Around the Wards in Achy Days

Posted on 18/01/2023 by Luke

To celebrate the 150-year anniversary of railways in Japan, and my own personal achievement of having finally explored and written about all 23 wards of Tokyo, I decide to pay tribute to the city in a meaningful way. I choose to do so by embarking on a journey to walk the entire length of the Yamanote Line, a challenge that will allow me to experience Tokyo in a way that I never have before.

As the early morning sun blazes brightly between the gaps in the skyscrapers, I set out to meet my friend Maki. Though not typically a fan of early starts, today will be a long day that calls for an exception to be made. The Yamanote Line, a loop line encircling central Tokyo, is approximately 34.5 kilometres in length. But on foot, without walking on the tracks, the journey becomes a formidable 44 kilometres – just a little over a marathon’s distance. Thus, the route earns itself a playful portmanteau: the Yamathon.

I meet Maki outside a small cafe in Sumida, and we cross the bridge over into Asakusa. She asks me if she can give up, to which I jokingly reply that it’s a bit early to be considering such a thing. After all, with the Yamanote Line constantly circling the city, it’s always possible to find a train station nearby in case the need to give up arises. Hence, with determination in our hearts, we set off from Ueno, the start and end point of our journey. Our first decision is whether to walk clockwise or anti-clockwise. After some deliberation, we opt for the latter, as the prospect of navigating through the eerie streets of Uguisudani at night seems daunting. And so, we set off in the direction of Ikebukuro.

As we approach Nippori, the road runs out and we are forced to venture into the familiar territory of Yanaka Cemetery (still no sign of the ‘snow-protective lifting tool’). While meandering amongst the empty graves, we become momentarily lost, but the distant rumble of a Yamanote Line train eventually guides us back to the tracks. We continue on, making our way through Tabata and eventually reaching Otsuka Station. It is here, three hours into our quest, that our journey takes an unexpected detour in the form of an interesting discovery: the first and only Green Lawson in Tokyo.

The thing that makes this store so unique is that it is fully staffed by digital avatars of Lawson employees, rather than human staff members. As we wander into the store, intrigued by the novelty of it all, we decide to explore further. As we pass by one of the avatars, she greets us with a cheerful “Happy New Year” in Japanese. As Maki chats with the AI about our epic journey along the Yamanote Line and my documenting it in a blog, the clever machine quips that it would be happy to strike a pose for a photograph. It suggests three options: a cheerful “wave,” a universal “peace” sign, or a self-deprecating “loser” sign.

Eager to learn more, I take the opportunity to ask the AI about the philosophy behind Green Lawson. To my surprise, the machine responds in fluent English, explaining that the store aims to reduce food waste, support the local economy, and contribute to world peace.

As we resume our walk, the towering buildings along the route create pockets of shade on the pavement. It’s cold in the shadows, but warm in the sun. Maki explains that there are two words in Japanese that both describe these respective conditions, but I find myself struggling to come up with the antonym for “shade.” This lack of an opposing word begins to bother me, and I consider the possibility that it might be a failing of my memory.

We continue on, passing a large group of people running along the street dressed as rabbits, a nod to the Chinese New Year’s chosen animal. At Ikebukuro, we are treated to the sight of sculptures that litter the streets. As we enter Shin-Okubo, we find ourselves wandering through the bustling streets of Korean Town. And at Shinjuku Station, we are greeted by a television screen that displays words in a mesmerising three-dimensional phenomenon.

Almost five hours into our walk, we arrive at the halfway point of our journey: Harajuku Station. Here, people stand in line, eagerly waiting to purchase tapioca from a street vendor. A little further up the street, we see a similar scene, but with people queueing up along the entire length of a road to buy shoes. In Shibuya, we encounter yet another line, this time composed of people waiting to take a photograph of Hachiko the dog, adorned with a special wreath to mark the New Year.

