Vignette: Lost in Kyoto

Finding Connection Under a Shared Umbrella's Shelter.

I'm staring at the map, trying to locate the Ryokan.

My luggage sits on the ground beside me in a narrow alley as twilight descends.

I'm exhausted—the kind of tiredness that muddles your thoughts and makes you snap at the slightest provocation. It's not the state of mind you want when visiting Kyoto, one of the world's most magnificent cities, while on vacation attempting to absorb some Zen.

As I scrutinize the map, I feel my frustration and anger rising. I move away from the alley and turn onto a more commercial street when I feel it: pop, pop, pop, pop. It's starting to rain, and I still can't make sense of this map.

The rain intensifies—popopopoppopop—and I seek shelter under a balcony, thoroughly annoyed.

The street, despite my mood, is beautiful. It smells of flowers and ramen, with a small joint in the corner that makes my stomach growl in protest—I haven't eaten since last night.

I spot someone cycling through the street with an umbrella. It's a middle-aged man, elegant in traditional Japanese clothing, gliding effortlessly and looking content despite the downpour.

I glance at the map again. Nothing. I decide to wait for the rain to subside, as it's coming down heavily now.

As the cyclist passes, he slows down and stops. He leans his bike against the wall, takes his umbrella, and approaches me.

"What is he doing?" I wonder.

The cyclist speaks. "You lost?" A radiant smile appears on his face. Suspicious by nature, I keep my answer short. "Yes."

"I help?" the cyclist offers in broken English. My defenses lower.

"That would be great," I reply, handing him the address of the Ryokan. He looks at it and pronounces the name in Japanese. "Ohhhh," he says, in that distinctive way only Japanese people can. "Come, come. What name?" he asks.

"Huh?" I respond, still confused by the situation.

He points at me. "Name?"

"Ah! My name is Juan. What's yours?" I ask, pointing at him.

"Ah, Juan-San!" He bows, then replies, "Hiroshi."

"Nice to meet you, Hiroshi."

He takes the map, points to the Ryokan's location, opens the umbrella to cover me from the rain, and says, "Juan-San, come."

We walk together, with Hiroshi getting soaked. I try to tell him he should take the umbrella, but he refuses with a smile.

We take some shortcuts through small alleys, and after about ten minutes, we finally reach the Ryokan.

Kyoto, 2012. Photo: MrKeena

Hiroshi says the name of the Ryokan and points at the door with a smile, completely drenched.

I'm so moved that my first impulse is to hug him, but I remember this isn't customary in Japan. Instead, I say, "Arigato, Hiroshi-San."

His smile widens when he hears these words in my rudimentary Japanese.

Hiroshi bows twice, almost touching his head to the ground, and disappears into the rain.