Nothing Happens Until Something Moves

Posted on 11/08/2014 by Luke

I have to walk ten minutes from my hotel to a different hotel with my laundry. The rain is heavy; a super typhoon has hit, making the rain and wind stronger than any I’ve ever experienced. However, I need to do my laundry. The sky outside is the darkest grey. Eventually, I find the other hotel. Fortunately, the coin laundry is accessible directly from the street, saving me the awkwardness of entering a hotel where I’m not staying just to use their facilities.

The laundry room is accessed through a shutter door currently pried open by what looks like a rotten plank of wood, which is a little worrying. Outside, noisy construction work is taking place despite the weather. The noise makes it rather difficult to concentrate on my book. I plan to spend as little time as possible outside today, so there is no point traipsing back through the storm just yet.

Inside the coin laundry, the room is dirty. The old vending machines no longer dispense detergent; luckily for me, I bought a ¥28 single-wash-sized pouch on the way here. I sit reading, waiting for my clothes, occasionally glancing up at the dirty walls.

With the laundry done, I head back to the hotel as fast as I can. On the way, I notice abandoned inside-out umbrellas dumped on the street. I observe people ducking and diving into shelter, and I see areas of the pavement completely flooded. Meanwhile, the sound of sirens fills the air.

Back at the hotel, I sit by the balcony on the second floor of the lobby, quietly reading my book. I don’t mind rainy days, actually; I quite like the peace of sitting in silence and reading. It appears that a lot of people are holed up in the hotel today. Every now and then, someone walks to the window, sees that it is still raining, and then goes back to sit down. We are all waiting for the typhoon to pass.

At 3 p.m., I am allowed back into my room. As I use the hairdryer on my shoes, I keep an eye on the news. After a short while, I hear the words, ‘Nagoya Station.’

There on the news is the train station, with taxis parked outside and rain falling. The typhoon has moved north, but the backlash of rain still falls. The bullet trains have all been cancelled.

Japan’s biggest broadcaster NHK seems to love this sort of stuff; for the next two hours, all they talk about is the typhoon. Cut to: Windscreen wipers frantically moving back and forth. Cut to: Drains overflowing. Cut to: Businessmen trying to juggle briefcases and carry an umbrella, only for it to whoosh inside-out. Cut to: All the bicycles blown over by the wind. Cut to: Rivers overflowing. Cut to: Trees shaking in the wind. This is about all I see for twenty minutes, then the footage repeats, and then repeats.

Outside, the rain looks like a white sheet being hung over the skyline. The wind is stronger now, blowing the rain sideways, making it very difficult to see the buildings in the distance. The last super typhoon I experienced passed miserably through the night; I never really got to see the chaos that it caused. Sitting here, I realise just how gloomy and grey today has been.

Eventually, the rain stops, and the wind dies down. At 7 p.m., I head out to the twenty-four-hour supermarket. On the way, I pass a sign about littering: a ten million yen fine and five years’ imprisonment. Inside the supermarket, a digitally transposed version of ‘Dreams’ by the Cranberries is playing. I buy some cheese and a small bottle of wine. At the self-service checkout, I scan the wine; a message pops up, ‘Are you over twenty? Yes/No.’ I press ‘yes’ and then finish and pay. There’s no one around to check, just press ‘yes.’ Honesty is the best policy.

On the way back I pass a restaurant with a full set of Christmas lights. The full works.

Back at the hotel, I Skype with a friend from England. After that, I get deep into my reading until I finish my book. At 10 p.m., I head out to my nearest Family Mart to pick up some food. Inside Family Mart, that same Japanese song with the nice melody is playing. I can just make out a few words; hopefully, it will be enough to find out what it is.

When I return, I turn my attention to Japanese pop music. I listen to the top 30 songs in this week’s Billboard Japan Hot 100 chart. Oddly, Pharrell Williams with ‘Happy’ is at 29th. At 9th and 10th positions are two different songs from the same artist. A song from the anime Sailor Moon is in the top ten. AKB48 sister-band, SKE48, is number one. The song I am trying to find is nowhere to be heard.

