From Rush Hour With Love

Posted on 17/02/2015 by Luke

Today is Valentine’s Day in Japan. What would normally be a day of loneliness and misery is dissolved by chocolate. Unlike in England, where you are expected to buy flowers, chocolates, and take your partner for a meal, Valentine’s Day is remarkably different here. It is on this day that women buy chocolates for men. I have become very used to not receiving even a card on this day, so when I found myself unable to leave my house because of the vast quantities of chocolate blocking my path, it was a pleasant surprise. Even my dentist gave me chocolates, which is rather odd considering the high sugar content and the effect it will have on my teeth.

In Japan, one month after Valentine’s Day is White Day. On White Day, the man returns the gesture to those who gifted him by buying the women sweets. As much as I appreciate the abundance of chocolate that I received today, it becomes apparent that White Day will be extremely expensive for me.

It is perhaps a sad part of Japanese culture that on Valentine’s Day, a man will wait with anticipation to receive chocolates from a woman that he might like, if only for the opportunity to return the gesture a month later. It is this style of gift-giving that makes the shy Japanese male miserable when no chocolate is received. I suppose that this theme remains common among all other cultures; Valentine’s Day and the misery attached to it. I can hardly complain, though. I received many gifts, despite the fact that I don’t really like the taste of chocolate. I actually preferred playing with the bubble wrap, after a nine-month absence of popping pockets of air-filled plastic.

After consuming the equivalent of my weight in confectionery, I head into Asakusa. Today, I have decided to finally visit a temple that I walk past every single day but never visit. It is a temple that is always absent of people, possibly cursed, and is surrounded by some strange energy that I have previously been unable to bring myself to ingress.

The temple offers very little description about itself; not even a name. Before the temple sits a small rock garden where it is impossible to view all of the rocks from any one angle. It is said that if you are truly enlightened, then you are able to see the eighth rock. Despite the various viewing angles I deploy, I find it impossible to see every rock at the same time, and consider that even those that surpass the normal level of human consciousness would still find it difficult to see all of the stones at the same time. Other than a cemetery for the wealthy tucked behind the temple, nothing much else is on offer here.

I leave the temple and head over to Akihabara. Today, there is an art exhibition taking place at 3331 Arts Chiyoda, a former high school converted into an art gallery. The exhibition features students who will graduate next month from the Takarazuka University of Art and Design. A friend of mine works for the university and has invited me along to sample the artwork of his students.

There are seventeen displays here from seventeen students, all twenty-two-year-old women. The first thing that strikes me is that a lot of the pieces have some form of macabre imagery. Paintings depict homosexual angels, others heavily feature corpses, and some are simply storyboards for books about clowns for children; obviously, the clowns look deliberately menacing and have been painted just to scare me.

Other pieces here are heavily influenced by famous stories. One piece is based on Ryunosuke Akutagawa’s ‘The Spider’s Thread,’ a story about too many people in hell (known in the story as the Pool of Blood) as they try to escape and reach the paradise above. One man walking through a forest didn’t kill a spider one day, so the silk of a spider’s web is dropped down to hell from paradise in an attempt to rescue him. Everyone reaches for the web in an attempt to climb to safety. Obviously, the weight of everyone in hell is far too heavy for the silk, and the web snaps, committing everyone to the Pool of Blood for eternity.

The highlight of the exhibition is a piece by Ozawa Yuki. Her painting depicts a dream, more specifically, the moment when you become fully awake and are only able to remember fragments of what was left behind. Another artist that I enjoy is Ogawa Sayako. These two pieces offer less of a description but are once again based on dreams. Something about places in dreams never existing anywhere in real life. I suppose these pieces are my favourite due to their abstruse and rather abstract style. After the art, I take the packed rush-hour train back to Asakusa, somewhat confused by the imagery I have just viewed.

There are certain things that become written about more often than others in Japan: signs with bad English and vending machines. I am guilty of writing about both of these things, and perhaps they aren’t the most interesting to mention. But when I saw another strange vending machine, I got a little excited, so I decided to include it here.

This machine, covered in dust, sells batteries from 1931. These batteries, made by Panasonic, are no longer in production. Yet, this machine sells them for around ¥300 a pair. Even though they do claim to be a ‘Top Seller,’ batteries are the very last thing I need in my life right now. The machine doesn’t actually work and seems absent of any power. Somewhat ironically, what the machine could really do with is some new batteries.

