How to prepare Gaijin

A trip to the public baths, or sento, offered Tom and I insight into the myriad ways gaijin, or foreigners, can be dressed and prepared for a lovely evening meal.

First, the gaijin locate their local sento and arrive confounded and fearful of committing a horrible cultural transgression.

Next, the gaijin select the appropriate bathing area based on gender and mimic the local Japanese as they undress and stow their clothes and valuables in a locker.

Then, the gaijin must wash themselves thoroughly while maintaining a keen eye on the locals to attempt to fit in as closely as possible. This is of course impossible, but a healthy bit of fear never harmed anyone.

Following a thorough cleanse and rinse comes the interesting part, your local sento (in our case Goko-yu in Kyoto) offers several methods for the preparation of the witless foreigner:

For the traditional, the standard boil can be achieved in either of three baths. Each bath will thoroughly cook your gaijin but they offer unique levels of effervescence ranging from none (complete with giant rock in the bottom of the bath which we still don't really know the purpose of) to medium to high (equivalent to 10 kilotons of Alka-Seltzer). The high effervescence bath comes with an old Japanese man that will further unnerve your gaijin, having already been in a state of low paranoia desperately attempting to avoid a disfiguring cultural transgression, by asking if they are Americans and subsequently making a series of excited statements in Japanese interspersed with the unmistakable sounds of anti-aircraft guns and gestures of what could only have been bombers.

For a slightly more interesting preparation, the standard boil can also be achieved in a fourth bath. Your gaijin may wonder why the water in this bath is an oddly familiar brown color, but usher them along as they will find out more soon enough. With one deep breath after entry the question becomes both enlightened and more confusing as the bitter wafts of soy sauce or miso distinguish themselves from the generally soapy sento air. Allow gaijin to soak for 30 minutes in the salty bath to achieve that unique flavor and smell that has put Japanese culinary on the map.

For the truly inspired the bath offers a fifth and truly unique bath. The still waters look inviting, paralleling the standard bubble-free bath sans giant rock, and at least one is sure to take an experimental dip. The naive experimentalist is sure to notice the tingling sensation that percolates his submerged extremities, but most rationalize that those pins and needles are just the result of spending so much time in high temperature waters. After a time, however, he may remember what he saw of a local patron in the same bath. The intermittent seizing in the local's neck muscles and the gaijin's loss of fine motor control will reveal the novel method behind this gastronomic delight: electrocution. Constant pulses of electricity are just enough to cause the muscles to twitch, increasing tenderness, and give your gaijin an interesting and delicious spark.

Whichever preparation you choose, your gaijin is sure to be clean, refreshing, and delightful.

The Apex of Humanity

Japan is a lovely country. It's also a gorgeous country.

Though I have personally been here twice before, I feel that as I grow older (sigh), I correspondingly become more "self-aware" and therefore more cognizant of subtle differences. Have I confused you yet? While I'm on this mental detour, I don't think I really achieved self-consciousness until about the age of 3, then I probably lapsed for several years, whereupon I discovered this thing people called free will at the precocious age of 13. There have been many ups and downs in the annals of this life since that time.

But anyway, back to the topic at hand. Do indulge me. You'll also have to forgive us for posting less pictures - at this juncture in our trip, Natasha has returned to the Bay Area.

AaaaaaaaaaaaaAAaaaaahahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-aaahhhhhhhahhahhhhhhhhhhhHhhHHhah aAAAAahhhahhh

Or so I hear. But it is 4:38am as I write these first words. Brace yourselves.

Most of us are currently sleeping soundly in Istanbul, the capital of Turkey. In historic times, this was also the capital of the Byzantine (Eastern Roman) Empire, and more recently, the capital of the Ottoman Empire.

The cityscape is a marvel in and of itself. Littered with mosques, one can see minaret after minaret casting their heavenward silhouettes upon the ground at midday. Five times a day, the air resonates with the melodious, religious chant of the Call to Prayer. In fact, right now, pre-dawn Istanbul is being exhorted to fulfill its religious duty. The Call to Prayer is quite enchanting - it feels as if the whole city has momentarily turned its attention to a sacred, ceremonial duty. Of course, that's exactly what the daily prayers are - but I know next to nothing about Muslims, or Islam, and therefore merely have an outsider's narrow view.

