

Across from the Japanese house, I spied a museum which was open. It turned out to be the Museum of Modern Japanese Literature, and had a special exhibit featuring Hakushū Kitahara (1885 – 1942), a Japanese tanka poet who wrote during the Taishō and Shōwa periods and is considered one of the most important and well-liked poets in modern Japanese literature. I found his story fascinating, and will summarize it here. In 1906, Yosano Tekkan invited him to join the Shinshisha (New Poetry Association). Kitahara published poems in their magazine and quickly gained fame as a talented young poet. He met other writers and poets, as well as artists, musicians, and actors, and started a group called The Society of Pan. In 1909, he helped start the literary magazine Subaru (The Pleiades). In this magazine, he published his first collection of poems, Jashumon (Heretics).

Jashumon, along with Yosano Akiko’s Midaregami, set a new standard for modern Japanese poetry and was a great hit. His next book was Omoide (Memories, 1912), which he wrote from the perspective of a child’s memories. His tanka collection, beginning with Kiri no hana (Paulownia Blossoms, 1913), show the influence of Zen filled with short, one-line poems. This can also be seen in Suibokushu (Collection of Ink drawings, 1923) and Suzume no tamago (Sparrow’s Eggs, 1921).

In 1918, he joined the Akai tori (Red Bird) literary magazine to write children’s songs and collect nursery rhymes from all over Japan. The next year he published Tonbo no medama (Dragonfly’s Eyes), a collection of children’s lyrics published in Akai Tori. In 1921, he wrote a translations of Mother Goose in Maza gusu. In the same year he published Usagi no denpo (Rabbit Telegrams), a collection of his own nursery rhymes. He reviewed children’s songs for the magazine Kodomo no kuni (Children’s Land), and in 1929, published a collection of essays about children’s songs called Midori no shokkaku (The Feel of Green). He loved to travel, and visited many parts of Japan, as well as Korea and Manchuria from 1923 to 1930. He was constantly experimenting with new writing styles, and found inspiration in old Japanese literature, like the Kojiki. In 1935, Kitahara started Tama, a tanka magazine. He became known as a leader in the fourth stage of the symbolist movement.

He published more than 200 books during his lifetime. Besides his own writings, he edited the poetry magazine Chijo junrei (Earthly Pilgrimage) and help new writers, like Hagiwara Sakutaro, start their literary careers. He wrote anthems for high schools across Japan, including Tōyō Eiwa Jogakuin. Many of his poems are still popular today. The Nihon Densho Doyo Shusei (Collection of Traditional Japanese Nursery Rhymes), a six-volume book edited by Kitahara, was finally published in 1976. Every November, the Hakushusai festival is held in his hometown of Yanagawa to celebrate his life and works. Stages are set up along the canals at night, and in the firelight, his poems are read aloud.

It was the end of another day. We hit another izakaya on the way home, then stumbled back to our apartment in Setagaya-ku. Next day we set out for Kawagoe, a 2 hour train ride away. We were having a spat, so sat separately and set out alone into town. Known as “Little Edo,” the town features well-preserved Edo-period architecture. I loved the Warehouse District with its kura-style buildings, and checked out the Kurazukuri Museum, several warehouse buildings that had escaped the Great Kawagoe Fire of 1893. The museum featured the shop and merchant houses of a tobacco wholesaler named Koyama Bunzo (trade name “Manbun”), and went into detail about the design and structure of the kura-zukuri houses in Kawagoe. I love how they recreated the atmosphere of the Meiji period.

From there I headed to the Toki no Kane (Clock Tower) and Kashiya Yokocho (Candy Alley), where I ran into Shawn. The alley is known for preserving Showa-era and Edo-period, nostalgic treats, including: Karinto, deep-fried, brown-sugar-coated dough snacks; Kintaro-ame, hard candies traditionally featuring a patterned face of the folk hero Kintaro, often sold in long, traditional sticks; Mizuame & Amezaiku, malt-based liquid candy or intricately sculpted sugar art, commonly sold as Amezaiku performances; Nikki Ame, cinnamon-flavored candies; Hakka Ame, mint candies, known for their refreshing taste; Fugashi, a long, airy wheat gluten snack with brown sugar coating; and Sweet Potato Candies and yōkan.

I still have a collection of Kawagoe candies on my altar to Japan. I particularly liked Kintaro-ame, made by molding sugar turned colored taffy into a large cylinder depicting a stylized face or floral pattern. They stretch the taffy into a long, thin tube and slice it. Because the design is consistent throughout the entire cylinder, every slice looks identical. Like Fimo clay beads. I found a corner store that sold every type of local candy, and loaded up a bag. Shawn had taken off for the Kawagoe City Museum, and sent a message that it was worth seeing.