After hours of constant walking, our legs begin to feel sore. We decide to take a well-deserved break at a small, charming cafe. In contrast to the bustling, three-dimensional imagery of Shinjuku Station, the atmosphere at the cafe is a tranquil, two-dimensional one.

With the night falling and the wind picking up, a chill fills the air as we resume our journey through the darkening city. Despite the challenges presented by the fading light and the increasing cold, we persevere, striding forward on our journey. Close to Meguro Station, we are treated to a beautiful distraction in the form of the Meguro River Cherry Blossoms Promenade, a scenic riverside path lined with cherry trees that are illuminated by beautiful pink lights.

The tranquil scene is a welcome respite from the pain in my calves, and Maki and I take a moment to simply savour the beauty around us.

With weariness setting in, we consider the possibility of giving up, but in the end, we decide that we cannot allow ourselves to quit, for the fear of regret is too great. If we can push through and complete this challenge, we tell ourselves, then we can conquer anything. And so, we push on, determined to see our journey through to the end.

We pass through Shinagawa and the newly built Takanawa Gateway Station, the most recent addition to the Yamanote Line. At 5 p.m., the “Yuyake Koyake” bells ring out from speakers at every intersection, beckoning us to return home. But we do not heed their call, for the end of our journey is nearly in sight. In the distance, I am heartened by the sight of the bright illuminations of Tokyo Tower.

Built from the remains of United States military tanks damaged in the Korean War, Tokyo Tower was designed to mirror the iconic Eiffel Tower in France. However, in a show of competitive spirit, Japan deliberately made its tower 2.6 metres taller, earning it the title of the tallest freestanding tower in the world (a title now held by Tokyo Skytree).

As we near the end of our journey, we are mesmerised by the bright lights of Ginza, Tokyo, Kanda, and Akihabara, all of which are transformed into a neon nirvana at night. It is at this moment that I am struck by the realisation that Japan has not just four, but five seasons – one that is marked not by the changing colours of nature, but by the way in which the country’s cities and towns are transformed by the darkness of night.

After a grueling nine-hour journey that saw us take a total of 55,454 steps, we finally arrive at Ueno Station, exhausted but triumphant. Our legs ache and our feet throb with pain, but the sense of accomplishment helps to outweigh the discomfort. Upon returning to Asakusa, I allow myself the indulgence of an ice-cold beer – the best I’ve ever tasted – as a way to celebrate and relax after our achievement. As Maki and I bask in the afterglow of our journey, the fatigue slowly starts to fade away.

Fins Can Only Get Batter

Posted on 31/12/2014 by Luke

Today, Christine and I head over to Tsukiji to visit a fish market. Outside the train station, the outer market is crowded with mostly tourists. It is fair to say that along the small streets lining the market, we are literally packed like sardines. Many small food stores sell fish caught fresh this morning, and the smell of fish is pleasant and anything but overpowering. The freshness of the food here can really be noted.

Buckets of huge tuna sit soaked in blood and ice. Live crabs try to escape their fate by crawling from weighing scales, and the hustle and bustle of the market is present at every turn.

We wander the outer market and into what looks like a giant warehouse. This is the wholesale section of the market, and the biggest wholesale fish and seafood market in the world. People carrying huge white polystyrene boxes of frozen fish cruise past on electric bikes. Tuna that costs more than a house is on sale and on display. People are rushing. Market traders are yelling. It is all a bit overwhelming.

We wander the entire length of the wholesale market, which takes about twenty minutes at a hurried pace. At the other side of the market, we wander into a shrine to receive our fortune in the form of a sacred lot. One of the traditional cultures in Japan that you can experience at Japanese shrines and temples. We both pay ¥200 and both receive a ‘Very lucky’ fortune. We wonder if they are all the same.

After Tsukiji, we take the train over to Tokyo Big Sight. Outside Tokyo International Exhibition Centre, there are about one thousand people in cosplay, dressed as their favourite comic book characters.

