Andrew is responsible for initiating me into the ranks of Royce addicts, and Matthew gets the blame for supporting my habit.  These chocolates are made in Hokkaido with limited availability, and after my first exposure I kept pestering, "When are you going to Hokkaido again?  Huh?  Huh?" 

The "Nama" chocolate is like nothing I've ever experienced.  It has a very short shelf life and comes in insulated wrapping with a dry ice packet inside because it is SO fresh that it will separate if it gets below a certain temperature.  We opened the package, the chocolates themselves didn't look like much. Must be a bunch of hype, we thought, the whole "Ooh, must keep it chilled" bit...then we took a bite....and just stared at each other goggle-eyed. 

There are no words.  The closest I could come was to gasp inanely that it was like if you took the highest thread count sheets known to man and turned them into chocolate.  (This is why I don't have a career in advertising.) 

My taste buds will never be the same. 

http://www.kitchencow.com/2008/09/17/royce-chocolates/

Rain put the kibosh on our DisneySea plans today but I think I prefer the rain over the 96 degrees in Fairfield today, whew!

With only 2 weeks left in Japan we are scrambling to fit in the remainder of our must-see list, dodging Matthew's work schedule, a couple of dinner parties, and the weather.

Our plans to go to World Expo in Shanghai were felled by the fickle finger of fiscal reality.  One must prioritize, right?  After a recent tete-a-tete with our Snowmint home budget system (or as Snowmint indulgently presents it, our "Spending Plan"), a weekend in Kyoto is one of the things getting the green light.  Write-ups from other travelers say that if you go to only one place other than Tokyo, go to Kyoto, so I'm happy we get to do that. 

The forecast is for more rain so we will just have to remember that Once We Were Oregonians! 

High on my list of favorite things about Japan is the fact that there is a system in place for dealing with one of my pet peeves:  people who stand in the middle of the escalator effectively blocking passage for everyone else.  It's so simple it can hardly be called a system.  Stand to the left, walk to the right.  How hard is that?

This photo was taken in the subway on a Saturday, with time for a leisurely ride. On weekdays there is steady stream of people charging up on the right.

Interestingly, in Osaka the standers are on the right, walkers on the left.  (This may be just the fact you need for a Tirivial Pursuit win.)

The stairs are a free-for-all, in spite of little arrows indicating which side is up and which down.  But the key is, no one impedes anyone else's progress.

You can walk a few minutes west from the the costumed crowds and find yourself a spectator at a Shinto wedding at the Meiji Shrine.  (I love the priest's shoes--must be the Dutch in me!)

The 12 meter high entrance gate is made of 1,500 year-old Hinoki Cypress.  Inside is a prayer wall where for 500 yen  ($5.50) visitors can offer up a prayer in the form of writing on a wooden tablet. 

Also out in force on Sundays in Yoyogi park are the kids who dress as their favorite Manga or Anime characters and hang out en masse.  It's like they get to have Halloween every week, only without candy. 

A jump-and-jiving group of sock-hoppers dance to the (American) oldies a stone's throw from the Elvises.  Someone told me a while ago that the Japanese don't like Japanese music, and it's certainly true that American music is what you hear in most stores and restaurants.

Elvis lives on in Yoyogi Park!

Every Sunday these Japanese incarnations of Elvis gather at the east entrance of the park to preen and dance and strut.  As hobbies go it's pretty harmless, except for the copious amounts of hairspray they expel into the environment and their lungs.  There are different groups of Elvises (Elvi?  Elven?) but they seem to co-exist peacefully enough, taking turns cranking up their boomboxes and gyrating in earnest imitation of the King's legendary moves.

The black tape on the boots is to protect them from the rough asphalt, if you are wondering.

A final note on the subject of skin care:  Collagen.  Collagen is very purposefully ingested in as many ways as possible (in ice cream, above).  Chicken skin apparently is rich in it, and chicken butts especially so.   I'll never forget the first dinner Matthew and I ordered in Japan last year.  We were looking forward to juicy chunks of chicken on skewers but were served instead a plate full of skewers laden with chicken butts.  Collagen or no, I still haven't gotten the hang of those.

One more for the bathroom collection--this looks a lot like my Japanese cell phone, only more complicated.  It does kind of looks like you could ring somebody up on it.

Hats are standard issue as well, a habit instilled at an early age. 

Parasols' little helpers.  I have to say I haven't yet spotted anyone wearing the black plastic neck covers.  (I don't see why not--it seems so appealing to have a portable steam bath encasing your neck on a sunny day...)

We've all heard of the "porcelain beauty" of Asian skin, and from what I've seen it's not a myth.  I don't know how much of it is genetic and how much a result of hyper-vigilant dermal guardianship, but there is an obvious prevalence of unlined faces on the streets of Tokyo.

When we first got here a young woman from Matthew's office was teaching me the best way to hold chopsticks. I looked at her hands and thought, "This is what an egg would look like if it had fingers."  They were so preternaturally smooth as to be almost unformed, making mine suddenly seem ideally suited to perform in the hand-puppet version of Jurassic Park. 

Parasols are the norm for females of all ages, handled as deftly as are umbrellas--juggled seamlessly with cell phones, purses, magazines, and subway passes. 

This plastic bag graced our wall for a while before the arrival of more decorative items.  

I AM lucky and I know it, and very grateful that Matthew's company saw fit to include me on this trip, and I haven't stopped pinching myself since we arrived.  Apart from a few hours of jet-lag-induced churlishness, but those are commonly exempt.

"Welcome Home.  We have finished cleaning your apartment." 

