House of Red Leaves

Posted on 10/11/2014 by Luke

There is a famous phrase in Japan, ‘You haven’t seen real beauty until you’ve seen Nikko.’ So far on this trip, I haven’t really seen a thing. Only darkness. I wake up at 9 a.m., and the first thing I do is take a look at the view from the ryokan window. No skyscrapers here, only mountains and sky.

Outside, the air is clean, and a reasonable 20°C, so I take one last soak in the outdoor onsen before paying for the room and leaving. I realise once I am all the way at the bus stop that I’ve forgotten to pay for my ice cream. The bus stop tells me I have half an hour before the next bus, so I decide to explore the Yumoto Onsen area.

Despite this being the highest point in these mountains that the bus chooses to stop, and at an altitude of 1,475 metres, there is a huge natural lake up here. Lake Yunoko, translating to mean, ‘Hot Water Lake.’ The lake sits almost completely still. Formed twenty thousand years ago when a nearby volcano erupted, the lake is a nesting ground for wild ducks. A sign beside the lake says that ‘fresh’ landlocked sockeye salmon and rainbow trout swim in these waters.

I take a wander around the water. At the south end, a waterfall; at the north, the view is somewhat ruined by a construction team nestled at the edge of the lake. It isn’t quite clear what they are actually doing, other than making noise and ruining the otherwise peaceful scene.

My bus eventually arrives. The elderly residents use their hand on the Suica card machine instead of actually scanning their cards. Presumably, they don’t have electronic cards on the mountain, and by the looks of it, they get to travel on the route bus free of charge.

The bus swings back down the mountain, passing impressive scenery. Mountains sit quietly in the distance, the view very much different from the journey yesterday. Toward the bottom of the bus route, I see some interesting red leaves, so decide to hop off.

“Koyo” refers to the colourful autumn leaves in Japan. They spread across the country starting from the north and moving south. This process takes about two months and is known as the koyo front. Almost completely opposite to cherry blossom season, but getting equally as popular, people come to areas of nature such as Nikko to view these leaves in the autumn.

Beside the area of red leaves, I see a sign for a World Heritage Site, Toshogu Shrine. The shrine is the place where Tokugawa Shogunate founder, Tokugawa Ieyasu, is enshrined. It was built on his orders and used as his hideaway, and I can see why he chose this area. The view from the entrance to the shrine is an impressive mix of mountains and wildlife, the perfect place for a military leader to spend his free time.

Inside the temple grounds is the origin of a Buddhist proverb about not dwelling on evil thoughts. A statue of the three wise monkeys, Mizaru, Kikazaru, and Iwazaru, sits over the shrine. The proverb is rather well-known and translates to, ‘See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.’

At the entrance to the temple grounds sits the five-storey Gojunoto Pagoda. A sign beside the pagoda tells me that the structure is the same height as Tokyo Skytree. I think this is a translation issue, as this pagoda is a mere 36 metres tall, whereas Tokyo Skytree is an impressive 634 metres tall.

What I think is meant by the sign is that the elevation here is 598 metres, meaning that the roof of the pagoda is at the same elevation as Tokyo Skytree. Perhaps this is merely a coincidence, but I would guess that Tokyo Skytree was built at this specific height so that it shares the same point in the sky as this famous pagoda.

After visiting the temples, I take a wander around the Nikko area. I see a shop selling ‘Heritage Nikko Cheese Egg,’ and would be a fool to pass up on the opportunity to eat a Cheese Egg. It costs just ¥100, and completely shatters my ignorant assumption that the Cheese Egg would contain at least one of the two ingredients in its name. Instead, I find myself eating a bland, tasteless cake. The primary flavour: disappointment.

I continue my wander and spot a cigarette machine with some advertising above it that would never be allowed in England.

I make my way back toward Nikko Station. The area around the station has a selection of small shops all selling exactly the same things—souvenirs. Other shops sell more souvenirs, and more shops sell the same souvenirs as the other twenty shops. The stallholders here are cashing in on a popular Japanese custom, omiyage. In Japan, when you visit another region, you are expected to buy souvenirs for everyone else who couldn’t make the trip. So for me, I have to buy everyone I know a gift.

Wishing I had purchased Cheese Eggs for all, I instead opt for a relatively pricey box of Strawberry Pie. I chose this gift because I enjoyed the English text; it reads: ‘Plenty of choice of strawberry red, so happy tea time we can enjoy this strawberry pie.’ Whatever that means.