Befall Upon The Watchtower

Posted on 14/02/2015 by Luke

For whatever reason, someone has suggested to me that I check out the area where the Arakawa River and the Sumida River flow into one. As I head out into what feels like a spring afternoon, I realise that my destination today might offer little excitement to anyone, including myself. Somehow, I feel drawn in the direction of Arakawa, the shackles of free will severed from my legs. Part of me feels like there is a demon possessing my very soul, controlling my destiny as I cycle at rapid speeds in the direction of Arakawa.

I see the remnants of a temple or shrine, but it looks as though perhaps it is trapped within the confines of an industrial site. Not letting that stop me for one moment, I park my bicycle and wander in. Seconds later, I am cornered by a security guard. He shouts angrily in Japanese as he waves his hand in the direction of the street. A strong urge to not give up consumes me, and I quickly find myself on the other side of the complex.

It is a strange sight. I am standing along the Sumida River, and there is nothing but tall yellow grass stretching off in every direction. No cars pass along the road in front of the shrine. No people are walking. It is silent, yet only ten minutes away are the tall residential buildings that make up my neighbourhood. Looming over the Shinto shrine are three huge green balls, presumably part of a sewerage station. Perhaps the god of water treatment resides here.

I carry on my journey, not wanting to disturb the sewer gods, and eventually find a map. Sure enough, the place I had just visited is marked as ‘Sewer Station Shirahige Nishi Pump Place.’ However, there is no mention of any temple or shrine on the map. There is, however, one other interesting point of interest labelled as ‘Ballpark for boy Ground of using combinedly.’ I excuse the terrible English and carry on along the river.

Ten minutes later, my fanciful difficulty fades away, offering me some karmic resolve.

A watchtower. The best thing that has happened to me all week. It somehow feels like I am stumbling through an episode of the television drama ‘Lost’. For no apparent reason, there is a massive wooden watchtower sitting guard at the entrance to one of the bridges that traverses the Sumida River. What is it doing here? Who built it? Is this real? My mind floods with questions and possibilities, as if somehow collecting fragmented pieces of information and forming them into ideas in my head.

I park my bicycle, and ignoring the sign that tells me to stay away, I enter the wooden doorway. My body filled with an emotion that is yet to be given a name. As I climb the watchtower, I begin to wonder if all of this is just some giant metaphor for something else, something that can’t be explained with words. Each step toward the top tests me, as if life is testing me at this very moment. Eventually, as I near the top, the cracks in the surface become wider, making way for sunbeams.

The view from the top is of nothing of note. Tokyo Skytree hangs in the distance, slightly masked by concrete surroundings. In the direction I came from, I can see the water treatment plant and the barren riverbed. I stand at the top of the tower in silence for a while, watching the blue hue of the river for a time, before the sound of footsteps echo from below. A man appears. He looks devious, something very odd about him; like he means to cause trouble. He stands atop the watchtower with me, blissfully staring out into a void. The man doesn’t speak to me, and something about him makes me incredibly uneasy. I decide that I can’t stand here any longer, so I head back down the steps to my bicycle below.

I cross the river as fast as I can, somewhat unnerved. On the other side of the river, I take a right, following its path back toward what looks like civilisation. After twenty minutes of cycling, I realise I am slightly at a loss. I don’t really know where I am, and I’m not sure if the river I crossed was the Arakawa River or the Sumida River. Perhaps I have already cycled beyond the confluence.

I try to check the map on my camera, but nothing appears to work. I stop for a moment, take a deep breath, and take in my surroundings. Desolate. Empty. Nothing. Everything here looks abandoned, and it begins to reflect on me. Right now, even I feel completely abandoned; which is the strangest feeling I have suffered in a while. As I stand here, lost in the middle of something that might or might not be nothingness, a certain fear destroys my usual calm demeanour, and I begin to panic.

