I had finally experienced the romance of travel.
Yasunari Kawabata, “The Dancing Girl of Izu”
Table of Contents
12 November 2023
- 13:00-17:00 shift at café
- 17:20-18:50 Shinjuku station to Odawara station rapid service train (Odakyu Odawara line), 19:00-19:55 transfer to Ito station (Tokaido line)
Shift at the Café
Another night of post-clubbing minimal sleep. I packed a bag, rushed to Shin Okubo, grabbed some takeaway, and rushed to the café.
Sunday was as busy as Friday night and Saturday. I was assigned the beginner’s table. After three days of advanced English speakers, this was quite the change of pace.
Perhaps it was the language barrier, but none of the ten or so Japanese people I talked to during my shift and I vibed much. The conversation felt forced the entire time, with lots of awkward silences and not knowing what to ask. The mystery of chemistry instead engaged my mind: how I could click with some people in an instant and never run out of topics, while with others, I kept looking at the watch.
Things improved slightly when I met a volunteer from El Hierro, the smallest of the Canary Islands, and the only one completely unspoiled, left entirely green. With only one nightclub, plus the smallest hotel in the world.
She was a 21-years-old actress, bubbly and animated, who spoke around the table as if to an audience far in the back. After growing up milking goats (more of those than people in El Hierro), she’d moved to Tenerife, which I’d visited five and a half years ago.
No sooner had she joined our table than the owner asked me to move to another beginner’s table. Time slowed down, until it was finally 17:00.
I dashed to Takadanobaba station. Busan hostel vibes – running to catch multiple trains as soon as my shift ended, using a string of days off to escape to the countryside.
Three hours later, I was in the Izu Peninsula.
Izu Peninsula
A countryside not too far from Tokyo known as the setting for The Dancing Girl of Izu, one of the most famous short stories in Japan. In it, a 20-year-old student escaped Tokyo to the Izu Peninsula due to his loneliness and melancholia. It was the beginning of fall.
He met a dancing troupe he’d recalled seeing before, who assumed he was living in Tokyo. In actuality, he was merely staying there at a dormitory.
Just like me.
Cowboy had recalled me from February. People had been assuming I was living in Tokyo.
The protagonist fancied one of the dancing girls, the one playing the drum, from the first moment. And she was blushing around him in no time. So he joined the troupe for a few nights.
My next two nights would be in Ito. I checked into my accommodation at 20:30, a ryokan that had been converted into a hostel.
It was adjoined to an enormous, fancy, old ryokan that stood by a river. The hostel had everything: creaky wooden floors, yukata, slippers, low tables, tatami rooms. For the price of a hostel.
It was even fancier than ryokans I’d grown used to, with a lavish common area, crisp stone basins, and an atmospheric view of the river.
The Wounds of Politics and Romance
I joined a couple of foreigners sitting in the common area with my Korean takeaway. A German girl with blonde hair and a moustached Indian man. They’d just met as well.
A 19 years old German guy volunteering in this hostel (as part of his working holiday) joined us. He was tall, blue-eyed, and freckled. The four of us chatted as I ate, lounging on the surprisingly comfortable wooden floor seats with cushions. Our pleasant small talk flowed from the first moment, even when it grew into a political discussion.
Three wildly different countries of origin had surfaced equally different privileges. I’d always deemed Germany one of the best countries in the world. The Germans said it was deteriorating toward right-wing politics and suffering from immigration. Well, Europe as a whole. The guy didn’t even want to stay in that continent, while I had failed to obtain a European passport.
The Indian man disagreed with the Germans and me when it came to left-wing politics.
“I recommend every person in the world to visit India,” he said, “not to have fun, but to see what it’s like there. I don’t think anyone can go back to their country and feel depressed after experiencing India.”
He confirmed the dirty reputation India suffered from.
Still, the most noteworthy detail about this conversation was something else altogether. The fact that it was a discussion, rather than an argument. None of us lost our composure. None of us got upset. We shared families who turned politics into a fight more than we shared political ideologies. But our voices were as calm as if pointing out the pleasant weather.