After eating Matcha flavored soft ice cream, which I’d become addicted to, I headed to the museum to see for myself. They had great dioramas, particularly of the way that merchant houses had been fireproofed. And they actually had several dashi, the ornate multi-level wooden floats used in the annual Kawagoe Hikawa Festival (Kawagoe Matsuri). The festival is held at the Kawagoe Hikawa Temple mid-October and dates back to the Edo period. The museum had an example of hikkawase, where multiple dashi floats meet at intersections and face off with music and dance. The floats are 3 tons and 25 feet tall, and decorated with intricate dolls (dashijirushi) on top. They feature a rotating upper platform called mawaributai and a collapsible mechanism called odamaki.

And of course there was lots of historical memorabilia to see. I was impressed with the collection and was lucky to get a personal tour with a very knowledgeable woman who spoke excellent English. She kept apologizing for not speaking well. I was over the moon at how well she communicated and told her as much. She suggested I check out the Kawagoe Castle Honmaru (Main Palace) Ruins. I thanked her and headed toward the former castle grounds, now a public park.

I noticed a man making formal prayers at Miyoshino Shrine, a few feet from the ruins. I’d been wondering how to pray at a Shinto shrine. Intrigued, I watched as he bowed before walking through the torii; walked toward the shrine, careful not to step in the center of the path (I learned it was reserved for the Kami); bowed before the water basin, took the ladle in his right hand, scooped water, and poured it over his left, transferred ladle to left and poured it over his right, transferred ladle back to right and poured water into cupped left hand, rinsed mouth, rinsed left hand once more, held the ladle vertically, handle up, allowing the remaining water to wash handle, then placed ladle back down; approached the shrine; rung the bell; placed money in the box; bowed twice (with hands at sides); clapped twice; prayed to the Kami; bowed once; and turned and walked back through the torii, stopping just on the other side to bow toward the shrine.

The process at a Buddhist temple is different. I have heard variations on this, but generally was told to bow before entering the in the direction of the temple, follow same water purification ritual as Shinto shrine, approach temple and ring the bell three times, place coins in wooden box, pray, bow 3 times with hands in Lotus Sutra position, walk out the gate, and bow toward the temple.

I was exhausted just watching the complex ritual. I approached and did my best to mimic his movements, then rushed off to see the castle’s main defensive base and residence of successive castle lords. Kawagoe Castle’s Main Palace is the only surviving building of a strategically crucial 1457 castle serving as a northern defense for Edo. Due to its proximity and strategic importance to Edo, the castle was entrusted to close allies of the Tokugawa clan. The surviving Honmaru Goten (main palace building) was rebuilt in 1848, but the site itself has strong ties to the early Tokugawa period. The current structure was part of a major rebuilding under Lord Matsudaira Naritsune, featuring impressive tatami rooms, a garden, and feudal administrative rooms. The castle served as an interim resting place of the body of Tokugawa Ieyasu, the founder of the Tokugawa Shogunatein, 1616. It was also the birthplace of the third shogun, Tokugawa Iemitsu.

Shawn had raced there and got in before closing. Sadly, I was too late to see the bedroom where Iemitsu was born and the living quarters of his nurse, Kasuga-no-Tsubone. Crestfallen, I walked around the site, admiring the earthworks and moats still quite evident. I wanted to check out the Senba Toshogu Shrine, built to memorialize the memory of Tokugawa Ieyasu, but it was 12 minutes in the opposite direction from Hikawa Shrine. It is one of the three great Toshogu shrines in Japan, and contains tablets written by Emperor Gomizuno.

Dusk was approaching so I raced through neighborhoods, arriving at the Shingashi River in 8 minutes. I wondered what it looked like in spring when the cherry trees were in full bloom. I was heading to the Kawagoe Hikawa Shrine, famous for its Reitaisai, the annual festival held at every Shinto shrine to honor its enshrined deity, strengthen community bonds, and pray for prosperity. Reitaisai festivals typically feature solemn rituals, Mikoshi (portable shrine) processions, traditional music/dance (Kagura), and crowded food stalls. This shrine is associated with matchmaking as the god of married couples is enshrined within. It is also known for its corridor of wind chimes, and has one of the largest wooden torii gates (15 meters) in Japan.

