box of Jack

Japan has pretty sophisticated public transport. In Kyoto’s bus system, we enter via the rear door (stop giggling) and we take a ticket that proves which section/zone/whatever we boarded at. At the front of the bus, there is an electronic signboard that tells you how much you should pay depending on where you got on and how far the bus has traveled. You need to pay in exact change but there is a change machine for you to use and maybe it uses the coins that people have already paid with so, really, you’re doing the bus service a favor when you swap your big money for their little money.

So, it’s been a long day traveling from Oji to Nara to Kyoto. Our group of six has reunited at Kyoto station with luggage in hand and we need to catch a bus about 40 minutes away to the guesthouse we are staying at on the outskirts of the city.

After figuring out which bus and memorizing the kanji (and pronunciation) of the stop we need to get to, all six of us pile on to a crowded bus with our luggage. The other passengers don’t seem too irked by our huge bags. Maybe because they’re too polite to show it or maybe because they’re used to being crowded and today they’re happy just to have any breathing room at all.

This was the street she dutifully led us down. Six complete strangers. At night. In heels.

When we arrive at our stop, it’s obvious we don’t know our bearings. We have a crudely drawn map but the landmarks aren’t clearly visible and we don’t know which side of the road we are on. I make my usual assertions about my spidey sense but it looks like our loud, crude arguing has caught the attention of a lady at the bus stop and she glances over at us with curiosity. Hui-Ai grabbed the map and showed it to her and she started reading over it intently and uttering a few, hesitant words of English.

A bus pulled up to the stop; we pointed at it and wondered aloud if she needed to catch this. She followed our gaze, looked back at us and shook her head briefly. Without another word, she started walking away and motioned for us to follow. We hemmed and hawed but we did not have the linguistic capacity to tell her that we were ok with just directions, we didn’t want to trouble her and that it’s dark and cold and we’re creepy Australian travelers.

So, we just followed quietly. Past the closing French restaurant. Past the too-quiet intersection with the convenience store across the way. Past the curry restaurant and into the dimly lit residential alleys. Click clack, her heels rang out. Grumble grumble was the resonating echo of our luggage wheels grinding against the asphalt. I scoured my brain for Japanese vocabulary and managed to muster a polite, “You’ve been a great help!” to which she modestly denied with a sincere smile.

When we got to our destination, our group exploded into a pile of overlapping arigato’s and bows. Humbly accepting our thanks and thinking nothing of it, she disappeared into the night.