It wasn’t lack of interest in the conversation. On the contrary, it progressed without a moment of awkwardness, of animosity, of silence. Everyone spoke eloquently and appealed to rationality rather than the heart. The German guy even brought out organic German chocolates at some point. We relished white chocolate with coffee while raising points.
“The problem is that people are stupid,” the Indian man said. “1.2 people in India, and no one wants progress.”
I wanted to add “selfish and untrustworthy” to people’s qualities.
“I think we can all agree that this is a complex issue,” the German girl said once I called attention to our composure. “Maybe because we don’t know each other –”
“I know plenty of people who have no problem yelling at a stranger over politics,” I said.
“Americans always demand I apologize for the holocaust,” she said. The German guy echoed this.
Perhaps it was the atmosphere: a luxurious ryokan for the price of a hostel, a quiet tatami common area, the serene river of the countryside, in a country as tranquil as Japan.
Or maybe it was just our personalities – yet again, that ineffable match. This went on until 23:00 or so, when I excused myself and went to the onsen.
My first one since October 25. I was alone. A spacious bathroom, with cutting-edge stones and a sculpture of a mythical animal. Indoor so a bit too hot for my liking, but still so comforting, that I didn’t want to leave.
I went to sleep on a futon in a tatami dormitory (who knew such a thing existed?). Despite my exhaustion from two nights of clubbing, I wrote well into the night.
At 1:30, I received a text from a Korean friend. Horizon, the Israeli volunteer from Busan, had just been deployed. Before going to the military base, she broke up with her boyfriend since June. After months of sailing on a pleasure boat, with no ill tides.
He’d grown so worried about her, that he’d contacted her family. She’d blocked him.
While texting him, I noticed Cowboy had been sharing on social media conversations he’d been having on dating apps. I knew he was seeing other people, just as I was. But it still stung a little.
“I don’t want to see any other girl,” the boyfriend said. “When the war is over, I will go to Israel and look for her.”
I hadn’t heard her side of the story, but it sounded like she’d done to him what three guys had done to me since May. And he had no idea why. What had changed between them? What had led to this sudden end to their relationship? The unexpected change in attitude and lack of communication was killing him… and me…
He knew how to stay loyal. He wouldn’t just disappear and send a funny video every now and then, as if this counted as staying in touch; as if this was what his relationship had amounted to.
It stung a lot.
In the Dancing Girl of Izu, soon after meeting the girl, the protagonist heard her playing the drum at night.
My nerves were on edge. I left the shutter open and just sat by the window. I felt some consolation every time I heard the drum.
“Oh, the dancing girl is still at the party. She’s sitting, playing the drum.”
I could not bear the silences when the drum stopped. I sank down into the depths of the sound of the rain.
At length I could hear the noise of confused footsteps – were they playing tag or dancing in circles? Then all fell silent. I opened my eyes wide, trying to peer through the darkness. What was this stillness? I was tormented, wondering if the dancing girl’s night might be sullied.
I closed the shutters and crawled into bed, but my chest felt heavy. I went down again for a bath. I thrashed the water. The rain stopped and the moon came out. The autumn night was bright, washed clean by the rain. I slipped out of the bathhouse barefoot, but I could not do anything. It was past two o’clock.
Yasunari Kawabata, “The Dancing Girl of Izu”
I went to sleep at 2:30.
Today’s highlights: a ryokan for a hostel; a pleasant political evening; the onsen.
13 November 2023
- 10:00-11:00 Ito station to Kawazu station local train (Izukyo Shimoda line), 11:30-12:05 Kawazu station bus stop number 3 to Kawazu Nanadaru Yuhodo-ue Iriguchi bus stop (Mizutare bus stop no longer in operation)
- Kawazu seven waterfalls (1.5h)
- 14:25-14:45 Odaru Iriguchi to Kawazu station bus, 14:55-15:50 transfer to train to Ito station (Ito Tokyu line)
- Local onsen (1h)
Kawazu Seven Waterfalls
Ito was windy and rainy this morning. A good day for leaving it.