Instead, I find myself staring at this sign in my hotel room:

I do eventually find out the name of the song I keep hearing. It turns out to be a cover version of the other song I’ve been hearing, the one from Disney’s Frozen: ‘Let it Go’. It’s a Japanese version played on the piano, sounding very different from the English version—and a lot better, too. I spend the rest of my evening listening to various Japanese versions of ‘Let it Go’ on YouTube but can’t find the particular version I like. Maybe I shouldn’t have admitted that, though. I cannot bear the responsibility.

Robot Women, Fast Cars, Voodoo Dolls, and Dinosaurs

Posted on 09/08/2014 by Luke

The queue for the Nagoya City Science Museum spills from the door. Inside, there is a snaked queue that runs eight rows deep. A screen on the wall tells me that every time slot for the world’s largest Planetarium has sold out, and it isn’t even 11 a.m. A shame, this was probably my best chance of seeing stars in Japan. The museum also has a special exhibit on at the moment, the Dragon Ball Science Event, and this is most likely the reason for all of the queueing chaos I am witnessing today.

To avoid wasting a day in a queue, I decide to take a look at the Electricity Museum, some two blocks away. I follow the signs and even find a map listing the museum, but for some reason, I can’t find it. I swing by the nearest Seven Eleven and connect to their free wireless Internet. Google Maps directs me to where I had just been walking, but nope. It doesn’t appear to be here. Perhaps closed down, who knows.

I swing by the Nagoya Musical Theatre to see what’s showing: the 5,000th performance of Beauty and the Beast. One thing I notice on my walk back toward Nagoya Station is that on nearly every street, there’s a building called ‘Toyota’. They seem to have infiltrated even the darkest Nagoya alleyways. Continuing my walk, it takes a somewhat dark turn. I wander into a lonely shopping arcade. All of the shops are closed or boarded up. Everywhere is silent. It’s as if this arcade is part of some other world. There hangs some incredibly macabre imagery.

A giant voodoo doll hangs from part of the roof, its belly split open, multi-coloured intestines bursting out, its mouth sewn up, and a giant needle stabbing into its neck. I have no idea what it begins to represent. The voodoo doll isn’t the only horrific image on this street. There’s also a giant multi-coloured face with a top hat and a satanic grin, a sinister-looking golden unicorn with eyes that seem to watch my every movement, and plenty of vampiric bats scattered around. As I pass through the arcade, my footsteps leave behind an echoed creak.

My next stop is a place called ‘Midland Square’. Inside there are many shops and restaurants. The official name for this skyscraper is the Toyota-Mainichi Building. This building is tall. The elevators take an alarmingly quick forty seconds to rise all the way to the top of this 247 metre structure. It also boasts the highest open-air observation deck in Japan.

Inside, there are posh restaurants, two car showrooms, a cinema, and sixty big brand stores such as Louis Vuitton and Vulcanize. These are all places where I’d never shop. Instead, I go and look at some cars. Displayed are a Toyota TS010 and a Toyota TS030 Hybrid.

There’s an attractive young woman in a light brown suit wearing a mouthpiece. She speaks in Japanese, presumably about the vehicles. Something about her strikes me as odd—her voice doesn’t match her appearance, and her movements are very rigid. It’s entirely possible that she isn’t a human being but a very cleverly designed or disguised robot.

Next, I decide to visit the local gardens near my hotel—Noritake Gardens, to be precise. A sign at the entrance informs me that all animals must be kept in a cage; who exactly brings their caged dog to a public garden? This place is very famous as it’s the birthplace of modern pottery in Japan. There’s a spot marked on the map called ‘Chimney Gardens,’ so I head there and find six tall chimneys shrouded in foliage—the remnants of the pottery plant. The view of these historic chimneys is unexpectedly spoilt by a dinosaur.

For no reason that I can see, on the old grounds of this historic and award-winning site, stand three robotic dinosaurs. They move around, opening and closing their mouths, roaring at the children. This site holds industrial heritage significance, showcasing the conservation of a 110-year-old kiln that was used to develop the first Noritake plate. The company continues to trade today, and Noritake tableware remains a household name throughout Japan.

