Day Four: Kobe, Day 2.

I give up.

Before leaving for Japan, I honestly thought I'd get along way better than most Americans. I love samurai movies, Japanese history, sushi, crazy Japanese animation, the band Shonen Knife, Ichiro is my all time favorite non-White Sock. I'm a practicing Buddhist. Not Japanese brand Buddhism, but its still a lot closer than Lutheran.

Hell, I've even tried to learn the language at least five or six times and know SOMETHING about the culture at least. I have no idea what I expected... a parade maybe? A pat on the back? The Japanese equivalent of the "Ghetto Pass" as the first decent white guy they ever met? Hell no.

Everytime I try to say thanks (or "Domo", or "Domo Arigato Gozaimasu") people stop and look at me weird. When we order a "biru" in a restaurant, and ask for "Ni" or "Two", they looked stunned and hold up two fingers just to make sure I said what they thought I said. I don't know what to say when I do something dumb or bump into anyone (The book says "Gomen Nasai" but that gets blurted out as "Gomernasay" and doesn't have the desired effect).

And the only way it seems to get any help from anyone is to look around like a complete drooling simpleton, and wait for someone to approach to help out the big, dumb gaijin they always knew I was.

So I'm giving up, I'm going full retard (American, that is).

/puts on camo trucker hat that says "Git 'R Done".

//shotguns a Bud Light Tallboy

///Wipes mouth of with the sleeve of my "Dale Earnhardt #3, In Our Hearts Forever" seatshirt.

////Belches first few notes of John Mellancamp's "This Is Our Country"

Well, glad to get that out of the way.

This morning we sold out on breakfast yet again. We were both still sore and wiped from the attempts to fight the last of the jet lag and the super hard mattress. And seeing as this hotel is super crazy expensive, they gave us free breakfast vouchers for the whole time we're here, so we might as well use them. And again, I'm not rolling out 30 minutes one way from the hotel for rice gruel this early. Anyway, check out this lobby!

Now THAT'S Jersey classy. Donald Trump would be proud. Anyway, we were both full of tater tots (or "Hushed Browns" as the sign next to the steam tray said) and crappy pancakes, so we both went upstairs. I was supposed to meet a bunch of the engineer's wives at 10 for some planned excursion, but the assembled ladies (who could have been stunt doubles for the typical PTA group from anywhere in America) all decided they wanted to visit high end shops around Harborland and do whatever it is they do.

I'm deathly afraid of falling behind in my programming schoolwork while I'm here, so instead of being the lone male in a group of women shopping, I went upstiars and made some feeble attempts at understanding the "enum" command in C#, and even cranked out some lines of code before the sluggishness of our ethernet made it hard to work and download the notes I was using off my department's website.

Meanwhile, Dad was off doing the conference stuff he came here to do in the first place, and I hung out playing with my homework. Around 9, a sharply dressed bellhop came up to pick up the laundry we would need to get through the rest of the week (otherwise we'd have to pack WAY too much and lugging around all this stuff was bad enough already). I skyped with Kelly a little, and then Dad got done and needed the internet to reserve our hotel for our return engagement to Tokyo at the end of the week.

We liked the place so much we wanted to go back (We didn't reserve them too far in advance based on some bad hotel experience my parents had while traveling through London) and when we went online, hoping to get the same great rate we had. Thing is, hotels.com had it listed for like twice as much now, so we were hosed and had to find a new place based on the travel guide I bought and some rough guesses searching on web sites.

The internet was giving us fits and we couldn't do ANYTHING (again, cell phones are so good here, WiFi and laptops aren't seen that often... they were being nice just providing us with ancient technology) and by the time we got done, we burned half the day away surfing web sites just to end up at the hotel we wanted in the first place for the same cheap rate on travelocity rather than Hotels.com or Orbitz. Yeesh.

Drama passed, we set out, and decided the map had a bunch of cool stuff out where the ladies went to, besides shopping. We figured out the train fairly easily again, and ended up walking right into...

A BUTCHER SHOP!

It was awesome. Kobe is world famous for its beer fed, daily massaged Wagyu beef (Like "Champagne", you can't really call it "Kobe Beef" unless its from Kobe. And they don't export it. What the high end restaurants have been selling you is "Japan-Style Beef") And this place had all the meat laid out in its well marbled glory like fine jewelry in the window of Tiffany's. And the best part was... in the corner of the place was a little window where they dipped some meat in the fryer and you could sample some Panko-breaded Nirvana on a stick in all its beefy glory...

"Yes, I'd like three beefs on a stick, a minced pork croquette, and for you to move this whole operation like 6500 miles east..."

"THIS WAS ONLY 90 CENTS! This is what it must have felt like for Snoop Dogg to visit Amsterdam the first time!"

Seeing as how the Japanese have invented a street food version of Chicken-Fried Steak on a Stick (Constructed out of the *very best beef on the planet* I might add) I think it is my duty as an ambassador of my great nation to translate the recipe for sawmill gravy into Japanese. It's only fair. Also, I can just imagine some typical fatass American seeing this and thinking "Needs Ranch Dressing". Right now I'm mentally executing this imaginary person for high crimes against food and decency.