Everything will be fine, though. As if saved, I can just make out the silhouette of Tokyo Skytree on the horizon; so I point my bicycle in the direction of the structure. After what seems like an hour of following the river, I reach a bridge and am finally free to cross. This bridge takes me over the Arakawa River, so it appears that I never reached my destination, never found what I sought out to find. Regardless, I am finally back within familiar territory, heading back toward life. I stop to photograph a sign that probably has no relevance here, but perhaps it does. The sign appears to have been written by Yoda from Star Wars.

As the day continues to distract me, I inadvertently end up in Akihabara. Tired from three or four hours of intemperate exploration, I decide to leave my bicycle at the train station. Inside, I stand at the platform, waiting for the train to take me back to Minowa. It is here that I see yet another strange vending machine.

The machine offers four shelves of items, two of which are toys for children: two sets from the Nature in Japan series. Small models of various different animals native to the country. It is what is contained within the other two shelves that I find strange. At a bargain price of ¥200 per purchase, I can buy office ladies that sit on the edge of my coffee cup; legs open, underwear exposed.

Akihabara Station famously has signs at each escalator, warning women to watch out for ‘upskirting.’ Apparently, it is a law in Japan that all cameras must make a sound when a photograph is taken. With Akihabara being the home of electronics and comic books, lonely men have often been known to pry on women as they ride the escalator, sneakily taking photographs from below.

This vending machine perhaps tries to solve that problem. These coffee cup women are clearly exposing their undergarments, with no shame. The only shame is possibly when your co-workers see you with a decorated coffee cup featuring this type of imagery. ‘Make your office fun!’ ‘Happiness in your cup!’ are just some of the explanations on offer, scrawled in Japanese across the machine.

There are certain times in my life when my mind is simply not capable of understanding something, and this is certainly one of them.

Japanese New Year’s Day

Posted on 03/01/2015 by Luke

This morning, my plan is to wake up early to catch the first sunrise of the New Year. In my usual tardy fashion, I oversleep and wake up at 7 a.m. with the sun shining through my window. Always next year, I suppose. I head over to Asakusa to meet Christine. The fierce winds of last night have completely gone, but it is still cold outside. In fact, I might see my first Tokyo snow rather soon. I notice that the usual New Year’s Day kebab wrappers, vomit, people asleep in the gutter, and smashed beer bottles are missing from the street. Instead, people are cheerfully whistling on their way to work, and there isn’t a speck of litter on the immaculate Tokyo pavements.

I take Christine to the train station to see her off. Perhaps it’s tiredness or a hangover; who knows? But, I take her to the wrong train station. After rectifying my mistake, we rush to the correct station, but Christine misses her train by two minutes. Luckily, the next train will be arriving in half an hour, and she somehow manages to get to the airport in time for her flight. With the rest of the morning to kill, I head home to do a little writing before heading to Kudanshita Station.

I head over to Yasukuni Shrine and join the queue of thousands of other people there for Hatsumode.

Hatsumode is traditionally the first visit to a shrine of the New Year. During this visit, the first wish of the year is made, and it is said that this very first wish is always granted by the gods. The entrance to the shrine is lined with the usual market of delicious-smelling food—something to tempt me on the way out, no doubt.

After making my wish, I take a wander around Yasukuni Shrine. This shrine is steeped in controversy as it houses the spirits of people who died in combat while fighting for Japan in wars between 1867 and 1951. Additionally, the shrine honours the souls of deceased war criminals. There is a museum here where you can read letters written by kamikaze pilots that were left for their loved ones before they died.

After exploring the shrine, I decide to indulge in some sticks of fried cheese, along with my favourite street food: strange-looking but delicious yakisoba, layered in seaweed. I don’t care that my food looks like garden worms. ¥600 well spent.

I wander through the markets in the shrine and decide to purchase an omamori, a Japanese amulet sold at religious shrines. This talisman will find its place in my house, offering good fortune and protection from evil spirits. Next, I pay ¥100 to receive my second fortune of the year. Unfortunately for me, my fortune is written in Japanese. I attempt to translate it myself, and I get the following message:

“Whoever meets in this fortune is brought happiness that appeared by virtue of good people. I will be appearing, but the eye of devotion remains out of sight, like a ball hidden in the stone.”

On the way out of the temple, a man dressed as a dragon tries to ‘eat’ my head; apparently, this creature can devour the evil spirits residing inside me and cleanse my mind. Free sake is also offered, with donations welcome. I decide to leave the shrine and head back to Minowa to enjoy traditional New Year’s Day food.