Men dressed as women pose for photographs for a queue of excited otaku. A guy in a schoolgirl outfit follows us as we enter the main building. Today is Winter Comiket, a comic market event with a focus on independent manga artists. Ninety percent of the people here are men wearing glasses and conform seamlessly to the stereotype of a comic book fan.

Entry is free. Inside the West Halls, there are rows upon rows of small stands, each selling individual comic books. There is no stage. No other entertainment. Only comic books. I can understand the appeal to those who read manga, but for me, the event gives me very little satisfaction. In fact, Christine and I agree that it is all a little too much. The crowds are insane, and oddly, most of the comic books seem to feature covers that can only be described as pornography.

After ten minutes of wandering along endless rows of comics, we decide to leave. On the way out, we bump into Jeff. He is standing around playing with his ‘selfie stick’ with a disappointed look on his face. He only bought the stick today, but already, it has broken; perhaps through overuse, perhaps it was cheaply made.

We leave Tokyo Big Sight and walk across the Dream Bridge and the Teleport Bridge before arriving at Decks, Odaiba. We grab some cheap food at Yoshinoya, one of my favourite chain restaurants because it sells grilled eel with a bottle of beer at an extremely low price. After food, Jeff heads off, and Christine and I explore the area.

We are handed a flyer for the Tokyo Trick Art Museum. It looks interesting enough and is only ¥900, so we decide to take a look.

The flyer says, ‘Do you want to play with Japanese ghosts and monsters? You can take funny photos. Don’t be scared. It is fun.’ The queue is mostly populated by families with children. Perhaps this isn’t for adults at all. Trapped in the queueing system, there is no going back, and eventually, we’re inside and being given a guided group tour of the museum, in Japanese.

We wander through the Edo area and the ninja house. At one point, we have to find a secret door; perhaps the most interesting thing in the museum. We take photographs in various positions, but they all turn out looking poor. We solve optical illusions, look at drawings from different angles, and get eaten by a whale. The best illusion is one of a vampire with a wine glass.

After the Tokyo Trick Art Museum, we head back to Asakusa, to Cafe Byron Bay, to drink wine. We opt for a relatively early night, tired from five days of constant walking around and sightseeing. Tomorrow, an eagerly anticipated trip to Tokyo Disneyland awaits.

The Golden Reptile

Posted on 13/10/2014 by Luke

With a new home comes a new train station. Today, I head to the nearby Minowa Station and take the Hibiya Line. At Kayabacho Station, a man runs out of the train as the doors close, trapping his foot. He falls over, smashing his face on the platform. The doors re-open, he gets up, and walks away calmly, as if it didn’t happen. The train is also full of screaming babies, which is endlessly annoying. I much prefer the calmness of the Ginza Line. I remain on the noisy train for as long as I can stand; which happens to be twelve stops later, at Hibiya.

“I’ve never been to Hibiya before, but the area seems to take its name from a train line, so I’m hopeful I’ll find something interesting here. Inside the station, the yellow area information map presents a world of endless possibilities. There’s the Passport Centre, the Imperial Hospital, or even the Diet Building. Instead, I opt to explore Hibiya Park. As I approach the park’s entrance, a group of marathon runners rushes past me. In the distance, I hear the sound of megaphones. Inside the park, a festival.

Today marks the 21st Railway Festival. On the main stage, a big yellow mascot, shaped like the front of a train, dances around energetically. Market stalls are brimming with train-based information and souvenirs. Adults form queues, eager to have their photographs taken with various images depicting trains through the ages.

A crowd of people stands silently, engrossed in taking photographs, so I head over to investigate. A man holds up a sign that reads ‘On Air.’ A complete film crew is present, recording for a channel called Ch.546. They are filming a segment focused on the railway festival, featuring what seems to be a Japanese idol displaying a remarkable enthusiasm for trains.

The bustling stalls attract a steady stream of people, children brimming with excitement, and families enjoying picnics. Despite the event being a railway festival, the only physical trains in sight are on a miniature track featuring characters like Thomas and Percy from Thomas the Tank Engine—a ride that children happily pay an overpriced fee to experience.

