Monthly Archives: January 2023

Cabbage Over Untroubled Water

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With just two wards of Tokyo left to write about, today is the day I will complete my tour of this great city. I start my day in Nerima, the birthplace of animation. Located in western Tokyo, Nerima is known for its residential atmosphere. Outside of its connection to animation, there isn’t much else to see here.

As I make my way through the streets, the presence of the anime and manga industry is strong. The ward is home to many studios and other companies involved in the production of these popular forms of entertainment. My first stop is the Oizumi Anime Gate, where I am greeted by a number of bronze statues of beloved anime characters.

As someone who is not a fan of Japanese anime, I only recognise one of the statues, probably because there once was a statue of the same character outside my old house in Taito Ward, that of Yabuki Joe, the main protagonist of the anime “Ashita no Joe.” This character is one of five depicted in statue form at this location, revered for their role in bringing Japanese anime to the world stage.

As I continue my wanderings through Nerima, I pass by a sign that reads “No more war! Stop Putin!” Eventually, I come across a map and see a sign pointing to a Cabbage Monument. Intrigued, and with little else planned for Nerima, I decide to go and check it out.

Hidden alongside the tranquil waters of the Shakujii River stands a monument of concrete adorned with an aluminium alloy sculpture of a cabbage. Erected in 1998 by the hardworking farmers of Nerima as a tribute to their resilient cabbage crops. An inscription on the monolith tells the inspiring tale of how these farmers triumphantly overcame pests and other obstacles as they transitioned from cultivating radishes to cultivating cabbage. Twice a year, these cabbages, known for their sweet and crunchy goodness, are harvested and proudly grown in Nerima to this day.

As I head towards the train station, I am struck by the delicate beauty of Shakujii Pond. This massive body of water is so still, it almost resembles a swamp. The surface of the water is completely calm and placid, not a ripple to be seen. It’s a strange, ghostly scene, made all the more surreal by the row of pagodas shaped like swans that line the pond.

With my tour of Nerima complete, it’s time to visit the final ward of Tokyo: Suginami. As I’m riding the train, my friend Marc messages me and asks what I’m doing that evening. I tell him I’m planning to visit Koenji, and he excitedly tells me that it’s his favourite place in Tokyo. He agrees to join me, and we meet halfway and get chatting on the train, accidentally missing our stop. So instead, we get off at Kichijoji, a neighbourhood that is consistently voted as the most desirable place to live in Tokyo.

As we stand at Kichijoji Station, we decide that it would be a shame not to take a quick look around the area. Marc tells me that everyone in Kichijoji exudes the scent of capitalism. We wander from the station towards Harmonica Alley, a shopping district named after its harmonica-shaped pedestrian walkway.

This crisscross of alleyways is home to a number of small independent restaurants and bars, and as we wind our way through the cramped streets, I really enjoy the experience. Although not all of the shops are open, I get a good sense of the area – the small stalls selling food, the bright red lanterns, and the narrow streets all contribute to a Blade Runner-esque vibe. We explore the labyrinth of old-fashioned stores and soak up the atmosphere.

After immersing ourselves in the sounds and music of Harmonica Alley, we head back to the station and finally make our way to Koenji, a district known for its vibrant, youthful atmosphere.

Marc takes me on a tour of the area, passing through the main shopping arcade. Despite it being early evening, I’m surprised to find many of the vintage clothing shops to be open. We pass by retro sweet shops, retro toy shops, and shops selling life posters from the 1950s. On the other side of the station, the nightlife scene in Koenji is lively, with many clubs and live music venues that attract young people from all over the city.

We don’t do much else of note here though, aside from trying out a few bars. As the night wears on, we move on from the trendy bars to an izakaya-style Japanese pub. We stay a while chatting, drinking Suntory whisky highballs while snacking on raw octopus, skewered meat, deep-fried tofu, and crisp, sweet cabbage from Nerima. The warm atmosphere and lively conversation make time seem to fly, and before we know it, the last train home looms near. With a sense of reluctance, we make our way back to the station, passing by out-of-season Christmas trees on the way.