I soaked in the onsen with bloodshot eyes. Yet another night of five hours of sleep. Plus, my electric razor had stopped working. I looked like a bearded zombie.
As the local train to Kawazu slugged down the coast, the weather cleared, and I beheld a marvellous view of the sea and Oshima Island. Palm trees – an unusual sight in Japan. The last time I was this south was in March.
Kawazu Seven Waterfalls was, as the name suggested, a well-marked, well-maintained, tranquil trail inside a forest with one waterfall after the other. Formed by lava flows, unique here was the sight of columnar joints, and the sheer frequency of waterfalls. Literally one right after the other, with their crashing an omnipresent sound.
Each waterfall also featured a small statue of the seven gods of fortune.
Kama-daru falls, with beautiful aquamarine water and white foam; Ebi-daru falls, Hebi-daru falls. I couldn’t stop thinking about last night, and recalled one of my most unforgettable moments in Korea, from July 23.
At 10:30, I reached Ssang twin falls. What an uproar!
Two waterfalls crashing full force opposite each other. Didn’t think I’d ever seen something like this. I recalled the waterfall from Jeju Island that had crashed into the ocean. Such a soothing sound.
I climbed to the mouth of the right waterfall and looked down at its stream, and at the left waterfall in front of me, and screamed.
It was a triumphant moment, full of smallness and bliss. A dwarf in a land of forces; a flash in an eternity of stream.
I found myself laughing and crying at the same time. Tears gushed out of my two eyes like the twin waterfalls below me. I felt part of nature – I felt like I was nature – and Earth was alone in the universe, as far as I knew. Just like me.
I thought about the demise of this planet and extinction of water. I thought about my own end, and eternal silence, the opposite of the crashing that penetrated my eardrums. There was so much I hadn’t achieved yet. So many dreams. I doubted I’d ever live to fulfill them. A barricade was keeping them away from me, just like the one barring me from falling in the stream. Both made by humans.
Societal walls. As if we needed more barriers, on top of nature’s whims.
“New Heights” (23 July 2023)
That week in July was among the most tumultuous in my life. New achievements, new heights, intense infatuation, and a crash. I’d gone back then (and now) through what Horizon’s boyfriend had told me last night.
At Shokei-daru falls, I came across a statue of the boy and girl from The Dancing Girl of Izu.
They were both sitting on rocks, clad in kimono. He was erect and rigid, watching her from behind, his face expressionless, his wrists locked, and his fingers frozen mid-clench.
He wanted to extend his hand toward her, but forced himself not to.
She, on the other hand, was crossing her feet in leisure, with her left palm resting on the rock, and her right elbow on a drum. Her mouth was twisted slightly in mid-frown, her fingers were almost touching her chin, while her eyebrows were starting to knit.
She was lost in thought, chewing on a problem.
Something was bothering her. Was it the guy’s presence? His uninterrupted gaze at her?
With her back turned toward him, it was impossible to know what she was thinking. She did no communicate. And he was doomed to watch her from behind, to restrain himself in her presence, and never win so much as a glance.
His eyes were empty, while hers were looking down in defeat.
She didn’t seem aware of his existence. Yet doubtless she could feel his presence.
Interesting how Shokei-daru waterfall was the only thing flowing between them.
It was one of the most moving sculptures I’d seen, amplified by the choice of scenery.
Next was a wishing rock.
For several hundred years, this rock has remained in this spot, surviving heavy rains, strong winds, and floods. Its resilience to natural happenings, however, is not the only thing that makes this rock important. It is said that one day a man was in the river and looked at this rock. He believed it looked like a man with palms together in prayer. Since that day, people have come to call this rock “the wishing rock” and have prescribed a ritual that must be followed in order for a wish to come true.
First, the person making the wish must hold three rocks in the palm of their hand and clasp their hands together in prayer. Next, the person must make a wish from thieer heart and throw the three rocks in succession. If one of those rocks successfully remains on “the wishing rock”, your wish will come true.
I did as the instructions bid, and asked for a single wish.
