It was time to head back to Kyoto by train. Yukio had arrived from Shanghai and we were to spend a couple of days together. At the hostel before leaving, I talked to a young woman from Denmark who was in the midst of completing the 1,200 km Henro pilgrimage on Shikoku, a walk visiting 88 Buddhist sacred sites. Not everyone walks or even visits every temple, but she did. Quite a spiritual and physical journey.
It was long ride from Kyoto station back to the Shugakuin neighbourhood (the panniers on my bike seemed to be getting heavier) and up the hill to Yukio’s house. His home is beautiful, combining architectural elements from both China and Japan; students of an architect friend we knew in Shanghai helped him design it, but Yukio had the main ideas. I sometimes think he missed his calling as a designer.
Yukio grew up in Kyoto, his father passed away six months before he was born and his mother raised three sons on her own, running a fruit and vegetable provision store. At a very early age, Yukio had to help out with the store.
We met in Shanghai in the summer of 1987 and were together for nine years. He still spends most of his time in Shanghai, running his own business. He’s done well, well enough to have built this beautiful house, but there are still a lot of ups and downs and economic uncertainties.
This time in Kyoto was all about eating good food, beginning with breakfast at home and then at some of Yukio’s favourite places. He was always a much better cook than I am. He mentioned to me his fond memories of my father making bacon and eggs for breakfast during visits to Canada.
Of course I had a million questions for Yukio about various things I didn’t understand, one of which was a huge lineup outside a restaurant near the Kyoto station. Every time I passed by there was always a long line of people waiting. Apparently it’s a famous ramen restaurant. Although I’m a glutton for good food, I don’t usually have the patience to line up to eat.
Like anyone running their own business, Yukio works very hard, so this was kind of a holiday for him and we decided to go to an onsen just north of Kyoto, first taking the train at the Shugakuin station then by bus. Turned out the onsen was closed that day but no matter; the area was beautiful and peaceful.
If I could ever live in Kyoto, I would go often to the hills and clap twice at a shrine of my own making.
The next day I was heading to Niigata in the afternoon, but first Yukio wanted to go to a little lunch place in his neighbourhood which specialized in inarizushi, the sushi rice wrapped in deep-fried tofu pockets, which is one of my favourites. He’d become friends with the owner, who had studied in Washington state, scraping enough money together to finally earn her degree and eventually, do graduate work on the US east coast. She was a year younger than me.
Mikisan told us the story about driving across the US by herself in the early 90’s, in her battered Honda Civic she bought for 500 dollars. “I kept a gun in the glove compartment”, she said, “but I didn’t tell my parents that!” The place she is running her small restaurant is the family home she grew up in. I wished I could stay longer and hear more about her experiences living in America.
Yukio road his bike along the river with me toward Kyoto station where I was to catch the Shinkansen to Tokyo then Niigata. At our farewell, I felt so lucky to have had the chance to renew our friendship despite the parting of ways so many years ago.
Got my bike prepped for the train, and possibly have the system nearly perfected. Kyoto station is a nightmare with all the crowds, but there was space for the bike in the oversized luggage area. I had ten minutes to change trains in Tokyo, which I figured was plenty of time; nevertheless, I looked up the train platform number for the Niigata train to be better prepared.
According to a cursory search on the internet, Tokyo station is not the busiest train station in the world; that honour belongs to Shinjuku station across the city. Could have fooled me. I had ten minutes to get from one Shinkansen platform to a completely different one and had to do this twice, because I can’t carry the panniers and the bike together.
Meanwhile, off the train, all the crowds of people and their luggage, swarmed down the escalators like an avalanche. I took my bike first and found the other platform, rushing through the station painfully aware of the signs saying, in English and Japanese, “DO NOT RUN FOR YOUR TRAIN”. Especially when carrying a bicycle.
Back up to the other platform I couldn’t find my bags left behind after getting off the train; immediate panic. Found them. Three minutes left to get to the train. The Shinkansen trains run like clockwork. Sped through the station, up to the platform. Loaded the bags. Imminent departure bells sounding. Grabbed my bike. Ten seconds later the doors closed silently behind me then locked with a solid click. Phew, made it.
Shanghai streets at night
You and I riding our bikes
Cicadas singing
