Part three of seven: San Francisco, Japan, & Thailand (July 2013)

It's the day we leave for Japan. We have until 3 PM in San Francisco before leaving for the airport.  Our bags are packed.  We're showered and ready to go. It's 9 AM.  With bags in tow, we head to the lobby to check our bags while we explore Haight & Ashbury and Ghirardelli Square. First, we walk towards Ghirardelli. It won't be the last descent from the hills of San Francisco. Wandering through the streets, we see a sign for the square from a hilltop view. There is a sliver of the Golden Gate Bridge in the foggy background. As the fog in the distance lifts, we start to descend towards the water. But first, a little stop.  

The Russian Hill tourist spot is crowded, but Lombard Street is a quick stop!  From the top, we walk to the bottom and then admire the steep street covered with vibrant flowers and cramped with cars. The hairpin turns make the journey exciting, even when walking it. That's because each car begins its snake-like trek in the same fashion: going only about 5 MPH. It feels like we're out-pacing the cars; some, we are. As we walk by, I peer into the windows and watch how the people are reacting. Some are smiling, others are bored; some crank music, some quietly talk with each other. Cars are bumper to bumper. In my youth I remember taking the same car ride, and it seemed so exciting; the street seemed longer. With this sight-seeing side trip complete, we saunter over to Ghirardelli Square.  

As we enter into the Ghirardelli vicinity, the water lies in front of a park that leads to Ghirardelli Square. We stop to enjoy the view and gaze at the Golden Gate Bridge, which is still far in the distance. It's chilly outside. The cool breeze makes it feel like Autumn, not Summer. I have a light sweater and scarf on...good thing.  Then, Deezy dares me to go into the water. Okay! I quickly untie my shoes, strip off my socks, and wade into the water. Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! "It's freezing," I think. My toes go numb and now the water doesn't feel so painful. I look to the right. A beautiful old ship is docked completed with a bowsprit, foremast, mainmast, and mizzenmast. From my angle, I cannot see the stern. Another boat resembling a steamboat docks on the other side. To my left, a very distant and foggy view of the Golden Gate Bridge. Nobody is around. Nobody on the dock.  Nobody in the water. A few folks spinkled through the Ghirardelli Park area. It's overcast but doesn't appear like it will rain. Enough! My feet have indulged in the iced delight of the bay and now I need heat.

It's time to meander through the park and make our way to the temptations of Ghirardelli Square. Approaching the plaza leisurely, we notice that not many people are outside. As we climb stairs into the plaza, there is a sizable stone fountain. A musician plays music, and the sound waves bounce off the nearby brick structures and echo throughout the space. We find a bench and enjoy the scene.  I'm itching to get some chocolate. Why else come to Ghirardelli? I ask Deezy if he wants anything. "Nope," he replies. I don't take him at his word. He has no idea how heavenly the chocolate is. As I enter into the Original Chocolate Shop, it's crowded. There was no indication from the outside that there was a madhouse within its walls. A true madhouse!

I hedge my way through the flock of tourists. Folks are grabbing chocolate bars, bags of chocolate, and other chocolate paraphernalia like it's going out of style.  Damn people, it's Ghirardelli --- they've got plenty of this stuff. The mad rush makes me slow down to appreciate the spectacle in front of me. The line for the shop is swelling, as is the line to place an order. In anticipation of our later departure, I determine that it doesn't make sense to buy anything to pack away. I opt for a hot chocolate and oversized chocolate chip cookie. I mean, how could I go wrong? The order is placed and I'm given my drink and cookie within moments.  Smooth operation.

I shuffle outside and find Deezy at the bench where we initially sat. Now, the crowd is growing and the noise in the plaza makes it feel much more festive. I sip the hot chocolate. Oh my gawwwwd! No words can describe the delicious richness in that small cardboard cup. It's basically melted milk chocolate. I drift off in thought, still feeling the cool breeze of the water and hearing the screams and laughter of the children filling the square. Deezy peeks in the Ghirardelli bag. I know his weakness. The cookie is more than four inches in diameter and about one-and-a-half inches thick. The cookie emerges from the bag. Knowing that this is my only chance before it disappears, I grab a small piece and devour it.  Yummmmmy! Deezy eats the rest. Now, he is not a foody --- not by any stretch of the imagination. He likes what he likes and rarely tries anything else. Food is no big deal to him; it just fuels him. So, when he says, "That's a good cookie!," it's a true testament to one damn good cookie.

The richness of the chocolate leave us feeling a little heavy. It doesn't matter. I decide that I must attempt to do a fun jump off the Ghirardelli fountain. You know, one of those leaps in which you bend both of your knees back and throw your arms up?! I attempt it. Deezy can't get the camera to snap at the critical moment. I attempt it again. Now I have a good audience. Who cares! I'll never see any of these folks again.