The first rock I threw was way off. The second and third almost went inside the niche.
So close.
Down the trail was an obaachan selling dusty antiques at a makeshift stand for absurdly cheap (I got a set of five nihonga chopsticks for 700 yen), a glamping tent that made me want to camp here, and a nice traditional tea house.
After Kani-daru falls, I found a nice shop with a set of five gorgeous Hokusai chopsticks for 1,000 yen.
Then, Deai-daru falls, followed by O-daru (“large waterfall”). 30 meters high, it was the tallest of the seven.
Overlooking the waterfall was a complex of seven onsens which the Kawazu tourist information obaachan had recommended to me. Yet they required a swimsuit. So I didn’t enter. When it came to onsens, it was smelly and naked, or none.
While waiting for the infrequent bus back to Kawazu station, I stumbled upon an abandoned ryokan. Broken glass, discarded slippers, dirty tatami, defunct kotatsu and washlets. A backyard of pottery. So cool!
The sign read under construction, but no construction work was taking place.
Ito
I took the local train back to Kawazu. It was a special model, with charging sockets and seats parallel to the windows, offering a direct, ocean view.
Back at the hostel, I met a half-Iranian, half-Japanese girl working at reception. We talked about the Middle East for a while (she’d fled Iran two years ago) and got along quite well. Probably my first time seeing an Iranian person since my best friend in elementary school, who was an Iranian Jew.
Then I went to a local rotenburo advertised inside the hostel. For mere 500 yen, I received a large open-air bath with jagged rocks; a free drink bar; and a free foot message machine. I soaked for about an hour, from sunset to darkness.
At 18:00, I returned to the hostel, and collapsed on my futon. My eyelids were dropping in fatigue. Trying to stay up, I chatted with Horizon and her boyfriend.
He was in shambles. Everything in Busan – his home, the streets, the clubs, certain food and restaurants – reminded him of her.
“I can see you everywhere,” I recalled Cowboy saying to me on our last day together, “all over my apartment.”
Now, Cowboy and I weren’t speaking. Whereas Horizon’s boyfriend – a hamburger could bring him to tears.
I wanted to contact certain people the way he wanted to contact Horizon. She, however, didn’t mention the breakup to me at all.
In The Dancing Girl of Izu, the protagonist befriended the dancing troupe (particularly the girl’s parents), who invited him to live with them in Oshima Island.
One night, he overheard them discussing him.
I felt so close to them that I did not even care to eavesdrop. They continued their conversation for a time. Then I caught the dancing girl’s voice again.
“He’s a nice person.”
“You’re right. He seems like a nice person.”
“He really is nice. It’s good to have such a person around.”
This exchange had an echo of simplicity and frankness. Hers was a child’s voice expressing her sentiments without censure. I, too, was able to meekly consider myself a nice person. Refreshed, I lifted my eyes and surveyed the brilliant mountains. I felt a vague pain behind my eyelids. Twenty years old, I had embarked on this trip to Izu heavy with resertment that my personality had been permanently warped by my orphan’s complex and that I would never be able to overcome a stifling melancholy. So I was inexpressibly grateful to find that I looked like a nice person as the world defines the word. The mountains looked bright because we were by the ocean near Shimoda. I swung my bamboo walking stick back and forth, lopping off the heads of the autumn grasses.
Yasunari Kawabata, “The Dancing Girl of Izu”
At 20:00, slumber overtook me.
Today’s highlights: a volcanic series of waterfalls; the Dancing Girl of Izu sculpture; my first abandoned ryokan; the special train with a sea view; the rotenburo.
14 November 2023
- 9:40-10:20 Ito station bus stop number 5 to Mt Omura bus
- Mt Omura (1h)
- Archery practice in the crater (1h)
- 14:45-15:20 Mt Omura to Ito Kaiyo Koen bus
- Jogasaki coast (50m)
- 16:15-16:55 Ito Kaiyo Koen to Ito station bus
- Hanging out in the ryokan
- 19:45-20:05 Ito station to Atami station local train (Ito line)
Mt Omura
I woke at 6:30 after sleeping like a log.
