As I stood in the bathroom at 3am stamping my feet to try and get my Restless Legs to go away, I noticed the labels on Lynn’s toiletries.

While I respect all countries’ national pride, does every EU country really have to have precautions about not using more than a pea-sized dab of toothpaste provided in their own language on the back of toothpaste tubes?  Is the swallowing of too much toothpaste a menace to global health?

This is probably one of the things that drives Brexiteers crazy.  Brexit—Britain’s exit from the European Union.

In the US, we have watched, enthralled and horrified, as the country of our mother tongue and many of our ancestors rips itself apart in a very undignified, un-British manner. I imagined some Leaver—as Brexit advocates are called—standing in his tiny damp English loo right now, glaring at his toothpaste tube and muttering, “Bloody bureaucrats in Brussels ….”

—

The day was hot and humid again.  Lynn and I walked to the shopping district for one of our favorite travel activities, shopping.  We usually have some item in mind we want to buy as a gift. Something that provides the excuse to go shopping. I was looking for a knife for Vince, and Lynn wanted sake for Richard.  But the purpose of shopping was really to experience what stores and products were like in another country. We hardly ever end up buying what we are purportedly looking for, and almost always buy something we didn’t know existed until we saw it on a shelf.

Here are some sights we saw along the way.  This sign, advertising “Rojetta by Snob.”

I hope it’s a bad translation and someone’s name isn’t actually Snob.

Samurai movie posters.

Me with the Japan Rail mascot, I think.  It must have been 100 degrees Fahrenheit inside that costume.

This lovely deco building was kitty corner from Takashimaya, our destination department store.

Takashimaya is like Harrods’ in London or KaDeWe in Berlin—floor after floor of luxury goods you cannot afford.  But Takashimaya also had quotidian items like slippers and housedresses.

There were sections of tea pots and chop sticks.  I didn’t get too close with my camera because no one but me thought this was remarkable.

The sweets section was so vast I had a moment of panic thinking we wouldn’t be able to find our way out of it.

We spent most of our time in the packaged foods section.  Beans were big.

So were dried fish.  Please never buy Manta Ray fins.  The way they are harvested is barbaric.

I bought bonito flakes, red beans, and burdock root, which Taro had told us is referred to as “no doctor” root because of its medicinal properties.

Outside, there were flocks of young people—Japanese? Chinese? Korean?—dressed as geishas and snapping selfies.  It must be fun to come to Kyoto for the weekend and play dress up.

What, exactly, are geisha?  I went through a geisha phase a few years ago.  I read the 1997 bestseller “Memoirs of a Geisha,” by Arthur Golden, a white man born in Tennessee.  I read the 2002 memoir, “Geisha, A Life,” by Mineko Iwasaki, an actual geisha active in Kyoto in the 60s and 70s.  Golden’s novel was supposed to be based on her life; he interviewed her but apparently she was dissatisfied with his rendition and her book is meant to set the record straight.  Her book is heartbreaking and intriguing for what she implies but doesn’t say directly.

We were off to spend the afternoon at the Yasaka Jinga Shrine.  Or was it the Chion-in Temple?  Or the Shoren-in Temple? They’re all part of the same large complex.  We stopped to refresh ourselves at a café near the entry gate.

I’ll tell you this for free—burdock root may have medicinal properties but it is not a good substitute for French fries.  We sat gnawing on burdock fries washed down with non-alcoholic beers, then sauntered on.

Timing is everything.  If we had had regular fries we might have missed seeing this Shinto wedding.  The large hat covers the bride’s horns. Yes, horns.  You know us women, we’re devilish like that.