So, bellies full of the proof of God's existance, we cruised this weird covered "mall" thing (again with the covered shopping centers). The street ran about 2/3rd's of the length of the city, parallel to the train tracks. It was divided into six districts, and the further west we went, the crappier the shops got.

Like, in section 1, you had your beautiful silk kimonos, perfume shops, high end electronics... but by section 5, there was basically beat up bodegas and used manga shops. But as we walked around, some red caught my eye in one of the alleys and we stumbled upon...

Kobe's Chinatown! I read about this in a couple of guide books and apparently its one of the best in the world. The Chinese are just like the Irish. Anywhere you have an immigrant community (and again, Kobe has Japan's largest foreigner population, you can bet there's going to be at least one "O'Cleary" and one "Chang".

"My brother-in-law is in these dumplings! Try them, they're delicious!"

Everywhere we went, there were food stalls with crowds of people waiting in line for dumplings, noodles, dim sum... all kinds of Chinese food. The place smelled awesome, looked awesome, and we even stumbled accidentally into one alley where some bored worker was driving golf balls into the next neighborhood.

"Next shitbird that makes a 'Are you on the menu?' joke gets a pistol whipping."

"Don't mind me, just stocking up on some Rhino Penis."

"Rhino Penis? (Searches iPod Touch Japanese app) 'Saikaku Kanamara'... maybe you have some in the back? Gonna need a lot of it."

I mentioned earlier how CLEAN this country is. No graffiti, very little liter (most of it looks wind blown instead of just dumped on the ground)... the problem with this is: We can't EVER find a garbage can or recycling bin. It's weird. Chicago has them every five feet and some streets STILL look like a dump. Damndest thing. We walked all around Chinatown looking for some (We still had our skewers from the fried beef stand) and finally had to cross the street to find this:

What the hell? Do these people consume their own trash? Like some super cyborg race? It was like this everywhere... Tokyo, Hiroshima, Kobe. Not a lot of trash bins.

We decided to poke around the largest department store in Kobe, maybe hoping we could stumble on some stuff for gifts.
And let me tell you, Asia has money. This makeup area makes Macy's look like the Cheyenne, WY Woolworth's counter.

Shoe porn? Shoe porn.

"See, even THEY make fun of it. Can we all collectively move on and have a sense of humor about how truly awesome American science is?"

So, deciding shopping is lame, we decided to wander on down to the main port area, also called "Merrikan Park" after how the Japanese prounced "American". (Remember yesterday's history lesson... How we forced Japan to give us an open port? OK, good.)

"What kind of restaurant is Cafe Fish?" "Oh, you mean the one with the three story steel carp sculpture outside?" "Yeah." "No Idea... maybe Mexican?"

"For the love of God, I was nominated for an Oscar! I was in Lonesome Dove! Al Gore was my roommate at Harvard! Stop making fun of me!"

So, Kobe is celebrating the 200th anniversary of their port with this real cool showcase of Japanese art in the containers they use to import and export everything in. I thought it was a real neat way of showing off local artist's work in the city's largest and most beautiful park. And considering the containers they used I thought it was a poignant way to make a point about how stuff passes through these ports everyday and no one really gives a thought about what they're bringing in and out. Maybe its about the transitory nature of "things" and our existence in general. Maybe we take for granted the people and products we get without thinking about how they got here.

Or maybe I just watched Season Two of "The Wire" one too many times.

Anyway, I can't decide if Dad hated this exhibit because I badgered him into paying 1200 yen for it (with my student ID it was 500 yen for me) or if it was just too artsy-fartsy for him. So in honor of the Twitter feed "@shitmydadsays", the following pictures will have my descriptions in parentheses and Dad's comments in italics.

(Cardboard Origami) "What's this shit?"

(Giant Foams rings fastened together and to the ceiling with zippers) "Looks unfinished"

(Mirrors on every surface directed to focus on a ball of light) "We should get an epilleptic in here and watch him have a stroke out".

(Flat cardboard with the perspective altered to look 3-D) "In one of these, they should just have a dark corridor and a live alligator."

(Polluted sea water from the Pacific in individual aquariums) "They should put poisonous snakes in some of them as a 'surprise'."

(Cow World. Pretty self explanatory, I guess.)

(Hundreds of blank clocks ticking away loudly, reminding you that time marches on and someday you'll die) "Freaky."

(A weird tunnel covered in rubber balls that required you to put on wader boots and feel the walls) "I ain't going in there."

(An exhibit labeled "new Ikebana" or "Japanese Flower arranging".)

(Hot peppers arranged in circles) "This what you get when your country doesn't have to field any sort of military."

(More Ikebana) "Someone got some grant money."

So I got some culture in, and dad flexed his inner Don Rickles. So we wandered past the Maritime Museum, which is a lot like the Air and Space Museum in Washington, except with boring ass boats.

"If I was a Bond Villian, this would be my boat of choice."

