A vegetable of the ocean

We just got back from Koya-san, a mountain town which is a center of Shingon Buddhism, and in which you must stay in a Buddhist monastery as there are no regular inns.　I had been there before in autumn, and it was quite beautiful, and the food in the monastery was excellent.

This time we stayed at a different monastery, and due to a rather nightmarish time getting there, involving being unable to get tickets on a non-smoking train car until a much later train came by, staggered into the monastery tired and grumpy. (I should mention that the last leg of a journey involving five trains, a subway, and a bus, was a cable car-- a funicular, to be precise.)

We were greeted by a voluble monk who looked rather like a Chinese statue of the Buddha-- round belly, round face, thick neck, round bald head. He chattered away in Japanese and a tiny bit of English, recommending a Japanese dessert (mochi) place after cunningly inquiring if I liked dumplings, and suggesting that we visit the International Cafe, run (he said in English) by an `International Man Of Mystery.`

Then he escorted us to our dinner, which was a cold (because we were two hours late) eleven-dish feast. Not counting rice, miso soup, and tea. He sat there and instructed us on how to sit (cross-legged, `samurai style. Like Tom Cruise!`) and on what everything was. In Japanese, mostly, which I barely speak. At one point he showed us a peculiar vegetable, scratched his head, named it in Japanese, but said he didn`t know how to explain what it was. Thinking it was a type of seaweed but not knowing that word, I asked, "Is it a vegetable of the ocean?" That got a laugh and a no. I am still not sure what it was-- it was shaped like a canned pineapple ring and looked somewhat like one, but translucent yellow-white, in a thick translucent sauce-- but I am sure that whatever it was, I don`t like it.

But the rest of the meal was lavish and terrific, though portions,　like the faintly glowing pink gelatin triangle, seemed to be the sort of thing which might give me superpowers after I ate it. My favorite dishes were stewed pumpkin, which normally I hate, some pickled things, and tempura which included squash, lotus root, and some large flower.

Sadly, that was the best I did with Japanese, to the great disappointment of the monk. Every subsequent tinme I saw him was first thing in the morning, before coffee, when my listening skills were at a low ebb and my speaking was nil. However, he did give me a very nice parting souvenir-- a Buddhist dorje pinky ring. I shall treasure it.

We missed the lunar ecipse, though we did see a very brilliant moon with a copper corona, the aftereffect. But the meal was so good, and its setting-- a huge hall with painted scrolls of birds and a tiger staute-- was so cool-- that we didn't much care.

The next day we visited the amazing 2000-year-old cemetary, Okunoin, in an ancient cedar forest. The trees were enormously tall and mossy, and the interior, older parts of the cemetary were full of toppled moss-covered tombstones, stone torii gates with ferns sprouting from them, and statues of Jizo, who watches out for babies, in little red bibs, shocking bright against all the green and brown. The more recent parts of the cemetary were atmospheric in a different way. There were several tombs of company men and women, with memorial giant stone coffee mugs (for coffee company employees) and a huge stone rocket ship, I assume for an astronaut. No doubt that will become very picturesque in a hundred years when the moss covers it.

Unfortunately, it turned out that my mutant power was attracting mosquitos. They ignored Stephanie and attacked me, and sent me fleeing the more moist and dank portions of the cemetery, with a ravening dark cloud in hot pursuit. I went to a pharmacy later and all I had to do was say "Mushi" (bug) and the counter-lady immediately handed me a tube of bug bite soother, which she had right on the counter. (And when I added "Bug go away," she had no trouble understanding that either.)

We are now back in Tokyo, about which I will write more later. This internet cafe is very smoky, though, so I have to sign off now. Well, one last thing, before I forget. Men in Tokyo seem very comfortable with their masculinity, so much so that they do not feel, for example, that anyone might look askance at a young man in jeans and T-shirt, carrying a silver lame purse.

A vegetable of the ocean

We just got back from Koya-san, a mountain town which is a center of Shingon Buddhism, and in which you must stay in a Buddhist monastery as there are no regular inns.　I had been there before in autumn, and it was quite beautiful, and the food in the monastery was excellent.

This time we stayed at a different monastery, and due to a rather nightmarish time getting there, involving being unable to get tickets on a non-smoking train car until a much later train came by, staggered into the monastery tired and grumpy. (I should mention that the last leg of a journey involving five trains, a subway, and a bus, was a cable car-- a funicular, to be precise.)

We were greeted by a voluble monk who looked rather like a Chinese statue of the Buddha-- round belly, round face, thick neck, round bald head. He chattered away in Japanese and a tiny bit of English, recommending a Japanese dessert (mochi) place after cunningly inquiring if I liked dumplings, and suggesting that we visit the International Cafe, run (he said in English) by an `International Man Of Mystery.`

Then he escorted us to our dinner, which was a cold (because we were two hours late) eleven-dish feast. Not counting rice, miso soup, and tea. He sat there and instructed us on how to sit (cross-legged, `samurai style. Like Tom Cruise!`) and on what everything was. In Japanese, mostly, which I barely speak. At one point he showed us a peculiar vegetable, scratched his head, named it in Japanese, but said he didn`t know how to explain what it was. Thinking it was a type of seaweed but not knowing that word, I asked, "Is it a vegetable of the ocean?" That got a laugh and a no. I am still not sure what it was-- it was shaped like a canned pineapple ring and looked somewhat like one, but translucent yellow-white, in a thick translucent sauce-- but I am sure that whatever it was, I don`t like it.

