Wednesday, 18 December 2013
There are times when news that wouldn't be welcome under other circumstances comes as something of a blessing.
A bleak Kyoto morning, when checkout time is late, and the only item on the must-do list is a transfer to Kōbe, is one of them.
Madam had pencilled in a visit to Fushimi Inari Taisha, which sits conveniently close to Kyoto Station and the hotel, but, to be frank, I wasn't that keen.
Leaden skies and drizzle, if not actual rain were enough to kill off whatever enthusiasm I could muster. In any case, I'd had my fill of temples and shrines this time around.
You can, after all, have too much of a good thing.
There was one slight issue that could have been raised in the wake of the descent to the lobby for another go at Japan's Number Three Breakfast Viking.
After two goes at it, we probably need something like a twelve-hour route march every day for the next week to work off the excess poundage.
On the other hand, that substantial intake every morning has significant advantages. It keeps us going until dinner time and makes things like the previous day's temple ramble possible.
We were able to cover as much territory as we did because we didn't stop for lunch.
In any case, something like this morning's selection will keep you going all day.
Admittedly, I went back for smoked salmon and pastries (two croissants and a chocolate Danish). But I had the self-control to avoid visiting the sweets section of the buffet, except for a passing snapshot just to point out that, yes, you can have dessert for breakfast.
Madam couldn't resist, and though she suggested I might enjoy the chocolate mousse that was on offer, I was able to resist its siren song.
We headed back upstairs, where I busied myself with the Travelogue until around eleven-fifteen.
That seemed to be the right time to gather up the goods and chattels, bundle as much as possible into The Blue Bag and prepare for the two-leg trip to Kōbe.
Madam had purchases that needed to be made en route in Osaka, and we needed to kill some time. I added a sure-fire time killer with a suggestion that I'd be interested in tracking down a copy of the remastered and vastly expanded Rock of Ages.
After we'd checked out, we made it over to the station without needing to bring out the umbrellas.
It was a brisk fifty-metre walk between the hotel and the nearest overhead protection from the station complex, and describing the weather conditions as mizzle was probably being overgenerous.
On the other hand, it was cold, and if you stayed out in it for a while, you would get wet.
We packed ourselves onto an Osaka-bound train, and after we'd alighted and joined the crowd at Osaka Station, the first job was locating the coin lockers.
From there we were off into one of the new retail precincts, descending into the basement for the World Beer facility, where Australian brews were conspicuous by their absence in the display.
I needed something to keep me occupied while Madam headed off to make a few purchases and take the odd photograph. She left me there with a draught wheat beer, which was eminently drinkable, but at ¥900 a throw you won't be getting a skinful in a lengthy session.
I nursed one and was just finishing the dregs when she returned.
It wasn't so much the absence of Australian beers that prompted my inquisitiveness, more a matter of seeing which, if any, had secured a spot.
Looking at, for example, the American beers in the highly decorative sales pitch, I couldn't detect anything I'd heard of apart from the ubiquitous Budweiser.
I've seen suggestions that Bud hardly qualifies as beer at all...
A careful scan of the all-in-Japanese listing at the back of the folder revealed three Australian brews listed as #s 176, 177 and 178. With the most likely translator away with the shoppers, I was still no wiser as to what they were.
She returned with news that she'd found a wine place, and a Subway outlet that appeared to be growing its own healthy greens, so we went for a squiz at that.
I was cut loose to commence my search for the Rock of Ages rerelease if I could find the HMV store at the very top of the building.
It took some time, and I drew a blank. I did locate an impressive railway modelling shop offering scale models of Japanese rolling stock at prices that translated into the several hundred dollars.
Not a hobby for school kids on a limited allowance.
We made our way back down the levels, with Madam stopping off to buy a belt along the way. Then we crossed the JR Station complex in search of Tower Records and a couple of used CD operations that eventually produced results. The ¥14500 they were asking for what I was after seemed a little steep.
Subsequent research revealed it was available through Amazon for a tad under $US62 although the freight impost would probably be substantial.
