On the Road Again

Bright ’n’ early the fol­low­ing morn­ing, did I arise and, after a hearty break­fast, slip off to the train sta­tion in Yokuska where I pur­chased a round trip ticket to Tokyo. I was so much taller than the local inhab­i­tants, that I felt as strange as Gul­liver must’ve felt, walk­ing amongst the Lil­liputians. Besides, I had to laugh at the din of com­pletely incom­pre­hen­si­ble cack­ling that rose to greet my ears. Even though I spoke not a word of Japan­ese, I had lit­tle trou­ble pur­chas­ing a ticket for Tokyo.

Onboard the train, I was amazed at the speed with which the train zoomed through the coun­try­side, stop­ping just long enough to allow pas­sen­gers to get on and off. And I won­dered why we didn’t have in place such a mod­ern and effi­cient means of trans­porta­tion in St. Louis. I cer­tainly would’ve had it eas­ier, trav­el­ing from South County, where I lived, to see Mary at her par­ents place in North County.

What lit­tle I saw of the coun­try­side from the win­dow of the train was sim­ply gor­geous. How­ever, the lush beauty of the pre­cip­i­tous foothills that sur­rounded the quaint lit­tle vil­lages, nes­tled snugly into every nook ’n’ cranny along the line, quickly gave way to a flat­tened ter­rain, monot­o­nously dressed in the urban sprawl of a more mod­ern Tokyo.

When it came time for me to dis­em­bark from the train, I felt as if I were step­ping into some fan­tasy with­out the slight­est clue of what was going to hap­pen next. For I’d found no unfold­ing tale here to guide me, till I stum­bled upon the most unusual park I’d ever seen, one com­pletely sur­rounded by a mas­sive stone wall, like the fief of some medieval war­lord. Upon enter­ing the grounds, through one of its large open gates, I wound up roam­ing about this dream­like world for hours, tak­ing pic­tures of its per­fectly man­i­cured gar­dens, groves of cherry trees in full bloom, and quaint old Japan­ese struc­tures. I was never more impressed by any­thing I saw in Tokyo than by this sin­gu­lar glimpse into Japan’s past, for Tokyo was like any other large city in the States, choked with its mon­u­ments to com­mer­cial­ism like an over­crowded cemetery.

Hav­ing worked up an appetite, I flagged down a cab­driver who seemed to under­stand as well as speak a lit­tle Eng­lish. When I asked him to take me to a good but rea­son­ably priced restau­rant, we sped off down through a maze of very nar­row ’n’ windy side streets as if he were try­ing to catch up with the other entrants in the Grand Prix after hav­ing been forced to make an unex­pected pit stop. So did I about have a heart attack when­ever we zoomed past an oncom­ing vehi­cle trav­el­ing at the same high rate of speed. Not real­iz­ing what I’d got­ten myself into, I thought my fate was surely sealed as I imag­ined a head-​​on col­li­sion with every car we passed. Still in a near state of shock by the time this roller coaster ride came to an end, I was mirac­u­lously left stand­ing in one piece on the side­walk in front of a place that looked like any other small eth­nic, neigh­bor­hood restau­rant back in the States.

Hav­ing regained my wits about myself, I entered the restau­rant and sat down. Shortly there­after, an elderly Japan­ese woman handed me a menu which, much to my sur­prise, was writ­ten in Eng­lish. Look­ing for­ward to a good sam­pling of Japan­ese cui­sine, I soon dis­cov­ered that I was about to enjoy a good old-​​fashioned Amer­i­can meal. After feast­ing on a sump­tu­ous steak din­ner, I gra­ciously thanked my very mod­est host­ess for such an excel­lent meal, where­upon I quickly found myself back out on the streets again.