Chapter 38: CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

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CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

I woke up way past nine to face at least three more days of Oshogatsu.

Which to do first? Eat the osechi or go to a shrine for hatsumode? I'll try the osechi first. After all, Ruriko says it's more like a brunch. To hell with making my first visit of the new year to a shrine on my very empty stomach. A couple of hours shouldn't make any difference.

I grabbed my hashi chopsticks, got the osechi lunch box out of my minifridge, set it on my low kotatsu table, sat on the zabuton cushion next to it and slipped my legs under the warmth of its futon and its inside electric heater. I opened the box and found each of the different-sized compartments filled with things of different colors, but mostly red and white. God, not more kohaku! Well, it certainly looks inviting anyway.

There's the kazunoko herring roe that Ruriko told me means to have lots of children and grandchildren. Well, I've eaten plenty of tarako raw fish eggs in the sushi I've eaten with John. I picked one up with my hashi, stuck in my mouth and. . .

Yecch!

The raw eggs didn't make it taste so terrible. But they were marinated in some sort of shoyu soy sauce mixed with God knows what else that made them taste so bad.

What next? Hmm . . . there are some bright red shrimp that look good, but I'm getting a bit wary about things just looking good. I picked one of them up with my hashi and stuck it in my mouth. Hey, not bad! They've been marinated in that same shoyu-like sauce but it doesn't ruin the taste that much. I gobbled up the few others. I'll ask Ruriko about what they're supposed to mean when college starts again.

Then there are a couple of slices of kamaboko fish cakes -- one red and one white, what else? -- that again look good. But when I ate one . . . Well, I can eat them at least. There's some sort of fish slice in it's own compartment. I held it up to my mouth with my hashi and took a bite . . . My God! The sauce actually makes this fish taste pretty good!

As I experimented through the God knows what in the remaining compartments that all looked good, but at best had a bland taste and the others yecch! . . .

Hmm, don't I remember a saying I heard somewhere, "Kyoto people eat with their eyes. Osaka people with their stomachs?"

Wait an minute!

Didn't Ruriko say everyone in Japan eats osechi on New Year day? Then better make that, "Japanese eat with their eyes and Americans eat with their stomachs!"

I finished my osechi -- leaving the black beans that I already learned the hard way are really yecch!

Time to do my hatsumode, I guess. What to wear to the shrine? The most formal attire in my very slim clothes closet is my uniform-like suit that I wear for teaching at John's school. Well, I guess it's the best I can do. And put it on.

The nearest shrine of any size near my apartment is better than a fifteen minute walk. It isn't one of the famous ones like Fushimi Inari Shrine. So I hope there will be a lot of locals there and none of those ghastly hordes of tour groups with petite guides screaming away at them with bullhorns. Besides, Fushimi Inari is pretty far south of Kyoto Station -- let alone near my apartment way north of there -- and up in the mountains to the east. I'd have trouble getting to it even on my cub. As I walked along I noticed that there were very few cars driving along the icy streets. People still at home eating their osechi ? Good! That'll mean fewer people at the shrine . . .

Or does that mean no people at shrine?

I needn't have worried. When I arrived at the shrine's tall bright red arch-like torii entranceway there were plenty of people going in and out through it. There were a few buses parked nearby, but they were all micros with no bullhorn toting guides. Maybe just for large families with their relatives? I walked through the torii.

My god, look at all the people! And look at all those girls and young women all dolled up in gorgeous, brightly colored kimono and even brighter obi sashes! And I stupidly forgot to bring my camera! A few of the men are wearing kimono, too, but a man's kimono is a rather dull gray and black. The older women are wearing mostly black kimono, too . . .

Hmm, haven't I read somewhere that back during the feudal period of Japan, once a woman became married she would even blacken her teeth to make her unattractive to other men? What kind of kimono will Ruriko wear to her hatsumode? I'll have to ask her about that, too.

I walked up to the steps of the shrine itself where kimono clad women and men mostly dressed in morning suits were saying their prayers. I watched as each would climb the steps, bow twice, clap their hands twice, and still holding them together, bow their heads slightly in silent prayer, turn and walk back down the steps to let others have their turn to pray. Are the young women praying to get a good husband like Ruriko did? As I watched group after group of girls, women and men go through the same ritual to make their prayers . . .

God, I'll make a total ass of myself if I try to go through that ritualized rigmarole in front of all these people. I'll say my own silent prayer just standing here and watching . . .

"Please, God, don't let there be any more winters. Just spring, summer and fall? So I can drive my cub anywhere all year around? Please? Please? Pretty please? Pretty please with sugar on top?"

Needless to say, God was out to lunch.

After getting back to my apartment . . .

God am I hungry from all that walking to the shrine and back even though I must admit it was worth it. And that osechi certainly wasn't very filling. I opened my minifridge. Hmm, eat one of the ham and egg sandwiches? No, no, it's afternoon already. I'll take one of the pork cutlet and salad sandwiches and leave two of beef and lettuce sandwiches for 'dinner.' Damn, I can't wait for it to be the fourth so I can eat a real dinner again at my usual restaurant. Or at least for that 'convenience' store to reopen so I can get some fresh sandwiches.

While I was eating my sandwich I checked the week's TV guide included in my copy of 'The Japan Times' I got this morning, But won't get tomorrow, I learn from the large red notice reading: "So the our delivery personnel can enjoy their Ohogatsu too."

The national news is going to be shortened again for at least the next three nights and who knows when it'll go back to it's regular programming. And just to add insult to injury, tonight instead of its usual commentary program, they're going to have some special program about Oshogatsu again that I'm already sick of. And . . . Oh my God! Tomorrow night they going to have a documentary, all right. But it's about that damn Kohaku again.

Fuck!

Tonight after that brief newscast, I'm going to start reading that paperback I bought a couple of weeks ago called The Shining by that promising new writer Stephen King to escape from all this Oshogatsu and particularly this God damned Kohaku!

And hope all the rest of Japan gets swallowed up by a Gargantuan tsunami!

Submitted: January 14, 2024

Romance romance japan gaijin travel-in-japan japan-1970s