In any case, despite the relative lack of success, we'd walked a couple of kilometres and worked off some of the morning's breakfast.
When we returned to the station and made our way to the relevant platform, it seemed there had been some disruption to the network.
The express to Kōbe was running a whole three minutes late. That prompted profuse apologies for any inconvenience caused on the PA and misgivings about finding seats between two passengers.
But we did, and we decanted ourselves at Sannomiya, moving smartly over to the bus terminal, where the shuttle bus for the Okura and Meriken Park Oriental was just pulling in.
That, in turn, delivered us to the hotel just after three-thirty. We found the same girl who'd enjoyed a holiday on the Gold Coast when she was little on hand to convey our baggage to the room.
You don't need to be Einstein to figure out how the next hour and a bit was filled in. Just before five, I put the tapping to one side as we made our way towards the evening's dinner rendezvous.
The notion Madam might head out by herself to pick up supplies of green tea with Hughesy to follow on a later shuttle for a six o'clock rendezvous had been floated earlier. However, I ended up tagging along for the shopping expedition.
Which is just as well. As it turned out, I didn't know the route between the point where the bus deposited us and the JR ticket office as well as I thought I did.
The shopping bit took us into the basement of Sogo, a major department store, and Madam left me to peruse the shelves at a convenient wine store.
The subject of Australian wine and an apparently low profile in what I've seen of mainstream Japanese society was something we returned to over dinner.
Given the fact that the subject impinges on one of Hughesy's primary obsessions, it's worth going into here.
I have to admit I haven't done extensive research on this, but I've kept my eyes open as we've moved around. Sightings of familiar labels have been on the very occasional side of extremely few and far between.
In the wine shop whose shelves got a reasonably thorough perusal, they identify countries of origin by flags on the price tag.
I didn't sight a single Australian flag.
Before our cousins across The Ditch start gloating, while I did spot a Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc. It took a meticulous and rather lengthy search to locate a second.
A couple of hours later, I was jotting down the names of a couple of Australian wineries that would be worth looking for. But I wouldn't be holding my breath as far as finding anything from Cullen, Grosset, Rockford and Coldstream Hills is concerned.
It was more an exercise of hope rather than an expectation of success, but you never know.
Our Hostess might do better with Brown Brothers.
I suppose Jacobs Creek is always a likely sighting, but based on very basic research, I wouldn't be holding high hopes of success.
Once we'd been ushered into our shoes off private booth, I was relieved to find there was space for legs under the table.
The next couple of hours were comfortable with the food arriving in a steady flow of little dishes.
I managed to attack most of them with chopsticks, reserving the fork delivered just in case for bits that were too tricky for my very elementary chopstick skills.
All in all, an enjoyable evening, with good food, wide-ranging conversation, and a steady stream of good draught beer that kept the inner beast satisfied.
It was shortly after nine-thirty when we decanted ourselves out of the eatery. In what seemed to be par for the course, we arrived at the bus stand to find the shuttle ready and waiting, seemingly slightly ahead of schedule.
After several beers through the evening, there was no need to find a vending machine.
Not that such a device would be found in an establishment like the Okura.
On the other hand, I wanted a photo of the Christmas lights at the front of the hotel. Once the bus deposited us, we headed down through the mizzle to fulfil that modest ambition, passing our friendly baggage handler on the way.
As a trainee, she'd obviously drawn the short straw as far as pavement guest greeting duties were concerned. With the wind blowing the mizzle into places it wouldn't usually reach, our brief exposure down there suggested designated guest greeters needed warmer clothing.
On the way back, I remarked that she deserved a medal as big as a frying pan for sticking to the task. The comment produced a laugh.
Maybe, on some future visit when the trainee has moved up into senior management, we might find ourselves recognised and upgraded to the penthouse.
Not, I hasten to add, that there was anything wrong with the room we had, but one can always aspire to greater things, without real expectations.
And, in any case, people who are sent to stand out in the cold need cheering up n'est ce pas?