Using the worthwhile 2-day bus pass from the tourist information center (which paid off even just for one day), I took the bus to Mt Omura, an extinct volcano covered in grass.
After Azuma-Kofuji (“Little Fuji”) in Fukushima, where I had circled the crater of an extinct volcano, came the time to do so in the Izu Peninsula. Green grass against a pale blue sky, silvery-yellow wheat, and people circling the crater like black ants.
A fantastic ocean view to Oshima Island, plus the coastal town of Ito, with cottages, villas, and glamping tents.
And the best view of Mt Fuji I could’ve asked for.
A flat, snowy peak rising above every other mountain, low and green. I couldn’t believe I’d climbed up there.
My First Archery Practice… Inside a Crater
I finished circling Omura at 11:30 and waited until 13:00, because I was dying to try archery inside the crater. After a quick explanation, I descended to the crater by myself with equipment.
For the next hour, I practiced by myself.
At first, all my arrows misfired. They went right above the tatami target. I realized my position wasn’t proper, and gradually corrected myself. Moreover, I noticed that when taking it slow, my hand would shake.
With the proper position, a rapid-fire technique did the trick. After a few attempts, I hit bullseye.
From here on, my practice flowed. I hit the target half the time. Katniss-Everdeen, angsty-teenager-wronged-by-the-people-around-her archer vibes. By the end, I was picturing certain people as I shot.
It felt good.
I dream all year, but they’re not the sweet kind
Lorde, “Yellow Flicker Beat”
And the shivers move down my shoulder blades in double time
And now people talk to me, I’m slipping out of reach now
People talk to me and all their faces blur
But I got my fingers laced together
And I made a little prison
And I’m locking up everyone who ever laid a finger on me
I’m done with it
This is the start of how it all ends
They used to shout my name, now they whisper it
I’m speeding up
And this the red orange yellow flicker beat sparking up my heart
We’re at the start, the colors disappear
I never watch the stars, there’s so much down here
So I just try to keep up with the
Red orange yellow flicker beat sparking up my heart
I took the chairlift back down. Fuji-san had become engulfed in clouds. My unobstructed view of it was a stroke of luck.
Jogasaki Coast
After a short bus ride to a park, I walked for ten minutes to Jogasaki coast. With black volcanic stones and columnar joints, it reminded me a lot of the southern coast of Jeju Island, especially Jusangjeollidae. Yet another déjà vu to Korea.
I enjoyed recalling my five fruitful days on that island, so hectic and sleep-deprived and full of nature. The Izu Peninsula as a whole felt to me like Japan’s Jeju. I’d grown quite fond of it.
The sun was setting, casting a warm light on the dark columns. The famous suspension bridge offered a rush of adrenaline. The view of Oshima and its neighbouring islands was omnipresent. I’d been dying to visit them ever since the Dutch girl from Yoshino Mountain had done so in May.
I explored Jogasaki faster than I would’ve liked to, because of the tight bus schedule. But what a gem.
Atami
At 17:00, I returned to my hostel. I didn’t have anything to do until I would check into my next hostel, a 20-minute train ride away.
The fact that the ryokan-turned-hostel was fully booked tonight was a bummer. It reminded me so much of my favourite hostel in Korea, where almost everyone was a cool, young foreigner; where I could step inside and immediately make friends.
Back there, I would hang out with the guests after checking out, just to say hi. So I did the same now in the ryokan, even though it wasn’t customary in Japan.
I enjoyed chilling in a tatami common area with backpackers. Where else could you do this? Other ryokans in Japan cost too much, were less modernized, and welcomed a different demographic. I met a Swiss guy on a multi-continent trip, gave him a bunch of tips about Japan and Korea, and made plans to see him again. I even asked the staff if they were hiring (probably not).
This ryokan now tied the musical-military-cabin in Rebun Island as my favourite hostel in Japan. Ito was as boring as every town in the countryside, but only a cheap, three-hour train ride from Shinjuku. A visit worthwhile.