But the rest of the meal was lavish and terrific, though portions,　like the faintly glowing pink gelatin triangle, seemed to be the sort of thing which might give me superpowers after I ate it. My favorite dishes were stewed pumpkin, which normally I hate, some pickled things, and tempura which included squash, lotus root, and some large flower.

Sadly, that was the best I did with Japanese, to the great disappointment of the monk. Every subsequent tinme I saw him was first thing in the morning, before coffee, when my listening skills were at a low ebb and my speaking was nil. However, he did give me a very nice parting souvenir-- a Buddhist dorje pinky ring. I shall treasure it.

We missed the lunar ecipse, though we did see a very brilliant moon with a copper corona, the aftereffect. But the meal was so good, and its setting-- a huge hall with painted scrolls of birds and a tiger staute-- was so cool-- that we didn't much care.

The next day we visited the amazing 2000-year-old cemetary, Okunoin, in an ancient cedar forest. The trees were enormously tall and mossy, and the interior, older parts of the cemetary were full of toppled moss-covered tombstones, stone torii gates with ferns sprouting from them, and statues of Jizo, who watches out for babies, in little red bibs, shocking bright against all the green and brown. The more recent parts of the cemetary were atmospheric in a different way. There were several tombs of company men and women, with memorial giant stone coffee mugs (for coffee company employees) and a huge stone rocket ship, I assume for an astronaut. No doubt that will become very picturesque in a hundred years when the moss covers it.

Unfortunately, it turned out that my mutant power was attracting mosquitos. They ignored Stephanie and attacked me, and sent me fleeing the more moist and dank portions of the cemetery, with a ravening dark cloud in hot pursuit. I went to a pharmacy later and all I had to do was say "Mushi" (bug) and the counter-lady immediately handed me a tube of bug bite soother, which she had right on the counter. (And when I added "Bug go away," she had no trouble understanding that either.)

We are now back in Tokyo, about which I will write more later. This internet cafe is very smoky, though, so I have to sign off now. Well, one last thing, before I forget. Men in Tokyo seem very comfortable with their masculinity, so much so that they do not feel, for example, that anyone might look askance at a young man in jeans and T-shirt, carrying a silver lame purse.

Anne Bishop: A Daughter of the Blood

Stephanie kindly gave me this to read on the plane, explaining, "You said that if I gave you the magic cock ring book you would read it."

How do I even describe this...? I abandoned it on the plane, so I shall merely share the fragments I recall, which now have the air of a very bad trip.

There are magic cock rings. They are controlled by witches to enslave the wearers, who often magically zap them with pain. This makes many of the male characters perform actions like, "Moaning and clutching his groin, he staggered up the stairs," or "Carefully holding his crotch, he pursued her."

On page two, someone gets his balls eaten by rats. He has a tragic death scene, in which he says tragically, "The rats ate my balls!"

There is a character named Saetan. (Pronounced, perhaps, like the vegan meat substiitute?) He is the lord of Hell. There is also a kingdom called Hayll. I found this rather confusing.

There is another castration somewhere later in the book. I think Anne Bishop has some issues.

One guy has membraneous bat wings, which Bishop forgets exist for chapters on end, but which come into play when he:s particularly Byronic and crotch-clutchy.

The hero is impotent because he can only get it up for his Twoo Wuv. She is the world"s biggest Mary Sue-- golden ringlets, frequently compared to a cat, called names like "hoyden" and "snippet," and ten times more powerful than anyone ever. She has a Destiny and Very Special Magic Rocks. There is a whole system of color-coded magic rocks-- Mary Sue has the best set of anyone ever.

When the hero meets her, she is twelve, and he feels a strange pull toward her, but freaks out because she]s a kid and he:d be a perv if he got a hard-on from a kid. So he rushes upstairs and puts his hands down his pants to see if he got one or not. Um, I:m not a guy, but you don"t actually have to touch it to tell, right?

(no subject)

telophase posted a (too brief) account of our Koya-san trip. Check her LJ-- this isn't letting me cut-and-paste a link.

I forgot to mention that after our magnificent feast of rice, miso soup, tea, stewed vegetables, not-vegetable-of-the-ocean, sweet pickles with thin rice noodles, soba with dipping sauce and an orange slice, chewy mock-sashimi, mysterious glowing pink jello triangles tasting like dilute raspberry jello, tempura, eggplant (which I didn't eat), tofu (which I didn't eat either-- it had a strangely repulsive texture, like toothpaste), and grapes (fermented in the heat)-- we were informed that we should eat at a restaurant the next night, as the next night's meal would be identical.