My meal consists of shiitake mushrooms, carrots, lotus root, potatoes, burdock root, konnyaku, and taro potato, all generously given to me by one of the Japanese people who live in my apartment. The food is absolutely delicious.

After dinner, I decide to do something completely unrelated to Japanese New Year’s Day traditions. I open a cardboard stocking of weird snacks that my friend Marcus kindly gave me as a Christmas present. My snacks are as follows:

Tamago Boro, translating to mean ‘egg biscuits’, are crunchy round snacks that taste nothing like egg, only sugar. For no apparent reason, the packet features a giraffe kicking a football.

Chibichan Noodle claims, “Chicken I do eat as it is!” and suggests not adding any water. “Please make a sound when you eat. Pori pori.” Apparently, that’s the noise it makes when you chew on this treat. Imagine a packet of supermarket instant noodles that have been crushed. Add the little sachet of chicken seasoning, and then eat them raw. That’s what Chibichan Noodle tastes like to me. Horrible.

Pirate Candy: just seven individually wrapped orange-flavoured boiled sweets. Nothing exciting, and nothing that ties in with an association to pirates, as far as I can see. The Japanese text here says, “Let’s aim to reach Candy Island. Let’s go!

Abeseika Melon: these melon-flavoured snacks look like small headache tablets and have the texture of chalk. “Please enjoy as much as possible after opening!” Surprisingly, this is actually my favourite of the six snacks. The sweet quickly dissolves in my mouth, leaving behind a bitter lemon flavour and what can only be described as a ‘citrus blast’.

Kureyon Shin-chan: this snack features a popular anime character produced by TV Asahi. These little colourful balls of white, yellow, green, and orange taste just like gobstoppers. Perhaps they are. Oddly, the company that produces this particular snack is called Punishment, Inc. Although, I’ll happily admit that I have terrible translation skills.

Karappa: Finally, we have Karappa, which sounds to me like the English word ‘crap.’ This light and crunchy ring-shaped corn snack has the flavour of ‘famous’ Umauma Sauce. It has the same texture as Monster Munch and tastes a lot like beef. Although, I am led to believe Umauma Sauce is the flavour of horse meat.

Ticket to (almost) Ride

Posted on 26/12/2014 by Luke

Today is Christmas Day. I wake up at 4 a.m. with a Christmas party hangover. It is too early to think, but I have things to do. Today, my friend Christine is arriving in Japan from England, and it is my job to act as a tour guide for the next few days. I walk to Nippori Station and arrive a little too early for my train. In order to kill time, I wander over the tracks to witness my second sunrise in Japan, the warm winter sun silhouetting Tokyo Skytree. My photograph is ruined by a smudge across my lens.

Inside Nippori Station, it’s business as usual. Today might be Christmas, but for Japan, nothing changes. Salarymen dash to make their connections on the busy trains, Seven Eleven workers look exhausted from a heavy night shift, and ‘Let It Go’ blares from every speaker, as usual. It’s a normal business day here in Tokyo.

I take the Keisei Skyliner to Narita International Airport and wait. Eventually, my friend appears wearing a knitted Christmas jumper and a Santa hat. Despite seeing her in festive garb, it never really feels like Christmas. No trees and no snow; in fact, another clear warm day. There is no Christmas music in the airport either, just the constant drone of nonsensical announcements.

We take the Narita Express bound for Shinjuku Station. The Narita Express describes itself as ‘fast, convenient, and pleasant to ride,’ but never has a quotation been so far from the truth. On the train, Christine makes an offhand comment about whether things ever break in Japan. I tell her, ‘This is Japan,’ which translates to mean, ‘Things never break here.’ No less than five minutes later, our ‘pleasant to ride’ train crawls to a halt outside Sakura Station.

We sit on the train for what seems like an hour before an announcement in Japanese tells us all to get off. A kind Japanese man sitting one row in front of us explains to us in English what is happening. We have to take a Sobu Line train from here to Chiba before continuing toward Shinjuku on local trains. For some unexplained reason, the Narita Express and the rapid line are out of action. Apparently, our ¥3390 tickets can be refunded in Shinjuku.