In the evening, I checked into my hostel in sleepy Atami, the cheapest one I’d stayed in Japan, the price of a Korean one. It was quite good – clean, spacious, great amenities, a billboard room. The only other guest didn’t leave his cubicle. I was alone the entire time, and, having self-checked-in, didn’t see any staff. As quiet and desolate as sleeping in an abandoned hostel with amenities still intact.
I went to bed at midnight, when Horizon’s boyfriend called.
He’d started a new job today. As well as going to the gym. Keeping himself busy. Otherwise, he would go insane.
I’d seen it on the night we’d met. In June, on her birthday. They hadn’t even been dating back then. But he was already serious about living life with her. And now, he was willing to fly to Israel to find her.
Because the breakup had come out of the blue, caught him by surprise, and left him with no explanation. He hadn’t had a clue what had changed and what she was thinking.
I knew exactly how he felt. The same thing had happened to me thrice on this trip. Five months, three instances of the deepest connection ending abruptly, unexpectedly, without further communication. All because of long distance relationships. A distance he was willing to traverse.
“I wish I could go back in time,” he said. “Everything was perfect before the war.”
He hated how the last time they’d spoken was their first argument. It was one thing for a relationship to culminate well, while another to end in a bad manner. It left you with unspoken monologues and unrequited thoughts. Unresolved emotions and unreachable joy. It killed you, kept you up at night, nibbled at your chest all day. How could a monument so grand crumble in a moment? How could a rose wilt with no sign of rot? Why did people disappear without justifying their loss.
In the Dancing Girl of Izu, the protagonist spent the next night alone.
I went to the movie alone. The woman narrator read the script of the silent movie by the light of a tiny lamp. I left as soon as it ended and returned to my inn. Resting my elbows on the windowsill, I stared out into the night town for a long time. It was a dark town. I thought I might hear a faint drum sounding far away. Inexplicably my tears fell.
Yasunari Kawabata, “The Dancing Girl of Izu”
I finished talking to Horizon’s boyfriend late at night. I doubted I’d met a guy as emotionally intelligent as him.
Today’s highlights: circling Mt Omura; the view of Fuji and the ocean; my first archery (inside a crater!); Jogasaki coast; hanging out in the hostel-ryokan.
Updated list of favourite mountains:
- Misen (Japan, Miyajima)
- Bukhansan (Korea, Seoul)
- Seoraksan (Korea, Sokcho)
- Fuji (Japan, Yamanashi)
- Sandan (Japan, Hokkaido)
- Omura (Japan, Ito)
15 November 2023
- 11:45-11:50 Atami station bus stop number 8 to MOA museum of art bus
- MOA museum of art (1.5h)
- 14:15-14:20 MOA museum of art to Atami station bus, 14:35-14:55 Atami station to Odawara station local train (Ueno Tokyo line), 15:15-16:45 transfer to Shinjuku station (Odakyu Odawara line)
- Bar in Kabukicho at night
MOA Museum of Art
I ate nattou and instant rice for dinner and breakfast, alone in the common area. It was dead quiet.
A great hostel for anyone looking to have an entire accommodation for themselves for the price of a dormitory bed.
I recalled the phone call from last night. A foul thought crossed my mind. I wished I’d met someone like him.
The only attraction on my list for Atami was MOA museum of art. The market area by the station was strangely packed with shoppers and diners on this Wednesday morning, with some lines outside selected restaurants.
A series of colourful, dramatic escalators took me up to the museum. A rotunda hall with the world’s largest kaleidoscopic installation art by Yoda Mitsuru and Yoda Yuriko, projected over the entire ceiling and accompanied by an extremely moving piano composition by Nakamura Yuriko.
There was a Noh theatre; a reconstruction of the golden tea room used in various castles in Japan; and galleries with gold nihonga, plus elaborate bowls and jars. Overall, a lot of gold-dyed artworks that didn’t thrill me much.