Shawn had beat me there. He texted me a photo he took of a woman and her daughters dressed in traditional kimonos. When I arrived, I hurried to see the shrine in the fading light. On the outskirts of the area were small shrines filled with hundreds of small white and red fox Kami. I’d never seen so many before. I found a small building that looked rather plain. Entering, I saw two girls with a fishing pole, fishing for a ceramic fish sea. A kind of interative fortune telling. I learned that the red fish (a lucky sea bream) represented good luck, fortune, and safety, while the pink fish signified love, romance, and marriage fortunes. I took up a small fishing rod to catch my own paper-wrapped ceramic fish. personal initiative in finding good fortune. I got a red fish with a pink heart on the side. it said love carp guardian in Kanji. My carp sits in a place of honor at the kitchen table.

I really liked this shrine. I stayed a while longer, soaking in the ambience. There was a covered walkway, and I listened as the wind blew through the chimes. I got a call from Shawn. Kawagoe is known for its high-quality eel (unagi) dishes, a specialty dating back to the Edo period when the nearby Shin-Kawagoe and Iruma rivers provided an abundance of fresh eel. The city is known for its many historic restaurants serving unaju (grilled eel over rice in a lacquered box) seasoned with traditional, long-treasured sauces. He had found a place serving unagi, and they had room. I said goodbye to the shrine and rushed to meet him. We were disappointed though, as it was quite expensive and was basically a fast food joint.

After eating our unaju, we walked back to the station and took the long train ride home. Next day we headed to Ni-hon Minka-en, the Japan Open-Air Folk House Museum. Another long train ride, this time in the direction of Kawasaki to see a remarkable collection of over 25 traditional Japanese folk houses, including farms, merchant, and samurai homes, as well as other buildings like a water mill, shrine, firewood hut, Kabuki stage, storehouse, and ferryman’s hut. To conserve these valuable historic buildings, the city of Kawasaki began to re-erect these buildings from the Edo period, collected from all over Japan.

The exhibition hall contains a treasure trove of detail about traditional architecture, including how to design and construct old farm homes and types of building tools used. Also displayed are farmers tools and other implements used in daily life. Special demonstrations include traditional crafts of straw, bamboo and weaving; indigo-dyeing; storytelling; a traditional festival; a seasonal Kabuki or puppet theater centered around themes of farming; and seasonal displays at the Kitamura, Hara or Kiyomiya house that illustrate special celebrations like New Year’s Day, the Doll and Boy’s Festivals in spring, and the Bon Festival in summer.

As I began to wander the grounds, I felt in the middle of an old Japanese folk village somewhere between the 17th and 19th centuries. The houses were grouped into four villages (Shin-etsu, Kanto, Kanagawa, and Tohoku) and a Post Town (town along the Post Road from Edo to Kyoto). I only wish I’d had more time. One of the first houses we saw, the Suzuki House, built in Fukushima prefecture in the 1800s, was an inn where horse traders could lodge and stable their horses. I learned that its deep eaves and latticed windows were architectural traits of post towns. They had a smoky fire going inside, and a group of volunteers were weaving bits grass into animal shapes. A man with a big grin gave me a woven grasshopper. Shawn spoke a few words of Japanese to him, and I felt happy, despite smoke from the charcoal fire burning my eyes.

As I headed down the path, I was intrigued by the stone sculptures, which looked like they might have been grave markers or a carving of a Shinto Kami. The following is a glance at a few of the intriguing folk houses. In one of the oldest houses from the Kanagawa prefecture, the grass ridge of the roof was covered with iris blossoms in spring. The Kiyomiya family grew rice and Japanese pears and they started working as carpenters. The Nohara house was a typical gasshō-zukuri with a massive steep pitched roof and sturdy frame to support the weight of heavy snows. They raised silkworms and made charcoal. In another house, the Itō family grew persimmons unique to Kawasaki, along with silkworm cultivation and dry field farming. Ito was the last name of my dear high school counselor who died my senior year. I wondered if he had been related to these people. The Kokagesan Shrine in Kanagawa was revered among silkworm cultivators. On its sides are reliefs of the afflictions of an Indian princess thought to have brought sericulture to Japan. The head of the Sugawara family was a farmer and mountain ascetic. The high windows in the roof were designed for silkworm cultivation, while the walls were made of wood, as earthen walls were not very durable in snowy regions.

I was so interested in every house and story, and felt like I might have been an old Japanese farmer in another life. As usual, the clock ticked out the minutes, and soon we were expelled from paradise. I walked through Ikuta Ryokuchi Park, noting the observation platform atop Mt. Masugata, the Kawasaki Municipal Science Museum and planetarium, the Taro Okamoto Museum of Art, a traditional craft center, and a large rose garden. Just before exiting, they had simulated a dense mist of colored fog, and for a few seconds I was completely disoriented. But I soon got my balance, and bid the park and open air museum goodbye.

