Cobblestone Mumbles

Fuji, the pride of Japan, the signature jewel in this far away crown beat me up today. My already roughed-up frame (weary from 3 days of the stomach flu) switched back and forth up the side of this fragile moonscape. Sadly I only made it an hour of the necessary four needed to summit before I planted a germy kiss on Maggie and watched as she rejoined the line twisting up into the mist. It is now an hour later and I am sitting in a window side corner of the Mt. Fuji coffee shop. My agenda is fixed. By my calculation I have five hours before Maggie walks onto the cobblestone street that I am overlooking, and during this time I plan on as little movement as possible. If it weren’t for my unfortunate inability to grow moss on my back, I very well might be mistaken for a sloth. Prior to my planting I equipped myself with the following: a book, pen, and a pile of blank postcards. No doubt each will be started as all postcards are, with good intentions of a grand excursion depicted, but destined to end with a blurry, choose your adventure of an event; letters franticly getting smaller in size, crowding the stamp, obscuring the name and address, and finally coming to close with my name crammed in the very corner that the postman covers with his barcode sticker. Heaven forbid the recipient have more then one friend traveling my region of the world.

If the fore mentioned fails to keep me engrossed for the duration of this experiment I will certainly not be bored. The beauty of Japan for me comes in the watching of people. Out the window is an ever-changing flow of color. There is no real harmony to their movement. Consistency is only found in their hand held technology. Photos are being snapped, but with no real specific direction. Each family, in hushed agreement decide that the moment is photo-worthy, but seem to be grappling with that conclusive something in the background which will mark this event as unique to the one adjacent to it in the family album. Just the smiling faces of mom, dad and the Japan allotted two kids. Each poised with a tilted head and the mandatory flash of the peace sign. And it is pretty fair to say that someone in the shot will be holding the family’s long haired dachshund. On any other day, where the clouds and ground weren’t so friendly, I would think that these weekend point and shooters would be directionally unified. But today is not that day. There is no discernable backdrop and honestly this makes my on-looking so much more rewarding.

My out the window gaze is broken by a cute little Japanese grandma asking me with earnest words that I don’t understand, but gestures that I do, if she and her equally cute better half can take my picture. You see, the clouds have opened a window to Fuji’s summit and for reasons that are baffling to me, this duo wants me and my blindingly orange coat as an enhancer to their photo. Of course I oblige, flash a bewildered grin, and with the click of a locally made shutter I become part of this couple’s trip to Fuji. As is customary, what follows next are a back-breaking exchange of bows and the warmth of gratitude which is unique to Japan.

When I sat down at my penthouse table I was alone. The floors had the shine of a new day and I had interrupted the first brew of coffee for a cup. Now, my spot is a symphony of slurps. Lunchtime has snuck up on me and happy chins are poised perfectly in their well practiced intake position. In the States this tableside infraction would certainly be met with a scolding from mom, and a rap on the knuckles from pop. Though here, the slurping of noodles is a salute to the cook, and by the sounds in this room, the cook’s got skills.
Ahhh, from that happy sound, to the best view of the day: For out the mist with legs a shakin’ emerges the birthday girl. My work here is done. I offer up a hearty thanks to all of you reading for helping me pass my day and distracting me from my gurgling gut.