As the train carries me home, a friend asks me what I’m doing on Wednesday and if I’d like to join her on a 42 kilometre walk around Tokyo. Fresh from my goal of completing the city, I am tempted by the idea of revisiting Tokyo’s streets in a different way. I agree to join her, ready to explore the city once more, entirely on foot.

Near-Death, Buy A Thousand Cats

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My day begins at Miyanosaka Station in Setagaya Ward, where I take a short walk to Gotokuji Temple. This temple, which covers an impressive 50,000 square metres, is home to a three-storey wooden pagoda, Shugetsuen Gardens, Jizo Hall, a Main Hall, stone lanterns, a Bell Tower, and the tomb of the Ii Naotaka family.

As I wander around the temple grounds, I am surprised to discover a collection of one-thousand maneki-neko statues (also known as “beckoning cats”) scattered throughout the temple. Every time I think I’ve seen them all, I turn a corner and find even more on the other side of the temple. They are truly everywhere.

According to legend, the daimyo Ii Naotaka was out hunting with falcons when he was saved from a lightning bolt by a cat named Tama. Naotaka had taken a seat on a wooden bench outside this very temple when Tama beckoned him inside. Moments later, a lightning bolt struck the wooden bench where he had been sitting. This act of kindness saved Naotaka from certain death, and in gratitude, Naotaka is said to have placed one-thousand lucky cat statues throughout Gotokuji Temple.

Maneki-neko statues are popular as charms for good fortune and are believed to bring luck in areas such as business success, home safety, and the fulfilment of prayers, and protection from lightning bolts.

I leave Gotokuji Temple and take the train over to Shimokitazawa, a neighbourhood known for its bohemian atmosphere and abundance of vintage and retro shops. As I stroll through the streets, I am surrounded by a sea of trendy fashion stores, coffee shops, and gastro pubs offering craft beers and flat whites. Even the local Seven Eleven here is enveloped in the rich, heady scent of coffee.

The area is also home to a vibrant music scene, with rock music blaring from every retro used clothing store. As I walk, I pass fellow foreigners who eye me up with pretentious looks. Distasteful graffiti adorns some of the vending machines, and I notice another vending machine selling what appears to be overpriced Craft Cola. The label says it is made from “natural water,” whatever that means.

I decide to leave the bustle of Shimokitazawa behind and take a break exploring some nature. Luckily for me, Setagaya Ward also contains the only valley within the 23 wards of Tokyo: Todoroki Ravine Park. Along the Yazawa River sits the Golf-bashi Bridge, a striking red steel arch bridge named for a golf course on the other side of the river.

As I begin to wander downstream, I notice a sign warning against going near the river during heavy rain. Remarkably, I’ve been in Japan for two months and it has only rained twice. The sign states that during rainfall the valley can easily flood.

I pass trees of zelkova, bamboo-leaf oak, konara oak, and Japanese mountain cherry that line up on either side of the river, creating a scenic gorge. The air is crisp and refreshing, the water is still and calm, a peaceful contrast to the bustling city. As I walk further downstream, nature embraces me, enveloping me in its tranquillity.

I come across Todoroki Fudo Temple, founded in the 7th century by the monk Gyoki and dedicated to Aryacalanatha. Below sits the twin waterfalls of Fudo-no-Taki, with the water spilling from the faces of yellow-eyed statues. The waterfalls are believed to have miraculous powers. Legend has it that the waterfalls at Todoroki Valley sprang up when the temple was founded, and it was once said that the water would roar like thunder when it hit the rocks, giving the valley its name. The waterfalls are a charming sight, and the old shrine adds to the peaceful atmosphere of the valley.

There are over thirty springs within Todoroki Valley, and the spring water here was designated as one of “Tokyo’s 57 Best Waters” in 2003. I presume the water from the springs is of the “natural water” variety.

