Alright, you still with me? Good! Because we’ve got another 2-3 entries left. And things are about to get real.

If you need a recap of Part 3, click here.

Chapter 10:  Kyoto (Or When Shit Hits the Fan)

Up until this point in our tale, it had been an amazingly flawless journey. Being the ill-tempered and impatient lad that I am, I was quite surprised at how smooth things had gone and how even-keeled I had been. But of course, no vacation is immune from disaster. And no experience with yours truly would be complete without some sort of crisis and furious meltdown. It had been too enjoyable up to this point. We were overdue.

The morning started off as any typical morning. Frank did 20 pushups with me sitting on his back (did I mention Frank is a beast?), then we packed up our things and checked out. We got to the train station and stopped at a Family Mart for breakfast before our train departed. Go ahead. Guess what Frank bought. 

Hey, sushi, you guessed right! 

Man, you’re getting good at this.

I ordered pretty much every bun they had to offer and went to town. I believe I got 4-6, if memory serves? And one was a pepperoni pizza bun. God Bless Japan.

From there, we boarded the train to the picturesque town of Kyoto.

The trip there was very promising as we gazed upon a misty mountain landscape that was candy to the eye. We saw previews of what was to come in little patches of farmland and small, quaint neighborhoods. I was excited. I’m sure Frank was too.

We arrived at the station and took a bus into town. Everyone around us was pimping an all-day bus pass that Frank waived off with a dismissive wrist. He was quite adamant in his hatred of buses. Little did he and I know what disaster awaited us as a result.

Chapter 11:  The Bike Fiasco 

We dropped off our things at the next hostel and attempted to rent bicycles, though they only had one available. Frank and I had a little difficulty finding another bike rental post. There was a reason for this, which we found out the hard way: Kyoto was not a bike-friendly city. It started off okay, but as the day went on, we both understood why there was such a push for the bus pass. Oh how we regretted brushing off such an opportunity.

We eventually found another bike to rent in some kind of weird office space. How do I describe this place? There were papers and documents lying around everywhere and random people stopping by to work on their laptops and…do their laundry? It almost seemed like a meeting ground for clean and well-groomed drifters. We sat down at a round table and tried to negotiate with the owner as to what our terms would be. I’m not really sure what happened. Frank did all the talking. All I can say is it was quite a bizarre exchange. But in the end, we got another bike and started our day.

So, guess where our first stop was. 

That’s right kids! 

Video games! 

We rode over to a pretty intimidating game store. But first we had to park our bikes…  

We saw an unassuming lot next to the store in question. The two of us kicked the stands down and locked up our cycles (or at least I did). As we walked by, a sweet old lady passed us, politely bowing. Remember this, because it’s an important detail for what unfolds later.

We entered the store and there was indeed far too much to process. I glanced over the Super Famicom games, took a shallow pass at the rest of the store’s inventory, and had seen enough at about the 30-40 minute mark. I am far too impatient to comb through every item. Frank, on the other hand…Frank would find a needle in a haystack, and then proceed to examine each and every individual piece of hay.  

I lingered inside, waiting impatiently for Frank to meticulously review every single game in the store. My frustration slowly simmered until it boiled over. We were in that shop for 1-2 hours when I finally told Frank to hurry things up. And believe me, I wasn’t quite so polite in my delivery. He was watching a YouTube video on a game he held in his hand when he agreed to start making some decisions.  

After we left the store, the first fecal nugget found its way into the fan.

We returned to the spot where we left our bikes. Both of us searched wordlessly, a growing expression of concern stretching across our faces simultaneously. Our worried eyes met.

Our rental bikes were gone.

I couldn’t believe it. While Frank did forget to lock his down, mine was securely locked. There was no way someone could have stolen my bike as well.  

I was convinced we had parked somewhere else, though Frank’s far more reliable memory had him insisting we were in the right spot.  

It was becoming quite clear Frank was right. We had to do something. Either our bikes were impounded or stolen. And the latter seemed improbable.

So did the former. Why didn’t that nice old lady warn us? Perhaps she wasn’t as nice nor as old as we thought.  