Not wishing to spend all day sitting on trains, we decide to get off close to Asakusa. We wander to Senso-ji Temple to get our fortune, something that I very much enjoy doing. Christine receives a ‘Bad Fortune’ and leaves it for the gods. We eat sushi at my favourite standing sushi restaurant before taking the train to Akihabara.

In Akihabara, for reasons that can’t be discerned, Ultraman is seen riding a horse.

We hop on a Yamanote Line train and get off at a random station. Her choice is Nippori, my fourth visit to this station this week. We wander across the tracks and explore the many temples and shrines. Passing through Yanaka Ginza Street, we stop off at a small park. Tired and with feet hurting from too much walking, we take a breather at Zenshoan Temple. As we enter the temple grounds, in the distance stands a huge gold statue.

The statue of Kannon is impressive, but what is potentially even more captivating is the Ghost Museum. Sadly, the museum featuring silk scroll paintings depicting ghosts and macabre ghost stories is only open during the summer months. There’s something about horror stories warming your blood, which is the reason for the seasonal opening hours.

With all this talk of spirits, we take a wander through Yanaka Cemetery. I have visited here once before and found it incredibly peaceful, and do so now. There’s something about the perfect rows of decorated graves that is somewhat calming. Perhaps the quiet all around adds to this feeling. For some reason, the unfinished sign doesn’t display how winter should look here. The row of sakura trees and blossoming primrose jasmine in spring is a reason to once again walk among the dead next year.

We head back to a hostel in Asakusa, the same one I had previously stayed at for eighty-two days. Tonight, the hostel is having a Christmas party, and Santa Claus will be arriving at half past eight by subway train. Exhausted from a long day and in need of my own bed, I decide to give the party a miss and head home.

Back in Minowa, I dine on Domino’s Pizza (four seasons) and a New York Cheesecake. I could post a photograph of a Japanese pizza from Domino’s, but it really isn’t any different from anywhere else. Instead, here are some instructions for Christmas decorations that I saw earlier today:

Merry Christmas.

Palace Under Fire

Posted on 24/12/2014 by Luke

Today is His Imperial Majesty the Emperor’s 81st Birthday. To celebrate this momentous occasion, the people of Japan will enjoy a public holiday, taking a day off work. The only person not celebrating, it seems, is His Imperial Majesty the Emperor himself. Today, he will address the nation from the inner grounds of the Imperial Palace, a place that is only open to the public two days a year. Not one to pass up an opportunity to go inside the Imperial Palace walls, I head straight to Kanda Station directly after breakfast.

I enjoy a leisurely thirty-minute walk. The sky is clear, the sun is bright; it feels far too hot on this December day to resemble the apparent winter. His Imperial Majesty the Emperor himself couldn’t have ordered better weather for this special day, even if he tried. I walk to the Imperial Palace, stopping to admire some trees along the way. It seems that I go through phases of fascination, and, as you might be able to surmise, this month’s juncture is trees.

The trees here were once used by the Meteorological Agency to help further their studies into phenological phenomena. These Yoshino Cherry and Japanese Maple trees served as specimens. The long-term observations from studying these trees helped solve problems regarding changes in weather conditions almost sixty years ago. With this data, the Meteorological Agency can accurately predict the days when cherry blossoms will flower. An important and worthwhile discovery.

When I finally arrive at the Imperial Palace, I find out that I have missed His Imperial Majesty the Emperor’s speech by a mere two hours; I will still be allowed inside, though, if I can find the correct entrance. I wander around the outer Imperial Palace walls. There is a large statue of Wake no Kiyomaro, a preacher of Buddhism and once a trusted advisor to the Emperor during the Nara period.

Wake no Kiyomaro had his share of good and bad fortune. He was once exiled for years and forced to have the sinews of his legs cut out, rendering him immobile. Luckily, some stone boar statues magically came to life and healed his legs, and he was freed from exile. Eventually, he was reinstated as a trusted advisor to the Emperor. Nowadays, he is remembered by the grand title of ‘God of healing foot disease,’ and at this location outside the Imperial Palace, he has become a regular target for defecating birds.

