As the class ended, I gazed at my classmates’ faces and I was so proud of them. Here was a cross section of the Christian world --- men, women, young, old, with different ethnicities --- who have dedicated several hours each month to learn why and how to fix the human condition.

I can only guess what’s happening. Since a majority of westerners roll in and order something like the stock Jasmine tea in a box—the generic uncreative stuff—maybe she assumes I’m a different kind of customer, that is, one who at least knows pu’erh, one who has a preference. As my wannabe Zappa-turned-Kerouac self sits there scribbling in my notebook and scarfing the pumpkin seed candy, there’s nothing for her, or me, to be confused about. By now, the pu’erh has elicited serenity of the utmost sort.

It is not often that a toilet and a tea ceremony form perfect metaphors for the culture of a country, but so it is in Japan. The toilet falls into the realm of delightful personal discoveries – albeit all of them in the hotel bathroom of the Kyoto Park Hotel.