2001-08-05 - 12:18 p.m.
all that you can't leave behind (iv)

setting out on the path of service

Wednesday. For reasons we:re going to skip, we had, or thought we had, some special needs taxi-wise in the morning, so when Kimono asked us "When taxi?" we couldn:t just name a time as we were supposed to. We tried to get ahold of English-speaker, who of course wasn:t working that morning. Poor Kimono was very upset that she couldn:t help us. I couldn:t figure out how to ask for someone who could understand our problem without insulting her English skills. She finally just told us to call the front desk.

We left about half an hour later, having worked out our problems to no one:s satisfaction, in a flurry of apologies for all the trouble we:d caused everyone. Kimono was all smiles when she was actually talking and bowing to us, but when she didn:t think we were looking, she looked like she was going to cry. She:d done so much out of her way and worked so hard for us, and English-speaker had probably chewed her out "backstage" for everything that went wrong. She was upset, and probably mad at us for being impossible to please.

I wanted to give her a hug and tell her everything was OK, but they don:t do that here. There really isn:t a Japanese equivalent for "It:s OK"--not a meaningful one. Instead I just babbled "O sore irimashita" to everyone until I felt like I:d done all I could.

leave it all behind

So, we high-tail it out of there, after checking the window one last time for any sign of Mount Fuji. We:re supposed to have a view of it, you see--there:s even a photo on the wall of what we:d be seeing out our window on a clear day.

From our window, we can see the spot where Fuji is *supposed* to be... And we can see a lot of fog in the mountains in front of it. We never do get a glimpse of the mountain.

We get our asses checked out of the hotel with only moderate-to-severe difficulty. It takes the front desk about ten minutes just to figure out how to make a credit card receipt. Everybody pays for everything, no matter how much it costs, in cash, it seems.

My dad observed that in Japan, people think you:re a gangster if you wear sunglasses, and in America, people think you:re a gangster if you carry lots of cash.

Two taxis carry us to the station, again. We haul all our baggage to the train, again. I don:t know if I:ve mentioned that I have a HUGE ASS wheeled suitcase (purchased for the move up to Portland) that probably weighs as much as I do. The station is full of stairs and I tend to go down them last in our group, thump-thump-thump-thump with the weight of the bag jerking my arm on every stair. I am such a wuss that I start to think that hauling the bag around by its handle all over the past couple days is giving me callouses.

And into the train, hauling my bag up the stairs in our compartment one at a time. We:re much less harried this time, now that we know what we:re doing. (We have comforted ourselves with thoughts of what we:re going to do to our travel agent when we get home. By my dad:s calculation, just the surprise bus ride and taxi rides cost us at least $300.) Instead of picking a fight, my brother actually offers to help me with my bag. I take care of it myself.

matthew 5:23

I keep my headphones on most of the ride. I read most of Compassion in Action. My mom reads the newspaper, or satisfies her lipstick addiction or something. Sometimes it:s easier to relate to starving Ethanopians than to the person who gave birth to you.

I try to figure out what I:m going to say in my next journal entry. I worry sometimes about the fragmented picture that people must get about my family. One of the best pieces of indirect advice my mother gave me was cautioning me about who I choose to share my thoughts with. She was critical of women she knew who surrounded themselves with superficial friends and told them everything. She said it cheapened those women:s inner lives.

I didn:t take her advice too much to heart, of course, because if I were to be really, totally prudent about who got to hear my opinions and my life story, I:d have to shut up sometimes.[1] But really, what right do I have to broadcast aspects of other people:s lives on the internet to people I don:t even know? And why is it so hard to give a fuller picture? Mostly what this trip has done, for many reasons, is to fill me with more affection for everyone in my family. They are not only weirder than I think, but weirder than I can think. They are caught up in the same weird games and tragic samsara that I am. What:s not to love?

[1] A few days back, in Kyoto, my dad popped out of the hotel to do something while we waited in the lobby. I decided I needed a newspaper just as he was getting back, so, of course, we both started talking at the same time. I let him go first. He announced that he needed to make everyone just a little later by going back to the room for something-or-other that he:d forgotten. I said that was fine, and I was going to go get a newspaper. As we walked towards our respective errands, I continued a running joke at our collective expense that we:d established in stressful moments early in the trip. Everything was fine, I told him. Take a deep breath.

He laughed, "You mean, stop being annoyed with myself for a minute? You don:t really expect me to do that, do you?"

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