Deeper into the festival grounds, a queue of over a thousand people forms for a live music event. I decide to continue my stroll through the park, which turns out to be quite charming with its fountains, ponds, and well-tended gardens. After a while, feeling a bit bored, I decide to leave and make my way to Ginza. Here, I indulge in the familiar tranquillity of the Tokyo Metro Ginza Line until I eventually arrive at Ueno Station.

Today marks the 31st Kappabashi Kitchen Festival. I start my journey from Ueno towards Asakusa, walking through the bustling Kappabashi Kitchen Town. The place is crowded; too many cooks.

This area is a hub where all the kitchen shops in Japan are clustered together. It’s the primary destination for purchasing kitchen products in the country. The festival serves as an avenue for shopkeepers to sell off their summer inventory at discounted rates, making room for their winter stock. Prices have been significantly reduced, resulting in a rush of shoppers clamouring for bowls, knives, pans, and even shop signage. Meanwhile, the enticing aroma of delicious food from various small stands fills the air.

I swim through bustling crowds until I spot a group of people capturing photographs of a statue—a golden kappa.

The kappa has evolved into the official mascot of Kappabashi Street, although the reason might not be immediately apparent. One story suggests that ‘kappa’ translates to ‘raincoat’ in Japanese, as many merchants used to hang their wet raincoats out to dry on a nearby bridge. Another tale revolves around a merchant named Kappaya, who supposedly constructed a canal in the area to manage floodwater. Consequently, the street was named after him to honour his contributions. However, as time passed, these origins faded into obscurity, and now the street is simply associated with the homophonically named kappa—a mythical frog lizard—replacing historical roots with legend.

At the Asakusa end of Kappabashi Street, I make a brief stop at Cafe Byron Bay for a radio interview with the Japan FM Network, discussing vending machines. Interestingly, the interview won’t be broadcast until next month, and despite being recorded in Tokyo, it’s to be aired everywhere except here.

Turning the corner from the cafe, I’m greeted by the commencement of festivities—traditional Japanese taiko drums echoing through the air.

As I finally depart from the festival, the resonating beats of the drums linger in my ears. Heading back towards Minowa, the rain begins to fall—another typhoon approaching. Quick to act, I grab some snacks from Seven Eleven and opt to seek refuge in my apartment for the evening, bracing for the impending storm.

A Tale of Sorrow and Sadness

Posted on 25/09/2014 by Luke

I spend my morning shaking off a karaoke gin hangover, arguably the worst kind. At 1 p.m., Dagmar and I take the train to Ginza to meet our friend Aram. The plan is a visit to the Vanilla Gallery; the number one gallery in Tokyo for eroticism, fetishism, and sadism.

Despite having visited the Vanilla Gallery before, it remains difficult to locate. We get a little lost but eventually find it hidden away on an inconspicuous street. This month, the theme showcases artwork that tells the tale of time and sorrow—’An exhibit of illustrated stories and dolls pertaining to madness and sadness.’ The entry fee is a pleasing ¥500.

The exhibition is called Der Tilgung. Dagmar tells me that this is German for ‘The Repayment.’ Nowhere else in Tokyo can you experience such a vortex of phenomenal imagination.

Room-A features a collection of artwork and imagery from MoriKaoru. I’m surprised to find that most of the paintings have sold out. The work focuses on desolate women surrounded by monsters depicted as men. There’s an uneasy emphasis on slavery and torture. One exhibit displays iron shackles laid to rest on a leather sofa. Another portrays a drawing of a young woman bound at the wrists, sitting in a cell surrounded by decapitated limbs, while a male figure with a menacing grin watches her through the bars.