Okay...so that didn't work out so well. Not every photo opt works out.  We walk through the plaza and exit through an obscure stairwell. We find a bus stop and study the map to determine the way to get to Haight & Ashbury streets. It so happens that we are on a bus route that takes us pretty close, although we have to changes buses. We hop on and ride the bus for what seems to be an eternity. We pass through neighborhoods and a beautifully manicured park. The arrival on Haight Street was unceremonious. The beginning of the street had a few shops, but as we progressed towards the intersection of Haight & Ashbury the place got funky.  You could see the funk. You could almost hear the funk. A colorful, dirty, exciting, hippy type of funk. Psychedelic souvenirs are plastered in the windows of the boutiques. All walks of life are strolling the streets: skateboarders, rastas, families, washed-up hippies, metrosexuals, couples, potheads. You name, we see it. The vibe is nice; a bit contrived, but chill. I wonder about how it looked at its height in the 1960s. The streets are much cleaner now and the visitors are sober --- at least most are.  

The shops were Haight Street boutique predictable: t-shirts, marijuana pipes, cannabis made into everything known to man, mind-tripping stickers, costume shops, everything 60s. Thank goodness we only planned an hour or so here.  There's nothing to do except buy a t-shirt, tour the shops, and leave. It is worth visiting, but certainly not worthy of more than an hour unless it's your scene.

We find a bus stop and check the schedule. We decide to walk to the MUNI. Along the way, we comment on the homes and what feels like more suburban neighborhoods although it's very clearly the city. After finding the MUNI stop, we see a different part of the city. Deezy is right. Every city is congested with restaurants, bars, and shops. San Francisco is no different, just a bit chillier.

The MUNI comes to a stop in Union Square. This will be our last hike up Powell Street. It's much easier today. We're making good time and not sweating! There's still plenty of time to grab our luggage and jump back on the MUNI to the airport.  The train doesn't get crowded even though lots of people are on board with their luggage. Once we arrive at the airport, we check in and find our gate. I see a currency changing machine and decide to get some yen. Deezy wants some too. The machine is broken. Instead, Deezy buys a neck rest to make the flight more comfortable. Little did he know of the discomfort to come....

WELCOME TO TOKYO, JAPAN 東京

The flight is perfect! Despite the amount of time, we are both quite comfortable on the plane. Plenty of leg room, which is especially good for Deezy's 6'2" body frame.  There is just one catch: Japan Air, which is a stellar airline, serves lots of fish.  Deezy doesn't like fish. Thinking we would be slick, we ordered "special meals" ahead of time to avoid the problem of bad or undesired food. After all, the flight is the longest we've taken. In fact, we lose a day. So, ordering the special meals would be perfect. Except, it probably isn't the best idea because of the whole fish thing. I don't mind fish, but Deezy loathes it.

Let me set the scene so that it's clear: Japan Air is one of the best I've used. Coach is very comfortable, everything is modern, and the crew are the consummate professionals. The flight attendants are quite attentive, making sure that our every need is met. No complaints. As the dinner tray is placed in front of us, Deezy looks at me with disappointment when he uncovers the fish. Fish. Hmmmmm, how to get outta of this. I've got it! I have a brilliant idea! I share it with Deezy. The plan: he's allergic. Allergic to fish. Problem solved! "Excuse me, ma'am," I say. "He's allergic to fish." The horror of this revelation throws the petite and gracious flight attendant into a full panic. "Allergic to fish?," she asks incredulously but politely. I nod yes, as does Deezy. Situation handled.  

Well, remember that discomfort I mentioned? So it begins. The senior flight attendant is asked to come to our row. She profusely apologizes for serving him fish. It gets out of hand really quickly. Deezy and I glance at each other, knowing that this plan is now creating quite a stir. Big mistake! The senior attendant essentially takes his history of allergies. Oh my gosh! This is so embarrassing.  There is a crowd of flight attendants available to make sure that any order the senior attendant barks relative to our care is met. I feel horribly. What a great flight crew! They are sincerely concerned for him.  