After shopping, I wave goodbye to Nikko from the train station platform; the view of Mount Nantai in the distance is simply stunning.

From the train, I watch the mountains disappear. A thrilling two-hour journey to Ueno awaits, then it is back to the chaos of Tokyo.

On the Other Side of the Mountain

Posted on 08/11/2014 by Luke

Today, I am exactly halfway through my trip. To celebrate, I have decided to take a break from city life and booked a night at a Japanese inn, known as a ryokan. It is situated in the middle of the mountains in a place called Nikko, in Tochigi Prefecture. My plan for the next few days is to experience a more traditional side of Japan.

From Asakusa, I pay ¥2390 for an express train taking 140 minutes. At Shimo-imaichi Station, I have to change to a dreaded local train. On the platform, I wear a short-sleeved shirt. A Japanese man says to his friend, “Look at that guy; he must be freezing!” I admit, it is a little cooler than Tokyo, but I only have to wait two minutes at the cold station platform. I eventually get on the local train. It sounds like a roller coaster as it claws its way up the mountainous tracks. The train’s only luxury is its heated seats; they make the whole train smell like the inside of a giant hairdryer. Five minutes later, I arrive at Tobu-Nikko Station.

I head out of the station and onto an old bus; the transport on this trip is getting progressively worse. The place I am staying tonight is at Yumoto Onsen; ninety minutes from Nikko Station and some 185 kilometres north of Tokyo. It’s just gone five, but the sun is no longer visible. The bus crawls through the darkness. A warning says, ‘Hold onto the handrail as the bus will sway from side to side as it makes its ascent.’

The bus eventually arrives at my stop, the last stop. I pay ¥1700. This is also the last bus. I am trapped up here now; no coming back. Outside, it is freezing cold—the coldest I have been since leaving England. Luckily, at the bus stop, I am greeted by warm smiles. A Japanese woman with a sign is waiting for me. We head to her car, and she drives me thirty seconds to the place I will spend the night

Inside the ryokan, she takes me to my room—the biggest room I have stayed in since being in Japan, spacious and warm. It has a massive double futon laid out, and a table of equal size. The woman starts by preparing me a hot cup of green tea before leaving to prepare my dinner. I get dressed into my yukata, carefully ensuring I cross it left over right; crossing it the other way is how the dead are dressed at funerals, and I am not dead. I also make sure to tie the bow behind me; a bow at the front is how prostitutes dress.

At 7 p.m., the woman comes back into my room to serve me dinner.

My food consists of buttered trout, salmon, vegetable tempura with natural salt, radish, simmered sesame tofu, lotus root, miso gratin with cabbage, yuzu pepper salad, grilled eggplant, fried tofu, boiled tofu in a soy milk pot with mushrooms, rice, a selection of vegetables, a selection of pickles, and a couple of things I can’t identify. The entire meal is pescatarian, and all the food is of the highest standard. I don’t usually like tofu, but up here, it is made from the cleanest of mountain water and tastes phenomenal.

After a while, the woman comes back into my room to clear and clean the table before bringing me dessert. In comparison to the huge dinner, my dessert is somewhat anticlimactic.

I help myself to a couple of the complimentary bottles of Autumn edition beer before deciding to take a dip in the hot springs. I book the outdoor onsen for forty-five minutes. Outside, there is not a single sound. The stars are out. Mountains loom in the distance. The contrast of boiling hot water mixing with the cold winter air is wonderful and relaxing. After my time is up, I head indoors to onsen number two.

The indoor onsen doesn’t offer a window, so there isn’t much of a view. It is a rather lonely experience. After I get out, I take a shower. It is etiquette in Japan to shower before and after getting into a hot spring bath, so this is actually my fourth shower this evening. I notice weighing scales in the changing room; I haven’t weighed myself since before I came to Japan. After a massive meal and a not-so-massive dessert, I am surprised to discover that I am 7kg lighter than when I arrived in this country.

Back in my room and with kilogrammes to gain, I decide that the perfect way to cool off is with a delicious tub of homemade cream cheese and alcohol-flavoured ice cream. Sulphur from the onsen taints the experience slightly, the smell of rotten eggs lingering in the room.

I sip quietly on complimentary beers with the window wide open, wrapped up in my traditional Japanese clothing. The clean cold air is nothing more than a fresh distraction to the silence that engulfs me. Outside, the only thing I can see is hot smoke billowing from the many hot spring baths and the dark outline of mountains in the distance.

