A Tokyo Thanksgiving

My ears would not pop.
Aboard the bullet train to Kyoto, Japan, I urged my ears to cooperate and please, friggin pop! I'm not exactly sure how fast we're traveling aboard this sleek train that has the nose of a 747 jet yet stretches long like a NYC passenger train at rush hour. I'd guess somewhere around 150 mph. Mph doesn't mean much in Japan, but kilometers per hour doesn't mean much to me yet. I hope to learn to convert my American measurements to world standards, both for my sake and Mike's.
"How hot is 47 celsius?" he asked me from the shower room earlier this week. I call it the shower room because it's a separate room from the fancy Japanese toilet (the toilet that sprays clean water at your butt, blow dries, and then deodorizes it). The shower room comes equipped with its own steam, heating and cooling station, and self-filling tub. Mike was currently planning on trying out the self-filling tub which also heats itself. Catch is, you have to set the desired temperature. And fahrenheit ain't no good here.
"I have no idea," I called out as I ran out of the door to work.
Mike emailed an hour later to say he scalded himself and would remain indoors until his skin returned to normal from its current blistering red. I still don't know what 47 degrees celsius is, but I bet it's over 100 degrees.
Back to my ears aboard the bullet train... I thought that eating my lunch would help, but it didn't. Perhaps because my bento box had very little in it to actually chew. The food was beautiful... all colorful and shaped like little flowers and round balls. Not the sort of meal I'd ever eaten on Thanksgiving, but it certainly looked gorgeous! The soft veggies and tofu and rice did nothing to help alleviate the pressure in my head (or take care of my hunger). I held two fingers up to the train attendant pushing the small concessions stand through the aisle and pointed at the bottled, unsweeted, cold green teas. I hoped that by swallowing mass amounts of liquid, I'd unlodge my pesky ears. Unsweetened green tea, by the way, is kinda good cold if you expect it to totally suck. Mid-way through bottle two, they popped! And I finally began to enjoy the scenery whizzing by. I stared out of the window and saw for the first time, the majesty of Mount Fuji.
"This is where two samurai clans fought," explained Yoko. "It gets very, very cold here and snowy. It's known for how fierce the spirit of the samurai can be, in battle with each other and nature." Tom Cruise in 'The Last Samurai' flashed before my eyes, which is probably not what Yoko intended. Yoko got that calm, serious look in her face as she explained the samurai history. I like it when she takes on that teacher tone. It makes me feel like I'm back in school but with a way cooler instructor.
"Kyoto," Yoko said, "is the spiritual capitol of Japan. The Imperial family used to live here before the Edo era. There is much mysticism, religion and history here." I'd read about Kyoto in my 'Japan for Idiots' guide and looked forward to seeing any of it, especially the lush temples that cover the ancient city. Unfortunately, we were going to be rushing in and out of the city, because of our deadline. My story was to interview the Japanese stem cell researcher, the pioneer of the stem cells that don't use human embryos. I wasn't really looking forward to it. In past interviews, I found scientists to be unattractive lab rats who don't communicate well and have the emotional range of a toaster. I couldn't imagine my Japanese scientist would be any better, especially translated.
We got to Kyoto University and a young, good looking guy in a turtleneck greeted us.
"Hello," he said to me with crisp English, "I'm Professor Shinya Yamanaka."
"Hello!" I said a little too loudly and happily. The day was looking better and better. We sat down at his computer and Prof. Yamanaka began to tell me about all the emails that came in overnight. The grandfather of a 10 year old parapeligic, the wife of a parkinson's patient, a quadrapeligic... all hoping this man could play God and cure them.
"I tell them, I'm trying. I'm really trying. Please try and wait."
"How do you tell someone who is searching for hope to wait?" I asked him.
"It's so hard," he said, "it is so hard." Prof. Yamanaka's head bent down from exhaustion, his 16 hours in the lab visible suddenly on his young face. It was the best interview I'd ever had with a scientist.
Back on the bullet train, Yoko handed me another bento-type box. There were eight little balls inside of tofu-looking veggie things. They were a little mushy but helped quiet the growling in my belly. My ears popped quickly this time as the bullet train picked up speed toward Tokyo. And I remembered again that today is Thanksgiving. I picked up the final mushy ball and stuck it in my mouth. What I wouldn't give for a full turkey meal shared with Mike and the family... But I can't say I'd change much more about this day.