It's snowing. Perhaps that's why the youth hostel atop Mt. Soun-zan is closed. The mountain across the valley has anti-patch of trees revealing a snowy kanji character, dai, Big. It looks sort of like a stick person whose legs are set in wide stance. Unfortunately I cannot see mt. Fuji, but the sun is beaming through the clouds in a way that illumines the opposing mountainside in a fiery color that feels dangerous, making up for the loss.
this morning i found the tsukiji ichiban-the fish market. Charles didn't know the name so I sought the "famous fish selling place." Unbelievable. An inadequately touted must for any tokyo visitor. Rows of fish as big as me. Discarded fish heads I could readily put over my head to wear as a mask (I pondered this as a photo-op, but i didn't want to mess up my coiffure). Piles of huge octopii (is the singular of pi pus?), 15cm clams, writhing eel, microfish I mistook for shredded flesh, one fish two fish red fish blue fish, squid, mussels, flounder, tuna, shrimp, cod, crab, lobster. All sorts, under at least a myriad (10,000) square meters. It was a great big warehouse, rather joined warehouses, brimming with carts, both motorized and not, people, boxes, baskets, bags, crates; replete with "highways" 3m wide, streets 2m wide, and alleys 1m wide. Bustling with energy, movement, water and blood. Many were attired in wetsuits, nearly all had knee-high boots. Knives abounded. I even saw a generator-powered band saw for cutting the monstrous. And outside the chopping areas were distribution systems of all sizes, even up to the american-sized 18 wheeler (though I saw only two of them).
Then, once I'd seen the freshness, I searched for the ultimate sushi experience in honor of all my beloved sushi-amigos and under the reins of my palate. I chanced upon what many in the sushi bar claimed was one of the best places, praising my luck. Oh, the succulence! Tender, tender: the flavor still fresh and unevaporated obligingly smears over the tongue. So tender that the squid, so often rubbery, became nearly fishlike in consistency. One bad thing about not knowing wines is a disastrous lack of flavorful flavor descriptors, so I must apologize for the glaring absence of taste poetry. But trust me, 'twas goo-ood.
On observing the faces of the Japonese for a while, I've come to recognize an instance of the biological principle of gene independence. I see asians who remind me strongly of caucasians I know or have seen: facial features are clearly affected by some genes whose characteristic effects (eigenfeatures) are independent of race. This is most readily seen in people with down's syndrome (a sight of whom prompted this thought). But another good consequence of my surprising doubletakes at seeing ghosts of familiar folk amongst the japanese is that my brain has acclimatized to and overcome the different racial appearances.
Tomorrow's my last full day in japan. So the next update will be from the land of oz... Down under.
Fondly,
-xaq