To walk in and find fresh sheets and towels, the apartment spotless, and the cheery orange note left by cheery women wearing  the exact same shade of orange as the note...What a special kind of luxury!  One I am not likely to enjoy again this side of the nursing home, so I am savoring it while it lasts.

Thank you, ladies.   I hope you know how happy you make me!  Hmm...it would be helpful if I would actually tell them that.  Or rather, mime them that.  This should be fun.

PS  They already have a new prime minister ready to start on Friday.  How do they do that?  Out with the old, in with the new.  No fuss, no muss.  Easy come, easy go. 

PPS  This is a picture of the OLD Prince Hotel, with the new one behind it.  It looks like they just got too big for their britches.

I'm all out of adages for now.

As you may have seen in the news, the 4th Japanese prime minister in as many years stepped down earlier this week.  Not an agreeable post, it seems.  All I previously knew of the prime minister was that he was roundly criticized for wearing a brightly colored shirt at a barbecue he was hosting at his home last month, that was pretty big news. 

The day before his announcement, we had to wade through hundreds of police to get home to our apartment, and vans blaring political messages paraded up and down our street.  There must have been some high-up politicians staying at the Prince Hotel, which is the building dominating the view from our balcony.   Soon to be shut down for financial reasons, which makes me sad because I enjoy seeing all the lights on in the evening and can't imagine it as a dark silent behemoth.

I have no idea what the police are holding or how in the world they would use those microphone/baton/walking stick things.  Any ideas?

Sex and the City opens in Tokyo today, a hard-to-miss fact no matter what your language.  This is a movie tailor-made for the brand-conscious Japanese women.  I just read with amazement that 94% of women in their 20's own a Louis Vuitton bag, 92% Gucci, 57% Prada and 51% Chanel.  !!!     Not that they are all so wealthy--many make major sacrifices to buy these bags, which they often don't even like.  Status, status, status!  And fitting in.  Both of primary importance in this "collectivist" society.

If you are interested further to know why college kids are wearing Ferragamos, here is the link to the article.  I hope it opens better than the other links I tried to post.

http://www.entrepreneur.com/tradejournals/article/164421461.html

I've never seen a stroller design like this, double-decker to give it a small footprint.  Nice!

:)

I miss Joey and Phoebe!  The other day I was plugging away on the Lifecycle in the gym and John Prine's "You've Got Gold" came on my iPod, one of my favourite dog-walking songs. Suddenly I had such a longing to see their meaty little thighs running ahead of me I burst into tears.  Had anyone poked their head around the corner they would have thought I was a staunch devotee of the "no pain/no gain" school of exercise.

We'll be home soon, kids!

Here they are auditioning for the part of Hachiko.  Awww....

I've been to Shibuya a number of times but had somehow missed seeing the statue of Hachiko the dog, whose story was made into a movie with Richard Gere as the human lead. Yesterday I made a point to find the exit at the station where Hachiko waited daily for 10 years and where his statue now stands.

Here's the story, as lifted from the internet:

Hachiko was brought to Tokyo in 1924 by his owner, a college professor named Hidesamuro Ueno. Each day, when Ueno left for work, Hachiko would stand by the door to watch him go. When the professor came home at 4 o'clock, Hachiko would go to the Shibuya Station to meet him. Though this simple act alone shows a tremendous amount of loyalty, that's not the end of it: The following year, Ueno died of a stroke while at the university.

Hachiko didn't realize that he was gone, and so the dog returned to the train station every single day to await his master. He became such a familiar presence there, in fact, that the station master set out food for the dog and gave him a bed in the station. Even so, Hachiko never shifted loyalties – every day at 4 o'clock, he hopefully waited by the tracks as the train pulled in, searching for his best friend's face among the people getting off.Hachiko's love for his master impressed many people who passed through the station, including one of Ueno's former students, who became fascinated by the Akita breed after seeing Hachiko.

He discovered that there were only 30 Akitas living in Japan, and began to write articles about Hachiko and his remarkable breed, turning the world's most loyal dog into a household name, and creating a resurgence in popularity for the Akita.Hachiko died in 1935, after 10 long years of waiting for his master. But the dog would not be forgotten – a year before his death, Shibuya Station installed a bronze statue of the aging dog, to honor its mascot. Though the statue was melted down during World War II, a new version was created in 1948 by the son of the original artist. Go to the station now, and you'll be able to see the bronze statue of Hachiko – still waiting, as ever, for his master to come home.

On Sunday I was feeling homesick for the Pacific Northwest, strangely.  Well, not so strangely, this happens when I am in California too.  British Columbia and Oregon are indelibly embossed on my psyche.

Anyway, I saw a picture of a big stone house that looks about as Pacific Northwest as it gets around here and suggested we visit the attached rose garden.  I had expected Matthew to jump on the alternate option of a Harley Davidson show in Yokohama an hour away by train, and when he said ok to the rose garden I knew he still wasn't feeling at all well.

My melancholy was duly appeased by some time spent in the woods, albeit woods where kimono-clad women and a giant pagoda detracted somewhat from the Oregonian ambiance. 

I just like this because it looks so friendly.  "Come one, come all...!"

This impressed me mightily--make sure and click on the image to enlarge it, twice if you need a little extra help.  This was at a freeway rest stop.  The rest areas here are small cities unto themselves, quite different from the "free coffee if you're lucky" stops back home.  (Just to be clear: I greet all rest areas, eastern or western, with identical levels of nonjudgmental enthusiasm)

What you see here is an electronic map of the bathroom layout, with blue lights letting you know which stalls are available, and what exactly you will find in each one.  When you get to the front of the line you better have your eyes glued to this thing because the number one priority is smooth traffic flow.  Always.  Everywhere.  There simply is no disorganized milling about in this country.