Port Tower and the roof to the Maritime Museum

Couldn't tell. It says "1492" and a bunch of Japanese. Maybe a mock up of one of Columbus' ships?

So, bored with boats and containers, we started back to the train station. And let me point out some stuff...

There are bikes EVERYWHERE. And unlike in Chicago, they're utilitarian, simple, and not some fashion or political statement with "One Less Car" stickers or "Critical Mass" preaching a bunch of horsecrap. It's simply a means of conveyance is all. Also... NONE OF THESE ARE LOCKED! You just leave it on the street and walk around! Nobody steals them. (That we know of).

And people ride on the sidewalks... everywhere. You constantly have to be on your toes ready to leap to the side at any minute. In Hiroshima, one guy racing down a ramp missed me and Dad by like two feet.

This being the port center, a lot of the architecture is American... with weird Asian twists.

"One of these kids is doing his own thing..."

Also, these folks have Money. With a capital "M".

Everything in this neighborhood was crazy high end. And unlike in Chicago where people have these stores, people actually seemed put together and knew how to wear them.

"All right, picking on Tommy Lee Jones is getting real old. Here, look into this device *FLASH* You didn't see this advertisement, I am the funniest person you ever knew. Carry on."

We went back to that long shopping drag near the train again, and found a totally awesome tool store.

Picked up a little something for my brother.

"Yeah, I'm out walking my monkey. Want to fight about it?"

As we went further down, the stores got worse and worse. This place looked like it belonged in Woodfield Mall in Kankakee...On the way back, Dad had to stop in every kimono place thinking they sold the silk fabric Mom wanted. These were really just the belts for the traditional garb.

And we felt hungry so we went back for meat on a stick for a quick snack!

Anyway, by this time we had to have walked 8-10 miles. We covered about half the city on foot and we were EXHAUSTED. We hopped on the train back to Shinnomiya Station (where the shuttle bus picks up and drops off) to find a sit down place to chug water and rest our feet. We both decided our meal in Tokyo the first night in Japan was awesome so we were both craving Tempura fried food (after having a taste of it from the meat stand). I looked up in the guide book, and out of the eight restaurants they reviewed only was was a Ten-don/Tempura place, about two blocks east of city hall.

We waddle (because by this time our feet were throbbing from pain) down Flower Street looking for this place and to make matters worse, the book's map is confusing ("Is that a street or an alley?"), not to mention my ex-boy scout hiking pace is really less of a walk than it is a light jog. Dad is stuggling to keep up with my stubborn "I'll find this hole in the wall if it's the last thing I do" enthusiasm. Finally hitting a dead end, and not knowing where we are, we limp back to train station for one last pass at something we can agree on (No sushi, no sitting on the floor, English menu) before we give up and go back to the hotel in defeat.

And just as we were about to give up, we find another barker handing out coupons. He speaks no English beyond "Beer" and honestly, we we so desperate for a cheap, friendly, local option we gladly followed along. He explains to me on the way that the food is "spicy" with lots of "beer". The coupon's picture shows chicken wings, so I quickly figure out they sell hot wings and beer. Dad couldn't have been more sold. I guess you could infer that all it take for us to eat at your place is a coupon and a loud voice, but whatever works, man.

We hobble in, our ankles about as wrecked as James Caan's in "Misery" by this point to cheers and shouts. Three cooks and three servers on shift (not a one looked older than 21) and we were the only table there. To add to the apprehension, it was the dirtiest place we've been in since we got here. But, being the super hygenic Japanese, it was still cleaner than Bubba Gump Shrimp Company back in Chicago could ever dream of being. I've been in way dirtier McDonald's, come to think of it.

They sent their strongest English speaker they had to our table, we pointed at a bunch of stuff, and turns out, we gambled and won again. The food was GREAT. Or maybe we were just starving. Either way, who cares.

We had some pork kabob, delicious beef and rice, Japanese pickles, and the aforementioned hot wings. Two big beers (I like the Belgian style ales, served chilled, but dad likes a huge frosty mug full of light lagers. And lucky for him, that's the only way the Japanese have figured out to serve beer) came out to 1750 yen! Wow! And it really was another good meal. We left full, happy, and with way more money than if we too the bus back to the Port Island "White People" compound.

I feel bad, though because when we got back to the hotel, dad took his socks off, had blood blisters on like three toes and severely swollen feet, all because I got us lost looking for fried shrimp. But we saw like three days worth of stuff, were constantly surprised every time we turned a corner, and even got a lot of souvenir shopping done for folks back home.

Tomorrow, the ladies have a guide lined up for Kyoto, the city with all the fancy tea houses, fancy castles, and zen gardens people usually associate with Japan. I'm going to tag along with them while Dad gets his conference on, so we'll see if I can handle this. It would be nice to have someone who knows Japanese to tell us what's going on, but if they try to find a TGI Fridays out here, I'll fistfight someone.

Oh and the laundry we sent down to housekeeping? It was left on our bed, wrapped like we just bought them. I've never seen a t-shirt with ironed creases before...

PB OUT!