As I make my way back to the train station, the sky suddenly opens up with a thunderous applause. Rain spills down into the gorge and valley, and lightning splits the sky, illuminating the landscape in a brilliant flash. Instinctively, I go in search of a cat.

Saving Primate Ryan

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I aimlessly wander through Tokyo’s Adachi Ward on a cold, grey day, feeling a little bored. As I walk through a park I notice a small building that seems out of place amongst the trees and grass. As I walk up to the building, I can’t help but notice its bleak appearance. The grey concrete seems to blend in with the overcast sky, giving the place a depressing vibe. But despite my lack of enthusiasm, I decide to check it out.

As I walk through what turns out to be an animal exhibit, I can’t help but notice the perceived lack of space and variety in some of the enclosures. The Sulcata Tortoise appears to be trying to escape, possibly because it seemingly lacks access to direct sunlight, a necessity for this type of animal. It repeatedly smashes its face against the glass enclosure in frustration.

The Yellow-headed Water Monitor is a large, semi-aquatic reptile native to Africa. In my view, in this enclosure, it swims absently in a small tank that also offers a section of land. These animals are known for their powerful legs and sharp claws, which they use to climb trees and dig burrows in the wild. However, in this relatively confined space, the Yellow-headed Water Monitor seems unable to fully utilise its natural abilities, as far as I can tell.

I also observe some Clownfish and Moon Jellyfish, but they seem to be lacking the vibrancy and liveliness that I would expect from these species. Clownfish, also known as anemonefish, are typically colourful and active, but these individuals seem dull and listless. Moon Jellyfish, with their translucent bells and delicate tentacles, are usually mesmerising, but in this small and crowded tank, their movement looks slow and somewhat lifeless.

As I walk through the animal exhibit, I am startled by a group of common squirrel monkeys in cages. Seeing these animals in such small enclosures fills me with a surge of sadness, and I feel empathy for all of the animals here, even the fish, who seem to be exhibiting signs of depression.

Squirrel monkeys are social animals that live in large groups in the wild, and they are adapted to living in the rainforests of Central and South America. Because of their natural climbing abilities and long tails, squirrel monkeys are well-equipped to move through the trees in their rainforest habitat. However, one common squirrel monkey, oddly named Ryan, seems particularly drawn to me, pleading with me through its body language to let it out.

As I make my way into the butterfly enclosure, I am immediately struck by the contrast in conditions compared to the rest of the animal exhibit. Here, a lush, indoor paradise filled with plants and foliage greets me, and I am awed by the sight of Monarch butterflies, swallowtail butterflies, and red admiral butterflies fluttering freely about, their beauty on full display.

The beauty and vitality of the butterflies serves as a poignant reminder of what can be achieved when animals are given the proper care and space to thrive, in their spacious and well-maintained enclosure.

A sign reminds me to be careful not to step on any of the butterflies as I move through the space, and small dishes of honey, adorned with multi-coloured cloth, are scattered throughout the enclosure, serving as a natural attractant for the butterflies and allowing me to get a close-up view of these graceful creatures.

As I leave the park, a gnawing hunger overtakes me, one that I haven’t felt in a while. I head to the nearest train station in search of a restaurant. Inside, I am surprised to see that there are no waiting staff in sight, so I take a seat at a table and peruse the touchpad menu, eventually settling on a hearty gratin dish. As I wait for my order to arrive, I am intrigued by the sight of a robot with a digital cat face advancing towards me, carrying my steaming plate of gratin. I take the meal from the robot, which makes a beeping sound before gliding away with nonchalance back to the kitchen.

I briefly wonder about the impact of technology on the service industry. Despite my curiosity, I am too ravenous to dwell on these thoughts for long, and I dive into my meal with relish.

