Japan and the 2024 Election (Part two)
Two things we should be wary of letting white boys get near
We’ve booked a “sightseeing tour” for our first full day in historic Kyoto. This is, my brother promises me, the only thing we’re doing like this. It’s smart thinking though. If you’re going to do all the history stuff, Kyoto, the former capital, is the place to do it.
We meet our guide WAY TOO EARLY IN THE FUCKING MORNING at a train station. She is a small Japanese woman in a khaki raincoat. She’s holding a binder full of laminated pages.
She introduces herself, and opens her binder to show the first laminated page. Mt. Fuji. “I am Fuji.” She tells us. “Like,” she points, “Fuji.”
We nod. We get it.
Fuji hails us a cab and we make polite conversation as we zip around town. She asks us about what we’ve seen so far.
We tell her we went to Hakone and she lights up. “Did you see me?” She asks.
We’re confused until she refers to her visual aid again. Mt. Fuji. “Did you see me?” She asks again.
“Clouds were too thick,” I tell her. “Luckily we’re seeing you now.”
She asks how we liked Tokyo. David tells her he enjoyed Akihabara. Nerd Mecca.
“We have this word in Japanese,” She says, “Otaku, do you know this word?”
David nods. “I do.”
“Say it.” She commands.
“Nerd.” David says.
She beams. “Yes.” She points at David. “Geek.”
It is at this moment that I decide that I will kill or die for Fuji.
“In Japan we respect the Otaku,” Fuji says, as our cab driver takes a hard turn, “We respect them for their passion.”
“It’s not that way in America,” I warn, “In America the Otaku are an oppressed class.”
She shakes her head. How shameful. “They are always wearing backpacks.” Fuji mumbles after a moment of reflection.
We escape our first cab ride and Fuji sits us down on a bench outside the entrance to the grounds of the Golden Pavilion. She gives us some elementary education about Japan and its history. The most surprising fact, to David and myself, is that the Japanese still have an Emperor. Fuji shows us a laminated binder page to prove it.
“America has a new Emperor as well, correct?” Fuji asks.
We tell her we don’t want to get into it.
The Golden Pavilion is breathtaking. Fuji tells us The Shogun had it constructed to intimidate the Emperor of Japan in 1399. I try to appreciate it for what it is, and not draw comparisons to any American demagogues with penchants for gaudy gold decor. Just know, if in 700 years they run tours through Trump’s penthouse to look at his gold toilet, I’m coming back to life and killing myself.
Before we leave the grounds Fuji asks us if we’re mentally healthy enough to meditate for a full minute. I tell her “probably not but we can try.” She asks us to sit with her by the lake and clear our minds. I unfortunately fail to quiet my mind so I decide to write a Haiku in my head to fill time.
My house is on fire
I can see from the garden
My pets must be dead
From the Pavillion Fuji takes us to a series of Shinto shrines and teaches us to pray. Each shrine is dedicated to a different niche deity. David and I pray to the Shinto god of barbers for thick hair, to the goddess of victory for the Dodgers, and to a few others for stuff I can’t remember. I hope the blessings are on their way regardless.
One such shrine is a spout of three waterfalls. Fuji tells us that each of the waterfalls, when sipped from, provide a blessing. One is for vitality, one is for love, and one is for career.
I drink for career, which if you know me you know is typical. David surprisingly drinks for love. “Perhaps divine intervention is the only way,” he tells me. Fuji neglects to drink and instead films us on my iPhone.
Japan is an incredibly insular culture and dialogue with foreigners is kept to a minimum. Therefore our allotted time with Fuji offers a mutual opportunity: We get to play compare and contrast.
Fuji can’t believe we don’t eat fried chicken on Christmas. We can’t believe she’s never heard of Hibachi. “Onion volcano?” I ask her, incredulous.
“I must be misunderstanding,” she says, bewildered.
“In Japan we believe the moon gives you powers.” Fuji tells us.
“In America we believe the moon makes you crazy,” I tell her. “We have more crime when it’s a full moon.”
She considers that. “Because of werewolves,” she says knowingly.
“Yes,” I reply.
Our day comes to a close and Fuji writes something out on a notepad for us. Ichi go ichi e.
Then the English: Once in a lifetime meeting.