Room-B is slightly less horrific but disturbing in other ways. Suna-mura Hiroaki is the artist. The display features half-naked corpses of women—dolls. A child lies still in a coffin, and two dolls hang from chains with beautiful flowers blossoming from their dead faces. A doll resembling a nurse has her chest cut open, held by wire, and inside reside many small, menacing demons. Trees grow from faces, and dolls scream in anguish. Some dolls are made from the skulls of unnamed animals. Despite the theme, the craftsmanship here is incredible. My favourite piece is a naked woman, half her body covered by flesh, the other completely skeletal; half her face a picture of harrowing decay.

Most of the exhibits are for sale, with prices ranging from ¥50,000 to ¥300,000 per piece. Haunting music floods the gallery. Sadly, the Vanilla Gallery forbids photography, so my only photographs are from the entrance and the flyer. I’ll probably have nightmares for a week thanks to what I’ve seen here. We stay for maybe twenty minutes before heading to the station.

Back at the hostel, there’s yet another party. Tonight’s theme is a ‘Sake Fair.’ Here, we can witness the process of making Japanese sake, sample ‘free’ sake, and indulge in the many complimentary snacks available. A PowerPoint presentation is set up on a projector—classic. The concept behind the free sake is to promote a brewery tour scheduled for tomorrow. For tonight, there are five different bottles of sake for hostel guests to try.

Suginishiki Yamahai Junmai is my favourite; it takes twice as long to make as your regular sake and is full-bodied with plenty of flavour. Shosetsu Daiginjo is also very nice—light, mild, and clear, with a banana scent and a subtle hint of fruit. I don’t usually like sake, but the drinks on offer here are actually very nice, perhaps a bit more expensive than I’m used to.

I decide to sign up for the tour tomorrow. It will be interesting to learn about the process, and I’m pleased to find out that the tour takes place at a brewery at the base of Mount Hakone. The tour costs ¥8500, including transportation, and it’s a great opportunity for me to discover more about this traditional Japanese drink.

On a Clear Day I Can See Forever

Posted on 10/09/2014 by Luke

Summer surrenders to autumn, and the weather swiftly turns cool, as if overnight. My can of Boss Coffee falls from the vending machine piping hot. Today, I decide to explore the Toei Oedo Line. I walk twenty minutes to Kuramae Station. En route, I pass the Bandai Headquarters; a huge banner informs me that Tamagotchi is making a comeback at the end of this month. At Kuramae Station, I wait patiently for the train and receive strange looks as I laugh at the following sign:

I hop on the train without taking any notice of the time. It is, of course, 9 a.m. — rush hour. The train is packed. Today, I learn that this train goes all the way to Shinjuku. At every stop, more people get on. The crowding worsens, and the oxygen levels deplete. After about ten minutes, it becomes too much, so I squeeze my way out of the train at Kachidoki Station. I need air.

Kachidoki is in Koto and is the nearest station to the Tokyo Port Terminal. Whilst I’m here, I decide to take a little wander around the docks and the small interconnected islands. Dengue fever has now spread throughout Tokyo, and this area is a terrible place to be. All the streets here are lined with shrubbery and swarming with mosquitoes. A sign warns me to ‘Be careful with mosquitoes!’ Joking aside, it’s actually pretty serious, and I take the warning seriously

I head toward the Harumi Railway Bridge.

The bridge is no longer in use. Barbed wire warns me not to cross, although I wouldn’t anyway as it doesn’t look very safe. What’s interesting here is that from this bridge, I can see both Tokyo Skytree and Tokyo Tower. I suppose it makes the trip worthwhile, maybe not. After I photograph the bridge and Tokyo Tower in the distance, I head back to Kachidoki Station. Rush hour is now long gone.

I take the Toei Oedo Line all the way to Shinjuku. I end up getting lost in the station, then get back on the same train as before, taking it to Tochomae Station. Here, I change trains but stay on the same line and head to Higashi-Shinjuku Station. Outside, I walk around looking for something to do. There isn’t a lot here—just restaurants, shops, and plenty of bars; a good place for a night out if I didn’t live so far away. I cross under the Yamanote Line and see children painting the wall beneath the tracks.

