Jackie makes me laugh. She is a fabulous writer and I am lazy so, please enjoy her blog:

"Who was I to question the guidebook? I had never expected to find monkeys in Tokyo-but there it was "Nikko National Park, 2 hours outside of Tokyo, filled with wild monkeys." Naturally, following the short description of the park's shrines, temples, and hiking trails was a list of cautionary guidelines: Don't touch the monkeys. Don't feed the monkeys. Don't approach the monkeys. Don't provoke the monkeys. Mrs. Kimura (the mother of the family we were staying with) was quick to agree, noting that "monkeys can be very dangerous" and rattling off a long list of monkey-instigated destruction stories. "They break into stores!" she exclaimed; "they'll jump right into your car-and they Bite!" Absorbed in paper-crane folding, we disregarded her warnings. Though an excellent cook and wonderful hostess, she's probably just not good with monkeys, I thought. Before heading to bed, I grabbed a bunch of bananas off the kitchen table...We rose bright and early the next morning, folding our Japanese-style beds and stashing them in the closet. After a quick breakfast of salmon, soup, bread, and salad with eggs, we set off for the train station.

Though I have (semi-successfully) navigated metro systems in Buenos Aires, DC, and New York, among other places, I was perpetually lost during our week in Tokyo. While most cities are content with 8 or 10 rainbow-colored metro lines, Tokyo has at least 25. Since there are not really 25 distinct colors, some of the lines are "dark red", while others are sort of a "fire-engine red", and others more of a "reddish-pink." Our conversations frequently included in-depth discussion of the nuances of color-Cammie: "I think we should take the light green to the medium blue, and then dark gray."Me: "You mean medium green. Isn't that light gray?" We did meet some interesting characters on the metro...a man from Egypt worked up the nerve to approach us during rush hour, after silently observing us from the corner of the car for awhile. "I am Ahamed! I am an engineer!" he announced. Surrounding passengers, politely Japanese, tried to maneuver away from the loud foreigners in the middle of the car. "I am from Egypt!" he stated at an even higher volume. "Have you boyfriend?" His face came closer to mine. The car was now packed full, making it impossible to back up any further. "Maybe you will come to Egypt," he pondered. "Then, you stay at my house." It was a statement, not a question. He looked pointedly at both of us. "Where go you now? I am free tomorrow." "But don't you have to work?" I reminded him."It's Saturday!" he roared, gleeful. "Where go you now?"Fortunately, our stop was just ahead. Cammie, who had taken a sudden interest in the floor and walls of the metro car, was leaving me to repel the Egyptian single-handedly. We waited until the doors were just about to close, than darted out onto our station platform. We turned to look back through the train windows, smiling goodbye.

In any case, we survived all of our metro experiences, including the ride to the Nikko-bound train. As we neared Nikko, the landscape changed-from ritzy Starbucks-filled neighborhoods and edgy shopping and nightlife districts to small farms, dirt roads, and fall leaves, pine-covered mountains in the distance. The air (though cleaner than China even in the heart of Tokyo) smelled different, fresher. I pressed my face to the train window, scanning the trees for...monkeys.After attempting to buy tickets to any and all of the shrines and temples in the park, which by this point in the day were all closing, (we were sent from one ticket window to the next-"No, you must buy these down the hill. No, you should exchange your tickets at the top of the hill," etc.etc. until everything was pretty much closed) we decided to pick a hiking trail and get down to business-monkey hunting. (Fortunately-we did get to see the original monkey-themed "See no evil/hear no evil/speak no evil" carving.) As we began our ascent up the mountain, I carefully removed a banana from the backpack, peeled it, and waved it around. We passed the Vegas Buddha. "Monkeeeyyyyss!" we called. We even tried making monkey noises. I was waiting to be approached, mauled, attacked even. Where were these aggressive, vicious creatures that the guidebook had warned us about? Not even a movement in the trees. Since it was now growing dark, we reluctantly returned to the main road and set off to find a place for dinner. As we boarded the train for home (refreshingly engineer-free) I swear I could hear monkeys laughing in the distance...."