Arrived in Kyoto yesterday to find yet another city in the midst of seasonal confusion. Bright colors above outstretched arms, patches of white underfoot. Jumped a cab north. SAFETY TIP! Don't take the really posh looking taxis unless you are either well employed or are a trustafarian. The sticker says 680 yen, but the fine print clocks 80 yen per 250 meters. Ouch. Arrived at Kinkakuji with a light wallet.
I was meeting with a woman about renting out a room in a beautiful, well-lit house next to the temple. I hadn't done the roomie interview thing in almost fifteen years. Weird. A couple hours later I returned to meet the other roommate. To a soundtrack of Brazilian acoustic tunes, and with a clink of red wine we toasted the beginning of something. I'm thrilled. After fifteen years, I finally did it. I moved to Kyoto.
Met up with Amanda later. She'd just come from Mandala's great gig at Tofukuji. It was one of those magic evenings where the audience grabs stuff and begins to bring da noise. A few familiar faces were in the house, including one down from Tokyo. Man! I hate missing great gigs. Amanda also regaled me with tales of the bomb scare at Kyoto Station. Apparently, someone had left behind a large trunk which had been cordoned off by the cops. Yet the trains were running, and passengers were walking past to get to the platforms, as police in bomb-gear tiptoed up to the mystery objet. I wonder if the cops bow before defusing.
Made my Friday a.m. turn back to the 'Nog, playing commuter with coffee in hand. Gingerbread Latte tastes just as amazing as it did last year. 'Tis the season...
On the turntable: "Tokyo: The Sex, The City, The Music"
On the nightable: Donald Riche, "A View from the Chuo Line"
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