The remains of the factory wall can also be seen, reconstructed from the bricks of old kilns. Bricks were imported into Japan at the end of the Edo period, and the remnants of the red brick plant hold significant value as industrial heritage. However, this time, the remains of the wall are obstructed by a Tyrannosaurus Rex and Carnival Cutouts. Unbelievable.

Also, for reasons I can’t explain, there are thousands of dragonflies here too. I’m not sure what it is about bricks that dragonflies like, but there are so many that everywhere I walk, I have to avoid being hit by one of these stray insects as they dart about without a care. No cages for the dragonflies.

My final stop today is Nagoya Castle. Every city I visit seems to have its own tower and castle. Nagoya Castle is probably a twenty-minute walk from Noritake Gardens. By the time I arrive, it’s 5 p.m., and the Genkan closed thirty minutes ago, bolted shut. The sign on the stone walls tells me not to climb, so it looks like I’m out of options. At least I can see the entire castle from a walkway over a busy intersection.

After visiting the castle, I return to the hotel and rent a laptop for three days for ¥3000. I spend three or four hours writing, and time drifts by. I’ve arranged to meet Nick at half past ten, a Canadian guy I met back in Asakusa who lives in Nagoya.

A guy in the Irish bar last night suggested I try Nagoya-style udon noodles. So, I decide to give them a second chance. I order a simple bowl of noodles with an egg mixed in for good measure. It’s a very cheap meal, ¥400 with a glass of water. On reflection, I still prefer every other type of noodle over udon.

I meet Nick outside Nagoya Station, and we walk half an hour across town to an international bar called ‘Shooters’. We drink and chat until last orders are called at half-past twelve, before walking back to Nagoya Station.

Nagoya is a huge city, yet I discover that Nick’s apartment is in the building directly across the road from my hotel.

Internet Cafes, Bullet Trains, Irish Bars

Posted on 09/08/2014 by Luke

Grilled fish of the day is salmon for the third day in a row. After breakfast, I return to my room and return my room to a state that looks exactly as it did before I arrived, a hotel habit of mine. After that, I check out and head to Popeye Media Cafe to write things up.

The Internet cafe doesn’t only provide Internet access. The following items are offered at no cost (¥0): bath towel, body soap, shampoo, conditioner, hair dryer, hair iron, toothbrush, skin toner, shaving equipment (razor and shaving foam), drinks from three vending machines (offering ‘over 50 kinds of drinks!’), mobile phone charging, two plugs per person (‘you can plug in a device!’), wireless Internet, showers, and a sunbed. All of these amenities are complimentary.

They also have a ¥360 hot food vending machine, but that seems to be the only thing you need to pay for, other than time. The cafe also offers a library of comic books, better known as manga. The amount of manga on offer is insane, with bookshelves spread endlessly in every direction. Where there isn’t a private booth with a computer, there is a bookshelf. The cafe boasts an impressive 179 computers.

“I paid ¥980 for five hours, the day rate. I’ve actually been here twice before. Those times, I foolishly came during the evening and paid ¥805 for two hours and ¥1330 for three hours.

Today, I am assigned booth twenty-two. My computer runs Windows XP, and Google Chrome has already been downloaded. Next to my monitor is a menu for Domino’s Pizza. If I want, I can select a pizza from the menu, and the front desk will order it for me, handle the payment upon its arrival, and deliver it to my desk. The pizza will be added to my ‘check’ and paid for at the end.

I lounge in my reclining chair and write for five hours, all the while sipping on my free drinks. Today, I’m heading to Nagoya and can’t check into my hotel until 2 p.m. Might as well kill time by writing, that’s what I say.

I like it here; dingy, comfortable chair, feels good. I can see how people can end up spending a whole night here. People actually do just that. Because of the free amenities on offer and the availability of private booths to rent for a special ‘all night’ rate, people actually sleep here. It works out cheaper than a hotel, and you can read all the comic books you desire.

When I’m done, I settle my bill and leave. Outside, the sun is far too bright, especially after sitting in the dark for five hours. At 3 p.m., I take the bullet train to Nagoya. It costs ¥6760 for a 52-minute journey. It’s twice as expensive as the local trains, but they take three times as long, and I can’t deal with that. I reserve a window seat to make use of the ‘free’ plug socket. I realise that this might well be my last ride on the bullet train for a while. It’s quite saddening, actually; the bullet train really is a treat.