Twenty Thousand Leaves Under the Trees

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I have come to Itabashi today to visit the Great Buddha of Tokyo, also known as the Tokyo Daibutsu. Upon exiting the train station, I realise that there are no maps in sight, so I decide to climb up onto a bridge that crosses over the road for a better view. Even though I am still within the city limits of Tokyo, I am surprised to see mountains in the distance. For some reason, the Great Buddha remains hidden from view.

I return to the train station in search of a map. In Japan, all train stations have a stand with free leaflets, pamphlets, and sometimes magazines. This particular train station has an odd selection of magazines, including one that has been published since 1922 and is entirely about sewage.

After finding a map, I set off towards Akatsuka Park. Inside the park, I find an art museum (which is closed today), a folklore museum (also closed today), some water fountains adorning a pond lined with old men fishing, and on the other side of the park, a dried-up dragonfly pond.

As I wander through the park, I am struck by the peaceful sounds of nature. The plum grove stands out to me, its branches now bare and skeleton-like after shedding their leaves, stripped of their colourful cloaks. The leaves, once vibrant and alive, now lie dormant on the ground, a reminder of the cycle of life and death. I follow the trail of leaves, before eventually coming across some rather steep steps.

Signs placed intermittently along the steps warn me of the risk of falling branches, but as I climb their steepness, it’s the slippery fallen leaves that prove to be more problematic. I am careful with each step I take, not to slip, not to trip, and not to be hit by a branch hurtling towards me from above. Eventually, I reach the top, where I find the Akatsuka Joshi Park Castle Ruins, the former site of a castle.

The open space where the beautiful castle once stood feels otherworldly. A single stone pillar serves as a testament to the castle’s former grandeur, the only remnant left in its wake. The bare trees surrounding the area add to the ethereal atmosphere, their stripped branches reaching towards the sky like ghostly fingers.

Yoritane Chiba was a prominent figure in Japanese history and played a significant role in the political and military affairs of the time. The Battle of Sekigahara, in which he played a leading role, was a decisive battle fought in 1600 that marked the end of the Sengoku period and the beginning of the Edo period in Japan. After the battle, he returned to Tokyo where he built this castle to be his home.

As I walk through the Akatsuka Castle Ruins, the empty space awash with fallen leaves, I sense a feeling of melancholy at the thought of Yoritane Chiba’s former greatness, now reduced to nothing but ruins. The castle was dismantled in the late 19th century, and once an important centre of power and cultural significance, now all its former grandeur is lost to the passage of time.

I continue my search for the Great Buddha, envisioning it to be a towering presence in the sky. As I look around, my eyes are drawn to a yellow sign in the distance, reminding me that this is a place for all to enjoy, free from harm, and to not go around shooting anyone.

Descending the steep steps, I notice that one of the signs cautioning against falling branches has itself fallen to the ground. Perhaps they should add a secondary sign as a reminder to watch out for falling signs.

I wander over to Akatsuka Botanical Gardens (also closed today). It seems that, if anything was actually open, this area in Itabashi would have a lot to offer. As I turn to depart, my gaze is captured by the sublime sight of the Buddha’s head rising above the walls of a temple, perched atop a hill like a beacon of tranquillity.

Jorenji Temple is a beautifully landscaped sanctuary that houses Japan’s third largest bronze Buddha, sitting tall at 12.5 metres. Within its walls, I encounter the fearsome King of Hell, also known as Enma-raja, along with the ten Judges of Hell, and Datsue-ba, the old woman who strips the clothing off the dead.

As I stand before the Great Buddha of Tokyo, I am struck by its powerful presence. Looking up at the Buddha’s face, I feel a sense of calm wash over me, and the placement of its head, tilted slightly forward, allows me to feel a deep connection with the statue as I meditate. In this moment, I am enveloped in the Buddha’s freedom from distracting thoughts, and I am filled with a sense of peace and enlightenment.

As I make my way back to the train station, passing Akatsuka Park along the way, I board the Mita Line train bound for Sugamo. The train is eerily quiet, its emptiness amplifying the sense of solitude.