I was more interested in Landscape with Temples by Kaiho Yusho (early 17th century), a largely gray and barren landscape folding paper; and Bay of Sagami, Atami by Sugimoto Hiroshi (1997): a stunning abstract art of the sea as a dark mass. The shades of gray differentiating sea sky and light were masterfully done. I adored this abstraction and wanted it hung in my future home.
The placement of breathtaking white marble pottery by Miwa Kyusetsu XIII from 2014-2022 alongside the thought-provoking Time Travel series of panels by Murodo Kazumi from 2019 (dirty red and black halves growing monotonely clean) was a bold curating choice.
At a Japanese garden with beginnings of kouyou, a reconstruction of Ogata Korin’s house (18th century artist from Kyoto) reminded me of the liminal places in Seoul’s palaces. Old school kitchen and tatami, narrow passageways, cold and dark and atmospheric; wooden beams and glimpses of light. The same vibe I got from the the government complex at Changdeokgung, my favorite place in Seoul, and the last thing I’d done in Korea. Feeling the same feelings, thinking the same thoughts.
It was in this place that my 3-day trip in the Izu Peninsula came to a close. I took a bus to Atami station and two trains to Shinjuku.
Kabukicho
The Dancing Girl of Izu ended with the protagonist forced to part ways with the girl. He boarded a boat back to Tokyo.
The steamship left Shimoda. I leaned against the railing and gazed at Oshima in the offing until the southern tip of the Izu Peninsula vanished behind me. It already seemed long ago that I parted from the dancing girl.
[…]
The waves were choppy on Sagami Bay. I was tossed left and right as I sat. a crewman passed out small metal bowls. I lay down, using my bag as a pillow. My head felt empty, and I had no sense of time. My tears spilled onto my bag. My checks were so cold I turned my bag over. There was a boy lying next to me […] After we talked for a while, he asked, “Have you had a death in your family?”
“No, I just left someone.”
I spoke meekly. I did not mind that he had seen my crying. I was not thinking about anything. I simply felt as though I were sleeping quietly, soothed and contented.
Yasunari Kawabata, “The Dancing Girl of Izu”
I recalled leaving Hokkaido on a ship down south. Using my bag as a pillow inside the mountain shelter atop Seoraksan, a few days before the twin falls in July. Both incidents had led to tears and premature goodbyes.
Back in Tokyo, I headed straight to Shin Okubo, for cheese tteokbokki, tofu noodles, and to try an azuki hotteok (the best of both countries).
The share house was empty. One of the guys had stuck a pink dildo inside one of the holes on the walls.
Then Alejandro returned.
It was a happy reunion. We quickly filled each other in on the last few days. He’d been making efforts at rejecting a Gryffindor infatuation and remaining a playful Slytherin.
With both our evenings free, I took him at 21:00 to the tiny horror bar in Kabukicho the Dutch girl had introduced me to in April. Weekdays were better since there was only room for ten patrons or so. I had a good time chatting to three Korean tourists from Seoul. Then the place got too busy, and we left at 22:00.
We wandered around Kabukicho, half lively, less loud than on weekends. Trees were sparkling with night illuminations. Based on his stories and behaviour, I didn’t want to test the waters with Alejandro. I even told him so. We valued each other as a friend.
I was not aware that darkness had settled on the ocean, but now lights glimmered on the shores of Ajiro and Atami. My skin was chilled and my stomach empty. The boy took out some sushi wrapped in bamboo leaves. I ate his food, forgetting it belonged to someone else. Then I nestled inside his school coat. I felt a lovely hollow sensation, as if I could accept any sort of kindness and it would be only right. It was utterly natural that I should accompany the old woman to Ueno Station early the next morning and buy her a ticket to Mito. Everything seemed to melt together into one.
The lamp in the cabin went out. The smell of the tide and the fresh fish loaded in the hold grew stronger. In the darkness, warmed by the boy beside me, I let my tears flow unrestrained. My head had become clear water, dripping away drop by drop. It was a sweet, pleasant feeling, as though nothing would remain.
Yasunari Kawabata, “The Dancing Girl of Izu”
Today’s highlights: MOA museum of art; the horror bar with Alejandro.
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