Necks, Lights, and Video Ape

Posted on 04/11/2014 by Luke

Culture Day is held on the 3rd of November every year. It is an event to promote the arts and Japanese culture. Introduced in 1948, Culture Day is a public holiday. On this day, the people of Japan have a day off from work, and events will take place throughout Tokyo. An interesting fact I have learned is that it never rains on Culture Day; statistically, it is the clearest day of the year.

Outside, it is raining. I decide to head to Seven Eleven to buy a coffee. At the checkout, I am asked to place my hand in a box. I pull out a small piece of paper with a picture of a banana on it. Great! I’ve won a banana. This is quite possibly the best thing that will happen to me all day. I take my bicycle and head over to Asakusa, to Senso-ji. Today, I am here to satisfy my heron addiction. At the temple, the rain has all but stopped, and the crowds are slightly larger than usual. People on holiday have flocked to the temple to see the festival.

Today marks the White Heron Dance festival, a one-thousand-year-old tradition. The event features eight women dressed as herons, gracefully making their way through Kaminarimon Gate toward the main temple. Following closely behind them is a small wooden cart, accompanied by drummers, a man carrying a huge umbrella, three percussionists, and another man with a baton. Additionally, a woman carries a box full of confetti.

The procession sets up just beside the temple, and a huge crowd of people forms a circle, watching attentively. The music starts, and the heron dance begins. The women move with elegance, their dance slow and precise. Wings expand and contract, and heron heads bob gracefully. The woman with the confetti tosses it to the birds, and they pretend to be fed. As the dance draws to a close, its cleansing ability purifies the souls of the deceased.

After the event, I decide to explore a little. At the small nearby Awashi-do Temple, a monk sits chanting and hitting a drum every second. He maintains a steady, practiced rhythm and doesn’t appear to blink. Just outside, at a market stall, a man sits in a chair, waving his hands from side to side and singing, “Nice to meet you, where are you from?” I tell him England. “Aaaaah, Englandooo, Englandooo!” he joyfully sings.

As I wander around to see if any other Culture Day events are taking place, I stumble upon a small stage hidden away in one corner of the temple grounds—and a monkey.

As I explore further, I discover not just one, but two monkeys. The first, accompanied by a man, showcases its natural ability to dive through hoops. The second monkey, with a woman, possesses impressive skills — it can jump really far, leap over hurdles whilst wearing stilts, and even walk on its hands. I applaud the performance, though I can’t help but question the potential cruelty involved. In an attempt to pay it forward, I give away the banana I won earlier.

I leave Asakusa and head over to Ueno Park to enjoy some light art. Today, the park is adorned with illuminations created by Ishii Motoko, the woman behind the lighting designs for Tokyo Tower, the Rainbow Bridge to Odaiba, and many other projects throughout Japan.

The water fountains are lit up, and the sky is filled with colours from lasers projected from a small lighting booth. The Tokyo National Museum has transformed into a whiteboard for projected images; arts, antiques, and artefacts housed in the museum are displayed in full colour across one of its walls. Lanterns line the paths, and small stalls are set up, selling meat, sweets, fruits, and assorted Japanese snacks.

Similar to the other events today, this festival also showcases animals. Scattered throughout the park are many animals from Ueno Zoo, adorned with fairy lights. A significant effort has been put into this, making the festival a lot of fun. However, at times, it does feel like I am at a premature Christmas market.

I learn that in the past, this day was a public holiday celebrating the birthday of the Meiji Emperor, who was the first person to eat meat in Japan back in 1872. After his death in 1912, the day ceased to be a public holiday until it was reinstated in 1948 as Culture Day. Interestingly, a significant aspect of Japanese culture today involves the consumption of animals, which might explain why every event I have visited today has some sort of animal theme.

I head back toward the water fountains, where a stage has been erected. It’s only quarter to six, and the park is bustling with parents and young children. On stage, a woman is dancing with a pole. The pole dancing eventually concludes, and a drum kit is set up. The band is scheduled to perform at 6 p.m., but at five minutes past, there is still no sign of a performance.

Ten minutes pass, making the performance fifteen minutes late. Finally, the flowers begin to light up, water fountains dance once more, and a band takes the stage. Comprising a saxophonist, a hornist, two trumpet players, and a drummer, they kick off with a musical rendition of ‘When You Wish Upon a Star.’ As they consider playing their second piece, I notice some tempting lights in the distance.