As I sit on the train, surrounded by nothing but empty seats and silence, I attempt to pass the time by flipping through the pages of my copy of Tokyo Sewerage News.

Statues of Dogs, Statues of Gods

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During the reign of Tokugawa Tsunayoshi, the fifth shogun of the Tokugawa shogunate, a ban on the eating of meat and the killing of animals was enacted in Japan. This ban was part of a series of laws and regulations related to animal welfare that were put in place during Tsunayoshi’s reign. Tsunayoshi was known for his strong interest in animals, particularly dogs, and is often referred to as the “Dog Shogun” due to his efforts to protect and care for dogs during his time as shogun.

One aspect of Tsunayoshi’s efforts to protect dogs was the creation of a large sanctuary for them in the area where Nakano Station now stands. It is here that I find many statues of dogs. The ban on eating meat and killing animals was likely intended to protect and care for dogs specifically, as they were considered sacred animals in Japan at the time. Strangely, the ban did not apply to birds.

This interpretation of the ban led Buddhists in Japan to argue that rabbits, which are not birds, should be considered a type of flightless bird and therefore be eligible for consumption. This argument was granted, much to the delight of the Buddhists. This is why the system for counting rabbits and birds in Japanese is the same, and is only used for these animals.

As I continue on my journey, I walk through the bustling shopping and entertainment district of Nakano Broadway. My next destination proves to be a bit more challenging to find, as it is allegedly located somewhere between the Kirin Lemon Sports Centre and Heiwanomori Park. Despite my best efforts, I am unable to locate the Nakano Prison Main Gate “Peace Gate.” It seems that it is either hidden behind a construction site or has been erased from history and replaced by a grassy meadow and a running track. After my search for the old prison proves unsuccessful, I am drawn towards the melodic sounds of a shamisen. As I follow the music, I come upon a peaceful-looking shrine.

The Numabukuro Hikawa Shrine in Nakano is home to the remains of the Dokan Cedar tree, which once stood tall at a height of 30 metres. This tree passed away in 1944 due to old age, but it was a significant and beloved part of the community for centuries. The Dokan Cedar tree, also known as the Dokanzakura, was named after its owner, Dokan Ota, who planted it in the late 16th century. It was considered a natural monument and was protected by the city of Nakano.

The Dokan Cedar tree was known for its impressive size, with a circumference of approximately 14 metres. It was believed to be over 400 years old, making it one of the oldest trees in the city.

The tree was also believed to have spiritual and supernatural powers and was often visited by people seeking good fortune and blessings. Even though the tree is no longer alive, its remains serve as a poignant reminder of my own mortality and the impermanence of life. The Dokan Cedar tree stood tall for centuries, weathering the passage of time, but eventually, even it could not escape the inevitability of death. The tree’s remains remind me of the fragile and fleeting nature of life, and the profound sorrow that comes with the end of all things.

As I continue to explore the peaceful grounds of the shrine, my attention is captured by a group of statues. It is here that I discover all seven of the lucky gods of fortune

For anyone looking to complete the Pilgrimage of the Seven Lucky Gods of Fortune, a traditional cultural practice that involves visiting a series of shrines or temples dedicated to the seven lucky gods in Japan, this shrine offers a convenient shortcut. All seven of the lucky gods, who are revered as bringers of good fortune and prosperity, stand proudly on the shrine’s grounds, making it possible to pay respects to all of them in one place.

As I make my way back towards the station after a long day of sightseeing, I am pleasantly surprised by the sight of three small groups of birds soaring through the air. They fly in a seemingly chaotic but coordinated manner, their movements fluid and graceful as they weave through the sky. This phenomenon, known as murmuration, is a truly amazing and mesmerising sight. The birds dance and swirl in the air, creating intricate patterns and formations that shift and change suddenly. It’s as if they are performing a beautiful, otherworldly ballet, their wings beating in perfect unison as they move through the air.

I stand in awe, mesmerised by the beauty and grace of this natural spectacle, before considering that they might not be birds at all, but rabbits.