1 post tagged “bristol”
"Stay off that bloody loo before you hurt yourself," Oliver said rolling his eyes.
"Whatever!” I said like a sixteen year old as I ran into the bathroom almost tripping over my kimono robe.
This wasn’t your regular toilet. This was the Toto Ultramax with S400 Washlet and the centerpiece of our bathroom at the Shinjuku Hilton in Tokyo. I plopped down on my throne and picked up the wireless remote with large LCD screen. I scrolled down the menu still amazed even after two straight weeks of experimenting with all the options. Adjustable water temperature for rinsing, volume to cover embarrassing noises, a warm air dryer with three variable temperature settings and an automatic air purifier all made going to the bathroom a trip to remember.
“Oi! Are you done having a slash in there?” asked Oliver, his British accent cutting through the sound of the toilet’s bird chirping soundtrack. “The Shinkansen leaves in two hours.”
The British accent used to conjure up images of James Bond and Masterpiece Theatre. Instead, I felt like I was trapped in Monty Python, which usually resulted in me screaming in my thickest New York accent, “What on earth are you saying?” I had been living with Oliver in Bristol, England for almost six months and had been dating him for well over a year, but still I had trouble remembering slash meant taking a pee.
“We’ll be there! We’ve got plenty of time,” I yelled over the whirl of the gentle aerated, warm water, dual action spray with massage features.
This was going to be my last session for several weeks. I closed my eyes savoring the warm air drying my underside. Oliver and I were leaving the splendor of this Western business hotel and heading north to experience Ryokan living. Basically, we were trading in comfy pillow top beds, fresh linens and of course the Toto Ultramax for shoji screens, tatatmi mats and good ol’ Charmin or worse rough squares of tissues. Leaving Tokyo had been my idea. Before we left England, I thought it would brilliant (I was picking up Brit Speak) to travel over Oliver’s two-week break in between tech conferences, but right now I wasn’t feeling like a genius. I wanted to keep staying in the big city. Even though I only left New York six months earlier, I missed the action. Tokyo had a similar vibe and I loved exploring its streets. While Oliver was at meetings I roamed through the city’s wards. I did the typical tourist stuff like museums, Buddhist and Shinto temples and whatever else the guidebook suggested, but what I loved most was eating and people watching. I couldn’t get enough of the fried noodles I bought from street carts. There was one outside the hotel that had a little bar and stools right on the sidewalk. Whenever I ate there I felt like I was in Bladerunner. In the evening, the wrinkly old cook would serve me up some shumai that I ordered from a picture menu. While I popped the shrimp dumplings into my mouth I watched teens practice their synchronized dance routines using the lobby windows of nearby skyscrapers as mirrors. My other favorite spot was a soup place not far from Harajuku Bridge where I’d sit and stare at teens standing around dressed as babies, Barbie, or in bizarre Goth costumes. It was like everyday was Halloween for these kids and I loved it. Would this stuff be in the country or was I going to go through urban withdrawal again?
“Get off the damn bog!” Olivers screamed.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I yelled back.
I hopped off and stared longingly at the S400. I would’ve done the sign of the cross as I prayed to God to let me return soon, but I was a Jew. Instead, I said Hebrew that I remembered from my Bat Mitzvah eleven years earlier. If I weren’t out of there soon, Oliver would kill me. He was getting antsy. He liked to be super early for everything, which I attributed to his PhD in physics and that he was twelve years older. I on the other hand, showed up at the last minute for everything and had no graduate degrees.
I pulled on my jeans expecting them to slide right over my thighs with no problem as they did when I wore them a week ago. This did not happened. Instead, I struggled to get them up over my ass and once zipped my once slim torso muffin-topped over my waistband.
“Oliver! Oh my god, do you think the hotel laundry shrank my jeans?” I asked storming out of the bathroom holding my shirt up so he could see the damage.
“Looks like you’ve done too good of a job lapping up all that udon soup and greasy meat.”
“I know, I know, but it was so amazing to finally find a place in this world where slurping soup as loud as possible is encouraged,” I said doing squats around the room.
“This isn’t working, these babies are cutting off my circulation. I need to change.”
“Too late Chunky Monkey, the luggage is already downstairs. Come on!”
I waddled after him taking one last gaze at the Ultramax on my way out of the door.
“Hey do you think we have time to grab some noodles?”
Part 2 coming soon....