The wall of the National Museum of Nature and Science is also lit up, featuring a dazzling light show depicting the story of evolution. The lights showcase the earliest eukaryotes to the animals of today. Volcanoes erupt, and monkeys transform into men. I stay for the entire show, enthusiastically applauding with the rest of the crowd at the end.

After the illuminations, I meet my friend Khin, and we head to one of my favourite bars, Nui. At the bar, we join a group of Australians. One of the women, Claudia, grew up in Perth, the same place as Khin — quite the coincidence, maybe. When I mention where I’m from in England, I’m surprised to find that she has heard of it; most people haven’t. My surprise deepens when she takes out her passport and shows me the section displaying her birthplace. Oddly, it is my hometown — the same city, the same hospital, but more remarkably, we were born on the very same day. Such a small world. Our paths crossing in a Tokyo bar, woven together by the cosmic dance of a shared day.

The Amazing Kanda Adventure

Posted on 02/11/2014 by Luke

I exit Kanda station and walk toward the area known as Jinbocho. On the way, I stroll along a street featuring thirty-six sports shops, all lined up next to each other. There is also a small festival taking place here, the 20th Kanda Sports Festival. I continue walking until I see a sign that suggests pluralisation came as an afterthought.

Jinbocho is named after Nagaharu Jinbo, a samurai who used to live here in days gone by. Although they took his name, there is little to no information about him on the Internet. Perhaps I can find something about him in one of the many history books on sale here today.

Book Town is great. One side of the street is exclusively used book shops. Little lanterns line the length of the street, and outside the usual stores, a massive corridor of small bookcases stretches the length of the event. On a typical day of book shopping, you would be spoiled for choice, but today, at the 55th Kanda Used Book Festival, the sheer number of used books in one area surpasses that of anywhere else in the world.

There is a shop specialising in only fashion books, another selling just manga comics, and another selling rare history books; they even have one book for sale for ¥350,000. There is something I find calming about walking the aisles of a bookshop. Nobody is here trying to lure me into their shop, nobody asks me to enter when I am already inside, and nobody inside is speaking. The squeaking sound of my wet shoes is the only thing disturbing the silence.

The bookshops seem to stretch endlessly. I notice some arrows painted on the floor, so I follow them to a small charity-run street festival. Rows of stalls offer various foods. One man sits at a table, seemingly designated for people to leave their used plates and cutlery. I glance at the man, and he just shrugs his shoulders; he doesn’t know why he’s sitting there either.

At the other end of the festival, more bookshops await. I browse a little longer before heading in the direction of Ogawa Square for my fourth street festival of the day. Today’s event is the Kanda Curry Grand Prix, where twenty different shops are all selling ¥500 curry in the hopes of attaining the grand prize. A polling station with an honesty policy is in place; if I wanted, I could continuously vote for the same shop over and over.

Kanda boasts over two hundred curry restaurants, making it the perfect choice of location for this competition. Outside every stall, a tout shouts at me to go buy their food. A woman in a maid outfit gives me a smile and points in the direction of the store she is here to promote. Soaking wet mascots wander around, and there is a stage featuring live music. Three young women are signing autographs for middle-aged men. The enticing smell of curry keeps me at Ogawa Square for half an hour before it is time to go.

I walk back to Akihabara and take the Hibiya Line to Minowa. Every piece of advertising space on the train is for the same company. On Japanese trains, there are usually about thirty to forty adverts in each carriage; however, on this train, all signs exclusively advertise an urban park town. Very strange.

I grab some things from home before cycling over to Asakusa, specifically to Cafe Byron Bay for a Halloween party. At the cafe, I put on makeup in the hope of looking like a zombie. Friends come and go, some with costumes and others without. Free Halloween-themed sweets are on offer, and glowing plastic pumpkins litter the cafe.

At one point, I am asked to fetch a forgotten cake from a local bakery. While waiting at the traffic lights, I notice a little child with her mother also waiting to cross the road. They are looking at me, so I make zombie noises at the child; the child screams and hides behind her mother’s leg. All in the good spirit of Halloween.

Back at the cafe, two French chefs are here to cook for everybody, and they are excellent chefs. Canapés, crêpes, and tuna gratin are the highlights. We are then treated to some live music from a local act and enjoy some delicious cake.

As the party draws to a close, a Japanese friend of mine hands me a signed copy of his book. It is my favourite book of his, albeit the only one I have ever read; the others are written in Japanese. I find it difficult to show feelings of genuine gratitude dressed as a zombie, but I will absolutely treasure his gift.