I arrive in Nagoya at 4:02 p.m., precisely as stated on my ticket—efficient as always.

The station exits out into the heart of the city, and a beautiful city it is. Thunder sounds in the distance, threatening rain, with a few flashes of lightning in the sky, but I only have to walk for five minutes. It starts to rain ever so slightly just as I arrive at my hotel. The lift doors open as I approach, “Welcome in,” they say in a robotic female voice.

In my room, I find that I am given loads of free stuff: a comb, toothbrush, toothpaste, slippers to keep, a shower cap, razor, bottled water, cotton buds, tea, coffee, and my own individual wireless network. It feels like I am back at the Internet cafe. The complimentary toothbrush says, “Thank you for using me. Please relax slowly.”

Outside, Nagoya feels right, especially after Osaka and its indecipherable road layouts. Sometimes a place grabs you, giving an instant good feeling; Nagoya has just that. Some might think Nagoya is like everywhere else—tall buildings, concrete, and neon. They would be right. But something about the place, about my initial impression, draws me into the neon of the night.

I walk around for a good few hours. One of the things I enjoy about visiting a new place is thoroughly exploring the backstreets and restaurants—reconnoitering. I notice small rectangular holes cut into a wall, just the right size for a hand. On the other side of the hole is an anonymous person: a hand wrapped in a white glove, a small tray for exchanging objects or money. Worthless pachinko parlour prizes are discreetly swapped here for cash, with no one seeing anyone else’s face.

It’s 8 p.m. but feels like eleven. I step into an ‘Irish’ bar where American punk is playing, and ‘J Sports 2’ is showing a Japanese baseball game. Quite the Irish experience, indeed. I order half a Guinness and a Glenlivet 12 on the rocks; they each cost ¥600. The Guinness tastes poor at best, far from the standard I am used to from the pubs back home.

I am asked to pay up front, which is unusual here.

The music changes to the Libertines. I can’t complain. I consider the instructions on my receipt, ‘enjoy and enjoy and get dead drunk.’ After finishing my drinks, I stand up to leave. As I do, one of the barmen stops me. “It’s our eight-year anniversary. Please choose a colour,” he says.
“Okay …” I ponder the question for a moment. “Green,” I reply. The barman reaches into a box under the desk and pulls out a bright green t-shirt.
“This is free for you,” he tells me as he hands me the t-shirt. Amazing, even more free stuff. I thank him and leave.

Nagoya, the capital of Aichi Prefecture, is distinctly a business-centric hub. Everywhere I look, there are men in white shirts, black trousers, and black shoes—salarymen abound. The horizon is engulfed by a mix of black, white, and neon. Notably, Nagoya’s GDP accounts for 1% of the global economy. Toyota, too, began its journey here, in a town called Toyota, within a city, also named Toyota. It might seem like a kind gesture that the car manufacturer adopted the town’s name, but in reality, the city was initially called Koromo, only changing its name to Toyota in 1959. The town followed suit, renaming itself Toyota. Capitalism in Japan—a fascinating phenomenon.

With the Domino’s Pizza menu from earlier today lingering in my mind, I opt for another unconventional yet healthy choice for a traditional Japanese meal: Italian food. The menu is entirely in Japanese, but the waiter promptly prints off a fresh, crisp, English menu for me. I decide on a tuna pizza, which arrives with a lovely bowl of minestrone soup.

As far as pizza goes, this is probably one of the greasiest I’ve ever had. But it’s good. Very good. I pay what seems like a lot and sneak a couple of the ‘free’ complimentary pieces of nutty caramel flapjack—very Italian. The bill comes to ¥2667, and I receive a delightful ¥333 in change.

Back at the hotel I fall asleep watching ‘Back to the Future’.

Japanising.com

about Japan

Category Archives: Aichi

Nothing Happens Until Something Moves

Robot Women, Fast Cars, Voodoo Dolls, and Dinosaurs

Internet Cafes, Bullet Trains, Irish Bars