Guide_#4. Kazunori Maeda is a balding gentleman
with rimmed eyeglasses. I met him when he fetched me for the first time at the courtyard
of my hotel. He stood erect in his black coat and immediately offered a smile
as I walk past the sliding glass door, as if to say he knew I am the party he
was waiting for, even if he did not care to bring out the guest name flashcard.
He was there at the exact call time of 10:00 AM, although I suspect he came much earlier.
His shiny high-roofed black van was on top of the queue of cars on the street waiting
to pick up guests, since the courtyard itself was blocked-off from parking.
This is Japan and the narrow streets are utilized very efficiently through
discipline in parking.
“Good morning. I am Kazunori Maeda. Please call me Nori.” These
were his first words as he bowed a bit, but when I offered my hand, he returned
a firm handshake. He stood by the van’s left side as he opened the automatic
door to usher me in, but when I asked if I can sit beside the driver’s seat, he
hurried to remove a few items on top of it. He then proceeded to the driver’s
seat, which by the way is on the right side of every car here in Japan. He put
on his white gloves in this very cold autumn morning, set the car’s GPS to our
destination, and we are on our way.
We started our drive from Osaka to Kyoto with small talk, but
this soon evolved into real friends’ conversation. His English is impeccable, for
the clarity of pronunciation, its grammar, and the ease of usage, which is not
book-formal, but rather street-conversational. I said the mental image I have
of him is that of a UN translator, because in the few times I’ve seen them on
TV, they are able to soon translate just as the speaker pauses, with barely a
lag. Nori politely demurred, saying he still has to process in his mind what he
wants to say before actually speaking it. I told him I guess this is true for every
person that speaks English as a second language.
Our first stop is at the Bamboo Forest. It was a long walk
through Kyoto’s awesome nature environment, now enveloped in autumn’s fantastic
colors of yellow, red, orange and brown. This was only contrasted by the seemingly
perennial green of the bamboo plants. As we walked, we fascinated each other
with our life stories. Nori has only 1 kid, a daughter, still single at 32, who
finished school in Canada. University in Japan is quite expensive, and may cost
more than 1M yen without assistance, like
athletic or academic subsidies. His wife is semi-retired and the 3
of them stay together, although no one is left in the house when all of them go
out to work.
Nori was surprised to know that I have 5 Samurai
ō-yoroi armor collection, each about 3 feet tall, all either glass or
black box-encased; that I have an authentic single-edged blade katana (samurai sword) whose
tsuba (circular guard on the grip), had a family crest; and that I read a lot
on Japanese culture. We talked of the traits I admired most, such as
discipline, punctuality, and service above self. We talked of the Japanese
soldier Onoda, who hid in the Philippine jungles of Lubang island, did not know
the war was over, and surrended only several decades after, when his superior
officer was fetched in Japan to order him to do so.
Nori took me to have lunch at Sinkuyo Restaurant. It was a
traditional meal of steamed tofu, fish cake,
vegetables and seaweed soup served in mini stoves. The main course was various
sashimi sliced thinly. I was adamant in requesting him to join me. But he
politely declined my invitation with a smile and the greatest excuse of all: “My
wife prepared lunch for me.”
We toured several other places in Kyoto and
Nara. The Gold Temple and the Deer Farm. For me it was mostly walking and
experiencing nature and contemplating. But soon it was dusk and it was time to
go back to my hotel. As we exited the 5.5-kilometer long tunnel that separates
Kyoto and Ozaka, Nori smiled and quietly asked me: “Are you Japanese? You know
a lot about my country.” I accepted this greatest of compliments with a smile
and quietly settled on my seat.
It was dark when we reached Ozaka but there
was 1 last stop on the itenerary at his car’s clipboard, the Komehyo, a
favorite of tourists for selling branded bags and jewelry. “I have written 5
shops in the area of your hotel that has Komehyo.” As I alighted from his van, he
gave me the list, which to me appears written flawlessly in both English and
Japanese characters. I immediately handed him the dollar bills in my pocket
that I had prepared much earlier. Again, just as he had politely declined my
invitation for lunch, he is now politely declining the tip I had attempted to inconspicuously
put in his pocket. He bowed slightly and said: “Please Don’t.”
Nori is now 62 years old. However, I can sum up his life’s
narrative in a simple timeline: after university, he worked 10 years for a freight
handling company in Japan; in 1978 he worked for 2 years in Kuwait and Iraq doing
inventory, at a time when Iran and Iraq were at war; he went back to Japan and
worked for 20 years in a tent equipment company; he is now about 8 years into
his job as a Tour Guide. Here he found great satisfaction in meeting and talking to people.
How fast time flies. I thought to myself: ‘what is the one
word that can best describe this man’s life?’ If I should find one word, the
most appropriate to describe Nori's life would be “CONTENTMENT”.
But really, in the silence of our
thoughts, we each have a tendency to compare our life’s journey with others,
especially those we admire. So in a moment of silence, I bowed my head and
prayed: “Lord, let my life be one of contentment. Amen.”
