While our neighbors-to-the-north were fussing about with atomic nuclei, we were out on the town celebrating the blessed day of Northern-Irishman Mark’s creation. It was loads of fun (even in the foreshadow of wafting radioactivity).
Erin--the nice young lady who lives due north of me--and I made our way down to Kyoto
Saturday afternoon, at which point we squandered a few hours spending money at the foreign foods store and the three-story Muji (kicky/geeky clothing store if you don’t know it).Later we met up with the birthday-boy himself (Mark), and some of our favorite Shiga townsfolk, at Sanjo Bridge - the tried and tested rendezvous. (I still don’t have a cellphone, so I rely on the “spot” more than others.) We went to an izakaya for dinner (these are loungy places with overpriced, teensy orders of food). This particular izakaya was a self-proclaimed “sound bar,” which meant you could order specific selections of music with your food. I think someone ordered Waterfalls by TLC at some point, but it really wasn’t jump-starting the mood (I glimpsed Salt ‘n Peppa on the menu, and I kept my fingers crossed for What a Man).
At dinner I gave Mark his birthday present - a vegan Japanese cookbook I’d discovered earlier that day in a mobbed bookstore near Kyoto station (I picked up a second copy for myself). Mark’s also a vegetarian, which is nice. We shared some plates at the sound bar, although an order of croquettes turned out to be packed to the gunwales with--my favorite--ground beef. I had a few swallows before I even noticed (Mark feigned ignorance--a smart tactic in this country). He received other gifts: a nice bottle of wine from Erin, and I think a container of contacts solution from Stephen.
[ this is Mark, Erin, and Julie ]
After the bad izakaya food, we went to the convenience store, at which point Stephen and I shared a bottle of wine while we accrued a few other members to our gaggle (namely Katie and Salem - a delightful couple from Georgia, who told us stories about dodging regional trains in the mountains outside Kyoto).
Then--suddenly yet predictably--we ended up at a karaoke bar, toting bags of grog from the kombini, where we remained for just over an hour (thank god), singing an assortment of horse-and-buggy ballads (e.g. Billy Joel’s We Didn’t Start the Fire). Unfortunately there was only one Meatloaf song in the entire catalog, and it wasn’t I Would Do Anything For Love. What rot.
[ me, Katie, Salem, Erin, and Stephen in room A ]
[ me, Katie, Salem, Stephen, and Mark in room A ]
[ me, straight-up refusing to sing this Shania Twain song ]
[ Julie annnd I-wanna-say “Curtis” (?) in room B ]
Karaoke was fun and stupid par usual, but we soon skedaddled, making a beeline for this little fifth-floor bar Mark had been going on and on about since he discovered the place one week earlier. Truth be told, I can’t fathom how we nosed out the joint because we had had a lot to drink (in spite of the half bottle of wine Stephen sloshed all over the floor of karaoke room A).
This bar that Mark had been hyping for days was a peewee hallway of a place (which made it ideal because we were able to take it over completely). When we arrived there were two or three people sitting at the bar, and they all wished Mark a bellowing happy birthday--turns out they’d been expecting him. Later, more Kyoto dwellers showed up with gifts for Mark! It was totally captivating to be received so warmly in what was essentially a small pigeonhole in Kyoto’s forest of urban muddle and cultural remains.
[ Mark and the bartenders, seized in a flutter of bullshit light ]
We basically spent the rest of the night in this place, playing Jenga with the bartenders and swallowing down shots of tequila each time the tower buckled
(until--serves us right--we started buckling ourselves). We began taking frequent naps--we couldn’t simply go home because we’d missed the last train out of Kyoto--and lurching out into the streets occasionally to buy a rice ball from the kombini. We stayed there--pulling a Jenga block here and there--until well after 5 AM. 
[ birthday party becomes slumber party (snap!) ]
At around 5 AM we knew we’d be able to catch an early-morning train back to Tehara, where Mark lives, about twenty-five minutes away. So we left the cozy Jenga bar, repeated a hundred goodbyes to the same five people, and journeyed toward the subway. On the way we encountered Carlos and Jesus, two men from Mexico whom were working in Hikone at the tire factory. They were friendly and we stopped to speak a few words
in Spanish with them (Mark knew way more than I did). Eventually they got a little too friendly and started sweet-talking Keira, and since she wasn’t into it we moseyed on. (This is Keira on the left. She’s from Ireland, but not Northern Ireland where Mark’s from: Totally different country, he declares--again and again.) We kept walking and ended up passing a puri kura stand (I have no idea to spell it)--essentially a Japanized photo booth. It factors glitz and glamor into the oh-so-dull passport-style head shot. Of course we had to stop (because Erin’s a total freak for these photos). I don’t know what happened to the photos we took inside the booth, but here are some we made outside of it....
[ I don’t remember the context behind this one.
We’ll call it, The Chase ]
[ Urban Camping ]
[ Time to Go Home ]
Enough said.
1 Comment for this Entry
Ryan
this sounds like it was well worth the hangover that undoubtedly followed it. i can't wait to visit you, i'm going to start looking into airfare this month!!!
Thursday, October 12, 2006 - 11:05 PM
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