Attack of the Obaasans

I just arrived in Kyoto, where the sakura, defying all tradition, is still blooming. Whee! Sorry for everyone who`s sick of hearing about it, though.

Yesterday when I arrived at ryokan near Yanaka, I discovered that it was run by three completely batty old ladies, as ryokans seem wont to be. After twenty minutes of them babbling hysterically at me in Japanese and ignoring everything I was saying (and I am POSITIVE that I was explaining things correctly) I had to call the New Koyo and get the desk clerk to translate. So I left a note for Don and Greg, the friends I was to meet there, and went out, having explained to the batty ladies that my two friends would be arriving shortly. I returned to find the batty ladies babbling hysterically at Don and Greg, who both had virtual neon signs over their heads reading `When is Rachel going to get here.?`

I convinced the ladies we should be allowed into our rooms, and then we went for dinner in an izakaya. Great food; very smoky; a raucous party of salarymen and one office lady next to us got more drunk than I@ve seen since college. One guy was leaning on a post for support. Two others had to walk each other out. One guy had his pants completely unzipped! Thank God they have public transportation in Japan.

The next night we went out with a friend of a friend of Don`s and three of her girlfriends. More great food, and great company. The main friend, Yayoi, explained that she had called the ryokan to try to confirm our dinner meeting but the `strange obaasans` (aunties, I think) kept demanding that she refer to us by our room numbers,which of course she didn:t know, rather than names. This mornign one of the obaasans greeted me (in Japanese) with `Good morning, number eight.`

Attack of the Obaasans

I just arrived in Kyoto, where the sakura, defying all tradition, is still blooming. Whee! Sorry for everyone who`s sick of hearing about it, though.

Yesterday when I arrived at ryokan near Yanaka, I discovered that it was run by three completely batty old ladies, as ryokans seem wont to be. After twenty minutes of them babbling hysterically at me in Japanese and ignoring everything I was saying (and I am POSITIVE that I was explaining things correctly) I had to call the New Koyo and get the desk clerk to translate. So I left a note for Don and Greg, the friends I was to meet there, and went out, having explained to the batty ladies that my two friends would be arriving shortly. I returned to find the batty ladies babbling hysterically at Don and Greg, who both had virtual neon signs over their heads reading `When is Rachel going to get here.?`

I convinced the ladies we should be allowed into our rooms, and then we went for dinner in an izakaya. Great food; very smoky; a raucous party of salarymen and one office lady next to us got more drunk than I@ve seen since college. One guy was leaning on a post for support. Two others had to walk each other out. One guy had his pants completely unzipped! Thank God they have public transportation in Japan.

The next night we went out with a friend of a friend of Don`s and three of her girlfriends. More great food, and great company. The main friend, Yayoi, explained that she had called the ryokan to try to confirm our dinner meeting but the `strange obaasans` (aunties, I think) kept demanding that she refer to us by our room numbers,which of course she didn:t know, rather than names. This mornign one of the obaasans greeted me (in Japanese) with `Good morning, number eight.`