The next day, we were heading to Fukagawa Edo Museum, a life-size recreation of old Edo in the former Fukagawa ward of Tokyo around 1848. Shawn loved this museum when he lived in Tokyo, and was excited to introduce me. We passed Kiyosumi Gardens on our walk to the museum, and I decided to check it out. Shawn was hungry and found a small eatery near the entrance. The classic Japanese garden built in 1878 featured a tea house and pond with stepping stones that gave the impression of walking on water. I learned later that there was another side of the garden, separated by a road. Unfortunately I didn’t know about that, and felt like I’d missed out.

We continued to the museum. What a cool place! From the cat meowing on the roof to fishing boats in the river and a fire tower, I felt like I’d walked back in time. We came back on our second trip to Japan in April, and I lucked out to get a very knowledgeable guide who spoke English. It was a few days before Boy’s Day, so many of the exhibits were specific to that festival.

Walking in the neighborhood, I was amazed at the variety of temples and shrines, as well as the interesting decorations along the road that the museum was on. We walked to the end, where it teed into the Oyoko River. Turning right, we walked along a path at dusk, then turned right again when we got to the Sendaibori River. Here were lovely gardens and paths meandering along the riverbank, and my thoughts turned to appreciation for Japan’s investment in infrastructure and quality of life. Unlike the US, the wealthiest country in the world where the needs of people are not high on the list.

The next day was our last before heading to Kamakura. Shawn suggested we visit Nishiarai Daishi Temple, the neighborhood that the mother of his friend Kyoko lived. I wasn’t prepared for the festive atmosphere and market street (sando) filled with traditional yatai stalls that sell grilled snacks and takoyaki, fish-shaped cakes cooked in traditional cast iron molds. Taiyaki was said to originate here in 1909, while use of the molds helped create a thin, crisp crust. Nishiarai Daishi is a historic 9th-century Shingon Buddhist temple, renowned as a major Kanto region site for driving away evil spirits (Yakuyoke). Famous for its vibrant peony/wisteria gardens, Salt Jizo statue, and monthly markets on the 21st, it offers a peaceful cultural experience. The main hall holds daily Goma fire rituals. On the immense grounds is a 3-story red pagoda and a rare sazaedo (spiral) hall. Unfortunately we were in the wrong season to see the blossoms on the peony and 700-year-old wisteria plants.

It was a lovely day. We wandered around the area after seeing the temple, and found a place to eat nearby. Shawn had told me about Ginza, the high-end shopping district in Tokyo, and it had peaked my curiosity. We took the metro and got there while still light. I wanted to admire the architecture. I was especially intrigued by the premier department stores he had told me about, particularly Ginza Mitsukoshi and Matsuya Ginza. Apparently he had been the first customer of the day on at least one occasion, and had received a formal greeting from the employees of the store. While I wasn’t interested in shopping or even going into the likes of Dior, Chanel, Gucci, or Tiffany, I was fascinated by the artistry of the window designs and architecture as well as gardens and pedestrian walkways. I would like to go back and see Daikanyama, referred to as the “Little Paris” of Tokyo, with its exclusive boutiques, stylish cafes, and high-end lifestyle shops, especially around the Tsutaya Books area. I’d also like to check out Omotesando (The “Champs-Élysées” of Tokyo) for its zelkova trees and stunning modern architecture. Next time, perhaps.

We had arranged to meet Shawn’s friends from UCSC, Shizuka and Nasio, at an ice cream place near Ginza. On our way, Shawn pointed out the Kabukiza Theatre, the premier venue for Kabuki in Tokyo. It is the only theater dedicated specifically to Kabuki, offering daily traditional performances and single-act tickets. I liked the building’s facade. We had finally managed to nail down a date with Shizuka, who had a heinous work schedule and seemed to be engaged nonstop. We found the cafe and I spied a an odd couple, one laughing and pointing at us, the other quiet and averting her eyes. These were Shawn’s friends.

As soon as we sat down, Shizuka starting teasing Shawn. Soon we were paired up, me talking with Shizuka, and Shawn with Nasio. Shizuka was a joy. I knew she’d been taking care of her parents for many years. I asked her about her life and work. She shared that her parents had both died within the year, which had lightened her burden tremendously. However, it seemed that her work schedule hadn’t gotten any lighter. Apparently she translates documents for a Japanese fitness conglomerate, and often gets rush jobs in the middle of the night. No wonder it took us months to schedule with her. On our April visit, she didn’t respond until our last day. Meantime, Nasio was warning Shawn that we would encounter tons of tourists at our next stop in Kamakura. She painted a grim picture, and I imagined being crammed on the train cheek to jowl all the way to our final destination. Luckily for us, she was wrong.