I want to blurt out, "Forget it, he's not allergic," but this would be even worse. The whole situation is rapidly spinning out of, what Americans would consider to be, a reasonable response. They got through all the cabin snacks that he cannot eat because of the traces of fish or fish oil in them. They'd freak out if they knew he already had some. (And thought it was delicious, thank you very much.)  To complicate matters, the special meal that was ordered for Deezy was low-sodium.  Now, he doesn't need low-sodium, he preferred it because it was a long flight.  There is no medical need. In fact, Deezy is super fit, lean, and has no problems with salt. The flight attendants refuse to give him a meal with more sodium than a low-sodium diet allows. We attempt to explain that it's not important for just one meal. It doesn't matter, they race around to find him a meal that meets all the criteria. Deezy is mortified. When we are briefly "alone," I begin to laugh. What a mess! It'll be over soon...we think. The senior flight attendant comes back with two options, which are the first class meals. Deezy hates both options because they are filet mignon and another red meat. He asks for chicken. Oh, they have a chicken dish that they forgot about. Whew! The chicken dinner is delivered and everyone is happy. Except, the flight attendants are totally distraught over this matter. Maybe it's a cultural thing or the professionalism of the airline, but they cannot let it go.  Deezy gets several more apologies and a promise that his name will be linked with the allergy restriction in their online system to avoid such problems in the future.  While this is all happening, he gives me "the eye" and I sheepishly smile back.  Guess my plan wasn't so great after all.  Well, at least the fussing is done...for now.

Our night arrival is perfect! We are both tired and cannot wait to find the hotel and get some sleep. Like everything else in Japan, the airport is busy but efficient.  After we collect our luggage, we pay for our subway ticket. The subway is packed!  We cramp the space even more with our luggage, and even more so with our presence. Deezy and I are giants!  His 6'2" lean athletic frame and my then 5'8" curvy frame occupy more room than the norm. (Oh yeah - I'm wearing heels again, so it's more like 6'.)  Our heads are almost touching the ceiling...almost.  

On the train, there are businessmen, young girls out for the night, groups of friends, couples. The remarkable thing about Japan is how incredibly homogeneous it is. All of the people appear to be Japanese. In this notoriously homogenized society, we stick out like sore thumbs. The majority of the people are petite: short and thin, although some stalker men are gathered in the middle of the train and laughing raucously. There are no black or white Westerners on the train; we're it. Gazes and stares come in our direction. Even with the curiosity around us, we nonchalantly await our stop. Should I be giving courtesy smiles? What is proper etiquette here? Well, it's not important. We'll be off in a few stops.  

The Japanese subway system is flawless in all ways. Signs are written in Japanese and English, the floors are so clean you could eat off them, and getting tickets for the ride are easy. We have no problem finding our stop, which is about two blocks from the hotel. It's easy to spot; we're right around the corner from the Tokyo TV antennae, which is a famous landmark in the city. A few paces down the street and we arrive at a very tall, sleek, and well-lit hotel. It's very, very late now. My body isn't sure if the exhaustion is related to the travel or the time. Either way, I'll sleep like a baby tonight.  

At check-in, we fumble through the process. Neither of us speaks Japanese and the staff speak little English. A bellhop is assigned to us. He is a slight man with a friendly smile. Anxious to do his job, he walks towards our bags. Deezy carries his own, and I carry what I can. The bellhop grabs my other bags. The elevator is made of glass and the ground floor fades into nothingness. We arrive at the floor - pretty high up. The bellhop opens our room and escorts us inside. I quickly fiddle through my bag to find some yen. The bellhop stands there smiling awkwardly. I am already apologizing for not having enough yen to give him a proper tip. He doesn't understand. He asks, "Okay?" I shake my head yes and approach him with the yen. And then, the most awkward exchange ever in my history of traveling occurs. As I am showing the yen (coins) poured into my hand and trying to hand it to him, he is walking backwards towards the door. I am begging him to take the yen. He is smiling, refusing, and bowing. I continue to walk towards him and he attempts to backs out. The man makes no sound. Deezy is watching the scene in horror. The bellhop takes a final bow, gives a smile, and quickly exits. I'm mortified. Have I just insulted him in some way? Has he worried that he has insulted me? Do you tip in Japan? Did he understand my apology? The whole thing was a big old cultural mess! Deezy is now shaking his head and laughing at me. He told me that I had embarrassed the man. Oh my goodness! I hope I didn't.  I perseverate for a few minutes, but overcome with sleepiness I prepare for bed.  There is no plan for tomorrow, we hop into bed wondering what new adventure awaits us.

We wake up really early, flip on the TV and watch for thirty minutes.  Mesmerizing. Deezy loves dating shows. Fortunately, Japanese TV doesn't disappoint. We watch what seems to be a Japanese dating show reminiscent of those from the 80s. Familiar yet still distinct from American television, obviously.  Neither of us can look away, despite the language barrier. Even the subtitles are presumably in Japanese. It doesn't matter. Maybe it's a dating show and may not.  And if it is, dating shows are universal. Right?

