gold, vodka, and japanese schoolkids

Saturday we took an uptown subway, a crosstown bus, then hiked uphill through savage heat and humidity (the weather the whole time we were in Kyoto was truly miserable - ranging between blistering sunshine and dreary drizzling, with the oppressive stickiness of the air never letting up under either condition) to visit Kinkaku-ji, or the "Golden Pavilion." The two top stories of the structure are covered in actual gold leaf!

Needless to say, the thing was fucking stunning, even in the light trickle of rain that started as soon as we got there, and which failed to break the heat or humidity one bit. We asked a random Japanese schoolgirl to take a photo of us in front of the pavilion, and the next thing we knew, we were posing along with five of her classmates for six photos (each kid wanted one)! When Japanese young people pose for photos, they unfailingly flash the two-fingered peace sign - we don't know why, but we figured we should play along - while the person snapping the shot, in this case their teacher (we think), counts to 3 in English and then exclaims, "Cheese-zu!" The result?


Absolutely sweat-soaked and heat-exhausted from all the walking (and posing), I demanded that we stop for a flavored ice at the stand outside the pavilion grounds. What I got was a true culinary atrocity - a massive softball-sized mound of shaved ice drenched in the most digustingly artificial-tasting red food-coloring, then dribbled with some mysterious white cream, and topped off with three tapioca balls. Here I am licking one of said pale, slimy balls.


Near the ice stand, we spotted this awesome Cup of Noodle vending machine, complete with boiling water tap on the left side. We didn't see a single Japanese person partaking, however, despite their love of ramen. Maybe it was just too fucking hot. Or maybe it was because these cups of noodles, judging from the bottom of the machine, were of extraterrestrial origin...


That night we got dinner at what turned out to be an overpriced-considering-it's-not-so-good-food restaurant along the bank of the Kamo River, which bisects Kyoto from north to south. The evening didn't prove to be a total bust, however, since on the way back to our Ryokan, we stumbled on this seemingly very-out-of-place vodka bar which had its name displayed in large Russian letters and the Russian stacking dolls (Matryoshki) in the window. There was a write-up by the door from a Russian newspaper about the bar and how the owner speaks Russian, having learned it while working for a Russian restaurant in Kyoto called "Kiev." For those of you who don't know, Maya hails from the Ukraine, from Kiev, in fact, (she immigrated to the States when she was 11), so obviously we had to go inside.

As soon as we entered, Maya greeted the owner in Russian and asked if he spoke Russian, to which his reply was a shy gesture indicating "just a little." The walls were covered in an unbelievable array of vodka from all over the world, including one called Red Army in a bottle shaped like a missile (I wanted to sample that, but unfortunately it wasn't for sale). We took some time choosing and finally settled on a Russian lemon-flavored vodka called Limonovka. Then Maya noticed a platter containing "piroshki", little pastry puffs filled with meat that she had been eating since she was kid, and ordered two. When we bit into them, they tasted, according to Maya, very authentic, but when we examined them closer, we found all kinds of very Japanese ingredients like glass noodles and tofu inside. Still, she told the owner they were delicious and asked him, in Russian, where he got them and who made them, to which he replied, "Ya zdelal" ("I did"). Here's Maya enjoying a taste of home (her first home, that is).

When we were about to leave, Maya asked the owner (who was a rather solemn dude with awesome gray hair tied back in a ponytail) if she could take a picture with him, and he obliged, very seriously. Sorry for the blurry pic, it was dark, and the vodka was taking effect.

Maya bid him farewell ("do svedanya"), and he said, "Prihoditye eshcho" ("Come again"). And if we ever do make it back to Kyoto, we definitely will.