I eventually find the entrance to the Imperial Palace grounds. Here, I get told off by a policeman for walking against the flow of people. One-way system, no signs. I head across the coned-off concrete and to a security checkpoint. After being thoroughly searched, I am clear to enter the inner grounds, free of charge. At the gate, I stand and watch a lifeless guard. He doesn’t blink for well over five minutes. I speculate that this man is actually an android, but his lack of animatronic function appears to counter my observation. I want to stay and watch, to see how long he can go without blinking, but a policeman kindly asks me to move along.

Inside the Imperial Palace grounds, there are more security guards than visitors. I wander past some overgrown trees and toward the Imperial Household Building. Outside, a small marquee has been erected. At the marquee, I am given the opportunity to write my name, nationality, and a nice message for His Imperial Majesty the Emperor. I write ‘Happy Birthday, His Imperial Majesty the Emperor.’ I take care to write it down neatly and deliberately. A sign hanging above tells me that my message of ‘Happy Birthday, His Imperial Majesty the Emperor,’ will be duly forwarded to its highest destination as an expression of my warm congratulations.

After signing, I continue along the one-way system. Still no signs. The grass here is completely overgrown and is in desperate need of a gardener. The Japanese taxpayer covers the cost of outer garden maintenance, which boasts neatly trimmed grass cut on a daily basis. It feels like a waste of money to me. Inside, it is a very different story. Perhaps the tax money doesn’t quite make it into the ‘inner sanctum,’ or maybe His Imperial Majesty the Emperor is required to cut the grass here by himself. I am not sure, but regardless, the grass inside the Imperial Palace grounds is an overgrown shambles.

I pass an Obansho Great Guardhouse, one of three remaining, and the final checkpoint on the way to the Imperial Palace. This place would have had the highest-ranking samurai guardsmen stationed here. Ironically, it is at this point that the security guard and police presence seems to completely diminish. Further along the path, someone appears to have forgotten their ladder.

I walk idly along, somewhat unimpressed. I head up a slope before passing through the remains of Chujakumon Gate and into the public gardens. These gardens are somewhat more remarkable than the rest of the Imperial Palace grounds; the grass here is cut really short. Before me stands an orchard. His Imperial Majesty the Emperor personally planted three of these cultivars in 2008: the Sanbokan Grapefruit, a sour orange; the Tangor, a cross between a tangerine and an orange; and the Cherry Orange, a variety of Mandarin orange. The orchard was created on the site of the Castle of Edo based on His Imperial Majesty the Emperor’s idea that visitors would be able to enjoy the popular fruits of the Edo era.

Forgetting about fruit and foliage for a moment, I decide to check out the mysterious Ishimuro Stone Cellar. Some people say this was an emergency storehouse to supply the inner section of the Imperial Palace. Some people say that this stone cellar housed an underground passage that once led directly into the Imperial Palace. Some people say that this cellar was a secret passage that led to hoards of treasure. I personally hope it was used as a secret passage, but perhaps I will never know. Despite the angle of the photograph, it is not possible to explore deeper inside the Ishimuro Stone Cellar, thanks to a fence blocking the entrance.

My final stop is the Tenshuku Donjon Base, the highest-ever donjon built in Japan and a symbol of the Tokugawa Shogunate’s authority. Just nineteen years after it was built, in 1657, there was a conflagration known as the Great Fire of Meireki. The fire lasted three days, claimed over 100,000 lives, and destroyed this donjon. It was never constructed again.

The view from the ruined donjon is the old Edo Castle Honmaru Goten Palace, now just a large lawn full of people sleeping and enjoying the sunshine. Formerly, this area was lined with buildings. Presumably, these too were burnt down during the Great Fire of Meireki; a fire that is considered to be one of the worst disasters in Japanese history. A fire that left the old Edo city, now known as Tokyo, in complete ruin.

The fire was said to be caused by a priest. According to legend, there was a cursed kimono that killed teenage girls, and the priest decided to burn it on that day in March 1657. It didn’t help that the buildings of that time were made from flammable materials such as wood, were built closely together, and had thin paper walls. The fire spread to all parts of Tokyo, leaving destruction and devastation in its wake.

From the ruined donjon, there is barely a trace left of the fire. All that remains is the site of an old castle now replaced by a neatly cut lawn, an orchard of lemon trees, and the overly developed city skyline looming in the distance.

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