The next night we set out. the International cafe of Mystery was closed. So was every other restaurant in town! So were most of the convenience stores. Though if we wanted to buy manga, T-shirts, sunglasses, or makeup, those stores were open. We finally ended up in a convenience store which, unlike most in Japan, was very poorly stocked. Shockingly, it had no bento. We depressedly poked at the pathetic offerings, grabbed two pastries, two mystery onigiri, a small thing of mystery fried stuff, and a packet of potato salad, and decided to eke out this meager meal by making sandwiches. What we first took for mayonnaise proved to be cream, so we decided to forego condiments and just buy ham and a loaf of bread.

On the way back to our room in the temple, Stephanie grabbed a melon soda and I got my addiction, the chalky-lemon sports drink Pocari Sweat ("The exact composition of human body fluid. Refreshing!") (The temple had an indoor drink vending machine. Of course. Also a mural of rowdy chubby monks engaged in raucous activities, such as playing with the rope-like white eyebrows of one monk, or sitting on an unhappy-looking tiger.)

Back in our room, we made the following discoveries:

1. The melon soda smelled like bubblegum and tasted like revolting chemicals.

2. One of the onigiri was both mysterious and inedible.

3. One of the fried things turned out, upon dissection, to be chicken. That was OK. The other was a scary mushy thing with black speckles. We didn't try it, and you wouldn't have either.

4. The "loaf of bread" turned out to contain stale whipped cream and balls of gelatinous apricot jelly, rendering it useless for sandwiches.

5. The pastries were awful and largely consisted of the same stale whipped cream as in the bread loaf-- which was ordinary bread, by the way.

6. The ham and potato salad were pretty good!

But overall the meal was awful: so we had our best and worst meals in Japan on successive days.

The next morning the monk inquired as to our dinner, and insisted that in fact, at least one restaurant in town had been open, and if we had only turned left at the tourist information office as was clearly marked upon the map, we would not have been forced to pathetically resort to the convenience store. At least I think that's what he said. However, such advice would have been useless even had it not been after the fact: I am certain that we also failed to find the tourist information office.

(no subject)

telophase posted a (too brief) account of our Koya-san trip. Check her LJ-- this isn't letting me cut-and-paste a link.

I forgot to mention that after our magnificent feast of rice, miso soup, tea, stewed vegetables, not-vegetable-of-the-ocean, sweet pickles with thin rice noodles, soba with dipping sauce and an orange slice, chewy mock-sashimi, mysterious glowing pink jello triangles tasting like dilute raspberry jello, tempura, eggplant (which I didn't eat), tofu (which I didn't eat either-- it had a strangely repulsive texture, like toothpaste), and grapes (fermented in the heat)-- we were informed that we should eat at a restaurant the next night, as the next night's meal would be identical.

The next night we set out. the International cafe of Mystery was closed. So was every other restaurant in town! So were most of the convenience stores. Though if we wanted to buy manga, T-shirts, sunglasses, or makeup, those stores were open. We finally ended up in a convenience store which, unlike most in Japan, was very poorly stocked. Shockingly, it had no bento. We depressedly poked at the pathetic offerings, grabbed two pastries, two mystery onigiri, a small thing of mystery fried stuff, and a packet of potato salad, and decided to eke out this meager meal by making sandwiches. What we first took for mayonnaise proved to be cream, so we decided to forego condiments and just buy ham and a loaf of bread.

On the way back to our room in the temple, Stephanie grabbed a melon soda and I got my addiction, the chalky-lemon sports drink Pocari Sweat ("The exact composition of human body fluid. Refreshing!") (The temple had an indoor drink vending machine. Of course. Also a mural of rowdy chubby monks engaged in raucous activities, such as playing with the rope-like white eyebrows of one monk, or sitting on an unhappy-looking tiger.)

Back in our room, we made the following discoveries:

1. The melon soda smelled like bubblegum and tasted like revolting chemicals.

2. One of the onigiri was both mysterious and inedible.

3. One of the fried things turned out, upon dissection, to be chicken. That was OK. The other was a scary mushy thing with black speckles. We didn't try it, and you wouldn't have either.

4. The "loaf of bread" turned out to contain stale whipped cream and balls of gelatinous apricot jelly, rendering it useless for sandwiches.

5. The pastries were awful and largely consisted of the same stale whipped cream as in the bread loaf-- which was ordinary bread, by the way.

6. The ham and potato salad were pretty good!

But overall the meal was awful: so we had our best and worst meals in Japan on successive days.

The next morning the monk inquired as to our dinner, and insisted that in fact, at least one restaurant in town had been open, and if we had only turned left at the tourist information office as was clearly marked upon the map, we would not have been forced to pathetically resort to the convenience store. At least I think that's what he said. However, such advice would have been useless even had it not been after the fact: I am certain that we also failed to find the tourist information office.