After getting ready, we decide to ride the subway to the Roppongi area. The subway station is spotless. It's hard to believe that it's public transportation. To make it more confusing, there isn't a public receptacle anywhere.... seriously, anywhere. Apparently, trash is a private matter. Or, maybe it's a way of policing society's diet. Think about: most of the debris in the garbage is food related.  Hmmmm... Japan might be on to something here.

The main attraction to Roppongi is the large shopping center. Atop one of the skyscrapers in the complex of buildings is a circular, glass viewing perimeter from which the whole city (360º) can be seen. It's a bit foggy today...maybe it's smog. There are a lot of people, so the pollution must be outrageous. Surprisingly, there aren't many people wearing masks. Despite what I was told, there are no public oxygen machines (similar to a meter on the side of the road), nor are Japanese folks approaching either of us to feel our hair, skin, or my boobs. Seriously, I was told that this would happen. Instead, we enjoy the day as any local would. Casually strolling the streets, we enter into shops, markets, and art exhibitions.

Several hours pass and we head for the well-known Meijii Shrine (明治神宮, Meiji Jingū). The entrance is majestic and welcoming. A simple, large wooden torii gate commands respect. The area is quiet, serene. It is sacred ground and impeccably maintained. There is a small wooden display to the left and a map of the shrine to the right. I head left, Deezy heads right.We meet in the middle and walk through the torii gate together after I have set up a timed picture.

The trees line the wide, pebbled path and reach up to the heavens while bending gently to provide shade. There is a man sweeping the path with a makeshift broom.  The broom, made of branches, is delicately constructed but sturdy and capable of completing its task. Each fallen leaf is gently swept and no pebble is disturb but every leaf is discarded. The man looks peaceful, his pace slow and deliberate.  There's a rhythm to his movement and he appears to be in a state of meditation, one with his surroundings. Following the path, we are led to a purification station, an area with a fresh water fountain and a dozen ladles, designated for cleansing your hands and mouth. The ladle is never to be taken to your mouth; only use it pour the water into your hands. From there, you rinse your mouth but never swallow the water. There are no instructions, but we observe others before we take our turn.  Deezy and I chose to only wash our hands. It's refreshening in the humidity and heat that has crept up on us as the day has progressed.

The shrine is a generous size. Walking through a hefty, dense wooden door that is simply and elegantly embellished with carvings and metal, we enter onto a mostly empty courtyard. There is a structure upon which thousands of visitors have left messages of gratitude, earnest hopes, wishes, and devotions of faith written on small, rectangular wooden prayer boards. I look for the boards and quickly learn that each costs about $10. Okay...I guess I'll take a silent moment to express my appreciation instead.

Deezy and I separate and wander through the courtyard. I take many pictures but respect the request to refrain from pictures during a religious ceremony in the shrine. Apparently, I'm the only one to restrain myself. The more I've traveled the more I've learned that not everything can or should be captured in a photo. So I stay in the moment without seeing the moment through a lens. A clear vision of the tradition and ceremony happening in my presence. The chief shinto priest, Gūji, and the assistant, Gonnegi, perform some traditional service that is no longer than twenty minutes. The crowd thickens at the opening of the alter, cordoned off by wooden bars and baskets for contributions. Cameras are clicking and lights are flashing. Two old Japanese men are roaming through the crowd futily asking visitors to stop. A few people have to be told to stop talking or speaking too loudly.  A gong is struck and the ceremony concludes.

The crowd disperses as quickly as it formed and the courtyard is again mostly vacant. I walk towards a tree with some rope hanging from them. Every few inches tassels alternate with thunderbolt-like paper. Curious. It must have some meaning but nobody is around to ask. I meet up with Deezy. We walk through a door at another entrance/exit to the shrine. There are more torii gates throughout the shrine. There is an uncomplicated beauty to this place. The noise never exceeds a slight hum. With each step I hear pebbles crunches beneath my shoes. The path continues on and winds through the trees and gates.

Before exiting, we rest on a low wall just next to the path. Deezy and I talk about our experience in the shrine. Just then, I notice a group of teenagers taking our picture. They are excited and smiling. I smile, Deezy pays no attention. More people walk by and start taking our picture. And then more. We get up and start to leave understanding that we have now somehow become the attraction.

The remainder of the day is spent exploring the city, public parks and gardens, and learning the lay of the land. Later that evening, I get sick - really sick - despite our plan to head out and enjoy Tokyo's nightlife. Deezy patiently awaits for me to awaken from my illness-induced slumber but I don't so much as stir until 2 AM.  By then, Deezy is asleep so I put my head back on the pillow knowing that the next day we're heading to Mt. Fuji. I hope I feel better for the climb ahead of us.