Dad`s Visit: What if there is no past?
We wake up at 5 a.m. I might feel like this is too early, but it is the same time I would wake up on my own, in advance of the 10 a.m. flight to Hong Kong. The Neil Young lyric, "Take a look at my life; I`m a lot like you," comes to mind. The subway stop is an 800 meter walk. (It is much longer at first, until we find the direct route.) We roll our baggage to a closed entryway. We cross the street to find an open entryway, and board the second subway train of the day. Then, we transfer seamlessly to the Kansai JR line. We arrive at the airport counter just ahead of the 7:30 a.m. opening time. The punchline would be that we get absorbed by the airport shops and miss our 10:00 a.m. flight, but we do not. (Dad is reading Hillary Clinton`s autobiography. I check my Yahoo baseball team.)
Dad has been with me for the last month. We met at Bangkok. Then, we went to Singapore, Jakarta, Taipei and Osaka. Mostly, we stayed in hostels. Dad thinks hostels are like the army. He served during peace-time, so this comment might mean that he likes hostels. (I am often not sure what he means, even though he says "good" and "bad" quite a bit.) I like hostels because I meet people, learn what others are enjoying, and because of the cost. For my dad and I, hostels give a another benefit. Others make us realize that neither of us is all that annoying.
In Taipei (our first hostel), we share a room with a man who turns off the air-conditioner each night, then opens the window. He might be comfortable, since his bed is next to the window, but the room becomes too warm for the rest of us. I feel it is too hot one morning at 5 a.m., so I shut the window and turn on the air-conditioner. It is my room, as much as his, after all. Dad comments on the nice breeze and on how well he slept that morning. I claim credit for the breeze. The open-window man elevates my status for the day.
Dad has a bad cough most all of the trip. Sometimes his foot or leg hurts. Walking too much is a point of contention. "David wears me out." In my defense, Dad never complains while walking, but only afterward, and getting out is as much driven by him as me. I learn that I have to sit down myself, then Dad will sit down. With the cough, I would be tired, too. The second half of his trip, we settle into a rhythm of doing one major thing per day, or maybe two smaller trips, and I try to make sure we stop before we are tired. This works better, except when we get lost. I assume Dad will live past 100 years.
A highlight is going to Otsu, where Dad served in the army fifty years ago. Lake Biwa looks nothing like what he remembers. The harbor area is much nicer. None of the old buildings still stand, not even the ten story department store with the mural of a horse. Now, buildings have a more modern style. Dad remembers bicycles and the odor of "honey dew" carts, which were pulled by water buffaloes. Now, everyone drives Toyotas. The standard of living here is higher than in the United States. Only the clouds look the same. A philosophical question: Is there a past?
In Taipei, we visited the tallest building in the world at 500 plus meters. The elevator goes up at 1010 meters per minute. We eat excellent Korean food in the basement. We also see the zoo, Sun Yat-Sen`s monument and the 228 park. The YMCA offers the best Internet access. The best food is at Fisherman`s Wharf. Thanks Dad, for the fish soup and shrimpballs.
Osaka has a 173 meter building, which is actually more scary to we who fear heights. After about 25 floors, we suddenly look out a glass elevator, down at the city below. At 35 stories, we take a glass escalator up 5 more stories. The escalator is suspended between two towers of this building! Dad points out that my brother Rolland, who is not stupid, would not go down. (Actually, the down part turns out to be not as scary.)
The basement of the Osaka building serves excellent food. Dad is pleased that the facade of the restaurant has an "Old Main Street" style similar to how he remembers Otsu. The Shinkasen ride to Kyota, where we walk around the emperor`s grounds is another highlight.
I wonder why Dad interrupts the airline movie or paid Internet time to ask me rhetorical questions. Or, why does he tell me once more about Anita or Romania or the army?
But, as he leaves, the essence of his trip with me becomes obvious. He cares about me. So, Dad-- Thank you for visiting.
Dad has been with me for the last month. We met at Bangkok. Then, we went to Singapore, Jakarta, Taipei and Osaka. Mostly, we stayed in hostels. Dad thinks hostels are like the army. He served during peace-time, so this comment might mean that he likes hostels. (I am often not sure what he means, even though he says "good" and "bad" quite a bit.) I like hostels because I meet people, learn what others are enjoying, and because of the cost. For my dad and I, hostels give a another benefit. Others make us realize that neither of us is all that annoying.
In Taipei (our first hostel), we share a room with a man who turns off the air-conditioner each night, then opens the window. He might be comfortable, since his bed is next to the window, but the room becomes too warm for the rest of us. I feel it is too hot one morning at 5 a.m., so I shut the window and turn on the air-conditioner. It is my room, as much as his, after all. Dad comments on the nice breeze and on how well he slept that morning. I claim credit for the breeze. The open-window man elevates my status for the day.
Dad has a bad cough most all of the trip. Sometimes his foot or leg hurts. Walking too much is a point of contention. "David wears me out." In my defense, Dad never complains while walking, but only afterward, and getting out is as much driven by him as me. I learn that I have to sit down myself, then Dad will sit down. With the cough, I would be tired, too. The second half of his trip, we settle into a rhythm of doing one major thing per day, or maybe two smaller trips, and I try to make sure we stop before we are tired. This works better, except when we get lost. I assume Dad will live past 100 years.
A highlight is going to Otsu, where Dad served in the army fifty years ago. Lake Biwa looks nothing like what he remembers. The harbor area is much nicer. None of the old buildings still stand, not even the ten story department store with the mural of a horse. Now, buildings have a more modern style. Dad remembers bicycles and the odor of "honey dew" carts, which were pulled by water buffaloes. Now, everyone drives Toyotas. The standard of living here is higher than in the United States. Only the clouds look the same. A philosophical question: Is there a past?
In Taipei, we visited the tallest building in the world at 500 plus meters. The elevator goes up at 1010 meters per minute. We eat excellent Korean food in the basement. We also see the zoo, Sun Yat-Sen`s monument and the 228 park. The YMCA offers the best Internet access. The best food is at Fisherman`s Wharf. Thanks Dad, for the fish soup and shrimpballs.
Osaka has a 173 meter building, which is actually more scary to we who fear heights. After about 25 floors, we suddenly look out a glass elevator, down at the city below. At 35 stories, we take a glass escalator up 5 more stories. The escalator is suspended between two towers of this building! Dad points out that my brother Rolland, who is not stupid, would not go down. (Actually, the down part turns out to be not as scary.)
The basement of the Osaka building serves excellent food. Dad is pleased that the facade of the restaurant has an "Old Main Street" style similar to how he remembers Otsu. The Shinkasen ride to Kyota, where we walk around the emperor`s grounds is another highlight.
I wonder why Dad interrupts the airline movie or paid Internet time to ask me rhetorical questions. Or, why does he tell me once more about Anita or Romania or the army?
But, as he leaves, the essence of his trip with me becomes obvious. He cares about me. So, Dad-- Thank you for visiting.
Labels: travel
posted by David Rasmussen at 9:22 PM
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