Butterfly Feet

My shoes are worn, my toes are calloused and blistered, and my legs are aching. It’s been a long three weeks, but I’ve never been so happy and I’ve never slept so well. Even now, as I venture past the shrines and shops of Kyoto, my mind keeps wandering back to a quote I saw written on the wall of a shop in Harajuku, many weeks ago:

”Did you know butterflies taste with their feet?”

I’m sure it was only there for fashionably random ambiance, but a deeper meaning has stuck with me this entire trip (and don’t worry, I’m not about to get all philosophical here).

Japan, specifically Tokyo, is best discovered on foot. From the first day on this trip, I have walked until my feet felt like shriveling up and my legs burned like they were immersed in a vat of acid. My friends and I stumbled over other fashion-seekers in the packed streets of Harajuku, sprinted, laughing, from Yoyogi to the dorms to meet curfew (with one minute to spare), jogged down the stairs of the subway stations, padded quietly through shrines and temples, danced happily on wooded paths and ride paddy trails, tripped out of the way of cyclists and cars in the narrow, sidewalk-less streets, and ran down the halls of our dorms, shouting silly things and crying about our inevitable departure from this wonderful place.

Sure, I’ve traveled by train and subway and bus and car while here, but those were not memorable experiences. The traffic is horrible and the streets are thin and the view from the subway is atrocious. After the first time, the novelty of these experiences wears off. But walking never gets old. There is always a new detail to see, an interesting person to talk to, a poorly-worded sign to mock, a bird to chase. There are songs to sing and stories to tell and even though it can be tiring, walking stretches out our desk-cramped legs quite nicely. You can’t buy ice-cream crepes from a vendor on a bus. You can’t listen to a rag-tag hippie band on a train. And you most certainly can’t stop and window-shop by car.

So, yeah, it’s totemo atsui (very hot) here, but we have fans and water and besides whining can be fun when you walk to Shinjuku with your friends. It starts up conversation and funny stories about pools and sunburns and suddenly you forget the air is like a sauna. Everybody is sweaty anyways, so you don’t feel alone and gross, and once you see the oishii (delicious) udon shop ahead, all thoughts of sore feet and sticky necks are gone. Besides, to quote one of the other students here, “It builds character.”

Normally, I wouldn’t compare myself to a butterfly (if you look up “grace” in the dictionary, you’ll find my name in the antonym list), but here, in Tokyo and Kyoto, I feel like one. I can’t fly, and I’m too sweaty to be anywhere near pretty, but with my clumsy, gawky feet I have tasted the culture of Japan.

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