playing hooky

Well friends, Japan has given up its winter grip. Locals say that it has been the coldest winter in the past ten years. Having no idea whether or not this fact is accurate, I always agree. Working under the assumption that the locals are right, Maggie and I are trying to make the most of our newfound spring weather. We have cleaned, the doors to our shanty have been open, and the bats are slowly leaving the cave.
To celebrate finally having the house to ourselves, Maggs and I took to our make- shift outdoor patio (parking space too small for even a Japanese sized car) and had ourselves a BBQ. It was great. We had burgers, grilled spicy peppers (ala Ted Warren), and couple of bottles of cold Mexicana suds. If I could have clicked together my steel-toes and imported all of you over, the day would have been complete. Next time. With bellies full of lean ground goodness, we capped our day off with a game of scrabble and a nap. All and all a pretty great April Fools Day.
Sunday was a wash (literally). We went to the gym, watched some sports on the tube, and generally just had the feeling like we had been cheated out of one of our weekend days. We both agreed that we needed to rectify this fact so we vowed to make the most of Monday if the weather was a bit less sassy. It was and we did. Exhausted from my fifteen-minute workday, I met up with Maggie and we headed up to Kamakura to check out the blooming cherry trees. Kamakura has been our escape from the blandness of Yokosuka. It is a little coastal town with a whole bunch of Japanese charm. Following a reliable tip we rode the train an extra stop and took a leisurely sun soaked stroll back to Kamakura central. This stretch of road is beautiful: Skinny streets lined with cherry trees, brooks alive from Sunday’s grumbles, arching bridges, and the usual clean that we have quickly learned to appreciate about Japan. The morning and early afternoon was spent with us exploring the temples and shrines that were built back in the time when Kamakura was the capital of Japan. Mind you, I have no earthly idea how long ago that was. One of the highlights came after hiking up a Washington Monument amount of stairs. Winded and with burning legs, we located the top and were immediately treated to not only an unhindered view of Mt. Fuji, but the drumming and chants of a monk who very well might have been around during Kamakura’s capital days. It was quite a sight to see. Enshrouded in a cloud of incense this bald little man sat on the floor of this hillside house of prayer, belting out notes that were seismically low. For about fifteen minutes he did his thing. Maggie and I sat captivated, eating fishy crackers, and looking down at the puffy cotton candyesque trees that surround this sacred spot.
We reached the bottom of the hill with silent steps. Each of us so lost in our own thoughts that it took us a while to notice the wind had picked up and was showering us with pick and white cherry blossoms. Fearing a downpour we kicked it into gear. We needed coffee and a bit of French charm (for those of you who fell that is an oxymoron please keep it to yourselves). Each time we escape to Kamakura we eat at a fantastic French restaurant run by a Japanese man fresh out of a French culinary academy (and a job on staff at one of Gérard Depardieu’s restaurants). He is not much older then we and speaks a perfect Japanese and French. Being that I can’t speak either, Maggs does all of the ordering for us. Watching them try to communicate using fragments of three languages makes it more like dinner and a show. We drank the rest of our coffees and scraped the remaining nibbles of homemade apple pureed thingy (menu words not mine) off of our plates, said our good byes, and happily headed home. Playing hooky has never been so fun!

Have a look at a few of our pictures located on the right of the page. The woman in the kimono was just a fun gift from the photo gods.