In a few hours, the Istanbullus will be out and about - having their borek, sweet and savory pastries, for breakfast. Turkish men will be shouting and hawking at innocent tourists, yours truly included, to buy their wares or sample their food. Women in silk headscarves and fashionable long coats will be running important errands with their fellow friends.

Everything Ron Jon told you about the annoyances of Santorini are amplified fivefold here. But I have a good trick for dealing with annoyances of this sort. It's called "Ice Water". You cup your hands, and you imagine that you are holding ice cold water. Then, you inhale deeply. While exhaling, you slowly begin moving the thumbs of your hands together even as your pinky fingers remain in contact, thereby facing both palms towards each other. After that, you disconnect your hands at the pinky fingers, and you spread your hands downwards. It's like slowly pouring ice water from your hands, downwards.

Thankfully this trick also works with travel annoyances of all kinds (delayed train, delayed plane, check-in counter not yet open, hot and sweaty and tired). I have not yet employed it for other areas of my life (which all piss me off).

Santorini

So many American girls
sunsets, ashes
and my sunburned thights.
I could sail all afternooon
on my motorcycle and on,
straight into the Agean.
I’d sleep in the
cradle of the volcano and be its
big, smoldering heart. They said
Vulcan lived under Mt. Etna,
bury Tom Wiltzius under
the caldera and I’ll beat
and bleed for two or three
centuries at least, stoke the
first of this bleached island,
keep those American girls
warm with my cinder,
blush and sunshine.

The Salt Pools

Shallow graces for crystals
that show themselves when the water
turns imperceptible to air
blue to blue to white
clear to clear to crystal
the ocean’s bones
left in a porous coffin.
We tread lightly as a blush on
the shore’s sharp cheeks,
translucent pale soles
on the stones the sea would
have back.
Every depression is a factory
for salt, casualties when the
water retreats, saline tracks
where it trod.
I reached down and broke off
a piece the size of my
ring finger, considered it,
touched it right to my tongue.

Rude awakenings

After a somewhat bumpy ride from Koufonisia, we've finally arrived at Santorini - the most famous of the Greek islands. A little greener than before perhaps, but alive. No vomiting incidents on the ferry - a real feat considering how low our expectations were. Jordan held up better than most of us, which is surprising seeing as he woke up yesterday with the scopolamine patch - used to forestall such boating mishaps - firmly attached to his thumb after it mysteriously migrated from just below his ear.

Disembarking, we were quickly surrounded by hotel reps bearing signs and shouting Greek at us. Already I can tell this is going to suck. Don't get me wrong. It terms of awe factor this place has Koufonisia (and really, any other place I've ever been) beat. Formed by a massive volcanic eruption nearly 3,500 years ago, it looks from the inside like a string of islands organized in circular fashion forming a kind of cove around the largest section, resembling a kind of half crescent. This geological formation, known as a caldera, apparently boasts one of the prettiest (and priciest) views in all of Greece. Apart from its natural beauty, however, little else stands out. The island has become increasingly commercialized over the years - something I'm sure Mamma Mia! didn't help. Almost every inch of usable land has a hotel or gift shop on it and I feel more on edge than I have before, like I'm about to get robbed in broad daylight or hustled by some smart-talking street peddler.

Future builders of America

Koufonisia, a tiny rock of an island in the middle of the Aegean, is surrounded by miles of clear, blue water. There's not much else to do here besides lounging on the beach which we all did for three days straight. Such regular attendance has evidently brought out our inner creativity:

Zhi and Jordan's Roman amphitheatre. A kid ran over and stared at this for a while. When we were leaving, we passed by him and his sand castle. It was far more complex... I think he was judging the amphitheatre and was not impressed by what he saw.

Ron's multiple rock towers create a nice frame for his beer in this picture.

My rock towers are far more slanted.

I'm really happy about how this photo turned out.

If any of you are interested in receiving creative guidance from the crew, you know how to contact us.