Frank swore there was no sign telling us not to park there, however, his ability to read Japanese symbols was rather dubious.

We did the only thing we could. We went back to the video game shop.

Inside, Frank did his best to explain the situation. The language barrier was such that he was unsure whether or not the clerks knew what had happened to our bikes. They cracked open a book and made some phone calls. The two of us were uncertain as to what would happen next.

Panicked, irritated, and hungry, I opted to find a quick bite while Frank waited for the next steps. It didn’t take long for me to give up and return to the scene.

When I got back, Frank was in the lot with two police officers. One spoke English and acted as the translator. What we came to find out was that we had indeed parked in a private lot reserved for tenants of a small apartment building. The superintendent of said building had taken our bikes on behalf of the landlord, who was outraged by our crass disregard of a sign we couldn’t read. Of course, the police were very helpful in finding all of this out for us and tracking down our bikes. They explained our situation to the superintendent, who relayed the message via telephone to the cantankerous landlord on our behalf. Fortunately, we managed to strike a deal: we could get our bikes back if we bowed and said “gomenasai” (I’m sorry). 

This served as a nice sampling of their culture. In the States, we would have had to go to an impound lot and pay to get our vehicles back. Over there, we simply had to show respect and our rentals were returned. It was quite charming and refreshing. Perhaps we could learn a thing or two from Japan.

We happily obliged and were taken to a fenced-off area where both our bikes were held captive. I was still annoyed but cooling down a bit, relieved to have our bikes back and also amused by this little taste of Japanese culture.

I was starving. We went on our merry way in search of another Horai 551. I was dying to try that chow fun, and we both wanted to enjoy those dumplings one more time. Locating that particular restaurant was again quite the task, as the GPS never seemed to want to take us there. Nevertheless, we persisted, and just before we gave up we found the place. Success!

Only this location did not have chow fun. Nuts.

I ordered some more dumplings with fried rice and Frank ordered dumplings with soup or something. We had a little talk to address some of the frustration we both encountered back at the game store. Slowly but surely, my temper simmered down and we enjoyed the lunch. 

After eating, we made our way to a pachinko parlor. Inside, we explored multiple floors of pachinko machines, photo booths, redemption machines, and even a mix of arcade games for the kiddies. I must say, the arcade experience felt very different there than what I’m used to. Almost like it was more embedded in their culture than in the States. The arcade-goers seemed to be more invested in the games they played, if that makes sense.

Frank waited in a little side room on the bottom floor with massage chairs and books so he could charge his phone enough to navigate us to our next activity. According to him, I was in the bathroom while he waited. I personally have no recollection of this, though I would never question someone if they told me I was in a bathroom. I soon rejoined him and let me tell you…it was hot in that room. It seemed like not many places in the cities we visited had adequate air conditioning.

Once his phone had enough juice, it was time to check out another shotengai. When we arrived, we actually had to pay to park our bikes (did I mention this was not a bike-friendly city?). We begrudgingly paid the unreasonable fee and went on to explore the shops. It was more or less like the day before. I bought some kind of molten-lava hot bun, which I was instructed to bite carefully or else it would squirt boiling acid grease. I also got to enjoy this incredible crepe dessert with cheesecake, berries, ice cream, and other sweet delights.

From there we biked around Kyoto to explore its natural beauty. Our next destination was Mt. Daimonji to do some hiking! Little did we know the mass quantities of fecal matter that were about to collide with the rotating blades. In other words, shit was about to hit the fan.

Chapter-

Wait a second…not so fast! I know you’re itching to find out how things got worse than the so-called “bike fiasco.” Believe me, I’d love to tell you right this second. But then we’d have over 3000 words, and I don’t want to have to put you through all that in one sitting. You don’t want to have to read all that in one sitting. And I think my head would explode if I had to edit all that in one sitting. So I’m splitting up Kyoto into two parts. Trust me, it’ll be worth it.

So thank you for joining me on another installment, and keep your eyes peeled – we’re getting close to concluding this tale!