After the party, we head out to another bar for an event known as ‘Trick or Drink!’ I try to stay in character at the bar, bumping into walls, mumbling, and dragging one leg as I walk. Homer Simpson is the disc jockey, and his music choice is better than I would have imagined. My sumo wrestler friend is here too, still taller than me but a lot less drunk than the last time we met.

After getting photographed with a sumo wrestler while dressed in zombie makeup, I decide there isn’t really much else left to do in the world, so I head home to sleep.

I Warm Duck Smoke

Posted on 01/11/2014 by Luke

I wake to the sound of helicopters and sirens, more than one of each. I look out of my apartment window and see a pillar of billowing smoke that seems to be attracting the attention of five helicopters; they circle around the black cloud like flies. An ambulance buzzes by at speed, its sirens adding to the cacophony of early morning racket.

I head outside into the slums, making my way toward Minowa Station. Today, I have the pleasure of buying a Halloween costume, and the only place that offers any sort of choice, I am led to believe, is Tokyu Hands in Shibuya. At Minowa Station, there are seventeen fire engines.

I take the Hibiya Line. Distracted, I miss my stop at Ueno, so I stay on the train until Akihabara Station. I walk ten minutes through the crowd of young women in maid outfits trying to tempt me and head for Suehirocho Station. Here, I take the Ginza Line, Shibuya-bound.

It seems I have been drastically misled. Tokyu Hands has a Halloween range, albeit rather small. I begrudgingly spend ¥4800 on some awful ghoulish nonsense that I will only use once before heading back to the train station, Minowa-bound.

Outside Minowa Station, firefighters are still tackling the huge blaze, the smoke so thick that it chokes me. Helicopters armed with television cameras continue to drone on. Unbelievably, an advertising blimp for the insurance company ‘MetLife’ floats above the disaster, cashing in on some extra television airtime.

At home, I grab my bicycle and cycle toward Kanda. I get as far as Asakusa and run into my good friend and fellow bicycle enthusiast, Khin. He asks me if I’ve had lunch yet. Realising that I am actually quite hungry, I agree to join him, and we head to a gyoza restaurant. I finally get to eat one of my favourite foods, vegetable dumplings—the first time I have had this food since coming to Japan. Delicious.

After the meal, we head over to Senso-ji to get our fortunes. I luck out and receive ‘Good Fortune.’ Khin doesn’t do so well and gets ‘Regular Fortune,’ so he ties it up for the gods to deal with. My fortune says, “It is a good sign to dream of a young horse in spring and a dream of a swift horse will bee [sic] a much better sign.”

Next, we head over to the Edo Shitamachi Traditional Crafts Museum, an excellent little museum discreetly tucked away inside an indoor shopping arcade. Free entry seals the deal, and in we go. Inside, we find ourselves the only visitors. On display are fishing rods, fans, hand-forged cutters, paper lanterns, badminton rackets depicting kabuki characters, Buddhist statues, pottery, leather bags, and paintings. There is also a rack of very straight arrows.

Winter is coming, apparently. To celebrate, a small truck with a little stove on the back is circling around, selling hot sweet potatoes. As it passes by, it plays a little jingle in Japanese known as the baked potato song: ‘Ishiyaki imo, yaki imo, yaki imooooo,’ literally translating as ‘Baked sweet potatoes, sweet potatoes, sweet potatoooooes.’ I chase after the truck but waste time taking a photograph before it turns left and blazes off into the distance.

Khin and I head over to Cafe Byron Bay to meet some friends before heading out as a group of eight to a fish izakaya. Tonight is Dagmar’s last evening in Japan, so we are having a little leaving party for her. At the izakaya, we take off our shoes and sit at a nice table with tatami mat flooring. I am handed an English menu, and it just so happens to be the best menu I have ever seen.

The menu boasts the following delicious highlights:

Dirt Japanese bluefish drying a fish whole firing, ¥380
Wall thickness, taste are plentiful, and grease appears! ¥980
Semigrow and drag knob salad, ¥580
Tatami mat sardine, ¥280
Butter charcoal fire firing of the nettle tree, ¥380

The butter charcoal fire firing of the nettle tree turns out to be mushrooms, and the tatami mat sardine ends up on the floor. We eat plenty, drink plenty, and drink plenty, before going our separate ways, bidding our last goodbyes.

At home, I dream of horses in the spring.

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Monthly Archives: November 2014