Ran off to Italy

Crazy Train

I'm writing this on a rather nice Trenitalia "Eurostar" train (not to be confused with the Channel Tunnel train) making its way from Pisa to Genoa. There's air conditioning, a set of power outlets, reclining seats, and just about everything I've come to expect from France's high-speed TGV. Only it's slow. Butt-ass slow.

But that's how it is in Italy. While it may be the home of Ferrari, it's also the home of Fiat, which as everyone knows means "Fix it again, Tony." They say that because it doesn't work. Much like the train ticket machines here. Or the bus ticket machines. Or the ticket validators. So you take your sweet time. Which is fine, because so far it means we've skipped waiting in line, ridden transit for free, and despite being way behind schedule, I'm feeling like I'm on vacation. Because I am.

We've been on the ground for less than two hours now but I'm already immersed in stereotypical Italy. Old men of few words. Public employees who don't give a damn. And getting hook-ups for speaking Italian. Never mind that I don't, really. I just know enough words to come across like those old men of few words. My little bit of Italian is delivered in a curt manner but properly accented, with a goofy American smile. I probably look psychotic. Which in local terms probably translates to "cut me a deal or I'll cut you." Or perhaps I've watched too many spaghetti westerns.

At any rate, I'm proud of my ability to communicate. Which will really be put to the test tonight. Before the train reaches Genoa, we'll get off at Rapallo on the Ligurian coast, spitting distance from the ritzy Portofino. He're we'll meet up with Makoto – my cousin who's appeared several times in this (suddenly realizing it's very old) blog now – which makes him a bit of a recurring character. We're about the same age, sharing the same love of food, drink, and travel, and some crazy people say we even look related (no small feat for mutts).  The one thing we don't have in common, though, is language. His English and French are about on par with my Japanese and Italian. Which is to say we're going to sound like old men of few words. Luckily, I imagine there will be a lot of food or drink between us.

Our wives, who probably don't share any common languages with one another, will fortunately have a baby between them. (Theirs, not ours.)

All in all, it's the start of a week with family from afar, all converging on one magical, boot-shaped wang dangling into the Mediterranean. Of course, I may not get to actually post this until the end of the week. Because like change machines, ice cold drinks, and classy sunglasses, internet is hard to come by in Italy.  Which only means you have more time to actually enjoy it. And I'm going to start doing that by closing the laptop cover, and staring out the window... NOW.

Ciao!

P.S. - Wow, I'm able to post this mere minutes after arriving in Rapallo. There's DSL at this house! Only I'm tethered to a little stool in the corner using a CAT5 cable, as fully functional wireless is a distant dream. :-/

Done With Tokyo

I'm a bit sad that I have to leave Tokyo after only a few nights, but I'm done.

For now.

Roppongi left a bad taste in my mouth, and I spent this morning in Harajuku feeling wholly underwhelmed.

All trip I'd been looking forward to the Harajuku cosplay freakshow, waiting to see people dressed up as gothic lolitas, anime characters, members of their favorite bands - whatever. Instead I saw a handful of kids in barely creative outfits. The few who were dressed to the nines were hiding away from photos because they weren't looking "pretty enough" yet. Maybe I'd come too early. Or perhaps since it's a holiday weekend, most of these so-called rebellious teens were off at Tokyo Disney with their suburban families.

Or maybe it's the fact that I'm just numbed to it all. After all, nobody outfreaks San Francisco. The city is a pride parade, Halloween, and a Grateful Dead parking lot rolled into one - and that's on regular days. It's gonna be hard to shock me, whatever you're wearing. (Maybe a white hood and a burning cross will get me, though...)

On the other hand, Harajuku's a cool little part of Tokyo, overall. Along with adjoining Omote-sando, it's a vibrant little fashion district, with Harajuku's tiny little alleys home to all sorts of cheap streetwear geared toward the youth, and Aoyama's Parisian-styled avenues home to high-end designers who split their time between Tokyo and Paris. Yohji Yamamoto. Hanae Mori. Issey Miyake. All those folks whose clothes I can't afford, which is just as well because they don't fit me. But it makes for nice window shopping, with very little crowd surfing necessary.

Getting out of Tokyo is less than ideal right now, too. Again, with the holiday weekend, all was madness at the Tokyo station, and our normally smooth, comfortable Shinkansen is now packed to the hilt with people, and I get an occasional elbow to the head or bag smacking me in the arm whenever I attempt to sleep. It's like being on a commuter train, only traveling about 400 miles on it.

Luckily, my mom and I lined up early and we were able to snag decent seats, as well as some snacks.


Yes! Booze, cheese, and Mt. Fuji! That makes for a great day after all. Until you get to this stretch:

Depressing, isn't it?

Minor Language Goof

So we're on our second of three legs of a train trip to Nagano right now.

On the third, we're going to meet up with my Aunt Hiroko, who's joining us from Osaka. She's mad for mountains and wants to come up to the Japanese Alps, where we'll hopefully see some snow and gorgeous mountain scenery - this was the site of the '98 Winter Olympics, after all. It snowed on Sunday, and there was supposed to have been a nice dusting today. Keep your fingers crossed!

In the meantime, the announcements on the train are hilarious. First, there's the standard stop, upcoming stops, and destination announcement in Japanese. It's then followed by an announcement in English, only the person saying it has a Spanish accent.

The conductor just stopped by to check our passes, and after looking at my mom's, he asked, "Matsumoto?"

My mom was starting to nod when I cut in and said, "No, it's Moriyama," correcting our Japanese family name.

Then I realized he was referring to our train's destination, where we'd change trains to Nagano.

I feel like an idiot.

#1 With a Bullet

I hereby declare the Shinkansen bullet train the smoothest form of transportation in the world.

The proof? I just went to take a leak and not once did I have to hold on to the railing to steady myself. It's smooth and even, with even less bobbing and weaving on the track than Europe's high-speed trains, while going at higher speeds. Nutso.

I also declare the Shinkansen as the world's fastest transit. I swear, I went from Japan to England in 12.5 seconds...