I follow the wall of graffiti to the entrance of Shin-Okubo Station and take the Yamanote Line to Ueno, changing trains once more before heading to Tawaramachi Station.

When I arrive back at the hostel, Hiro tells me that tonight we are having a soba party. “Not again!” I quip. The flyer for the party is the same as last time but with a different date. I relax for a while, killing time, before heading out for my seventh train of the day.

I take the Tobu Skytree Line just one stop to Tokyo Skytree Station. If I’m completely honest, I could have just walked it; it isn’t far. I blame the convenience of Japan for my laziness. I’ve been here almost four months now, and with Tokyo Skytree practically on my doorstep, I decide I might as well take the plunge. ‘Plunge’ probably isn’t the best word to have used.

I pay ¥2060 and wait anxiously for the lift. Surprisingly, there is absolutely no queue. The lift travels so fast that it makes my ears pop. 350 metres later, I arrive at the Tembo Observation Deck. The view is staggering.

Skytree Radio blares through the speakers. As I gaze over the Sumida River, I can see my hostel. “From the top of the tower, radio buzz in my ears, I can see my house from here, I can see my house from here.” The Owen Pallett song, ‘The CN Tower Belongs to the Dead,’ gets stuck in my head, and it will most likely stay there for the remainder of the day; not necessarily a bad thing though.

I wander the massive observation deck for a while, being careful not to get too close to the edge. There’s an option to pay an additional ¥1030 to go up to the next deck, another one-hundred metres higher. I think it’s terrible that this was never advertised to me until I’m already 350 metres in the sky—a sneaky trick to try and make me pay more. I decide not to bother; I’ve already spent a small fortune today as it is. Instead, I take the escalator down ten metres. Here, there’s a glass viewing point where I can stare at the traffic on the street below. Oddly, it doesn’t look like I’m too high up from here.

There’s another area where I can actually stand on a glass platform and have my photograph taken by the staff, although I can’t use my own camera. All I want to do is take a photograph of my foot on the glass panel, but I’m not allowed. Another trick: if you like the photograph, you can spend even more money and buy it.

I take the lift back down to the inescapable 5th floor. It would be unfair to say that the most exciting part of the Tokyo Skytree experience is the lift, but then again, I am quite the unfair person. As I had imagined, the exit to the lift leads into the gift shop. The train station is on the first floor, and surprisingly, I am forced to exit through not just one gift shop, but three. After three floors of tacky goods, I then have to walk all the way through a huge indoor food market just to get to my train.

Back at the hostel and with an hour to kill, I write whilst listening to Owen Pallett, or at least I try to write. At some point, all hell breaks loose: a monsoon. Tokyo is issued a flood and heavy rain warning—a red warning. I have honestly never seen rain so hard; I can’t possibly explain it without appearing to exaggerate. The hostel floods. I spend an hour helping out: moving furniture from flooded rooms to dry rooms, and mopping. Mopping until I have no energy to mop anymore. It’s just lucky that my laundry is comfortably drying on the 4th floor, so I don’t mind getting my clothes soaked in dirty floodwater. Eventually, the rain stops, and with a lot of hard work from the team here, everything is high and eventually dry.

It is fair to say that the soba party is a bit of a washout. Eventually, after an hour delay, it finally gets started. I shower and change clothes before enjoying some free noodles and beer. Deserved beer.

After the party, I take a wander outside to catch the end of the Harvest Moon. Somewhat fittingly, the moon hovers just behind Tokyo Skytree. An apposite end to the day.

Eat Fish or Die Tryin’

Posted on 03/09/2014 by Luke

I meet my friend Dagmar for breakfast at ten. At breakfast, I drink away my hangover with a bottle of a tasteless drink called ‘Delicious Water’ before heading out alone for the train. Someone told me yesterday that beneath the banks and office buildings between Mitsukoshimae Station and Otemachi Station, hidden deep underground, the Japanese government grows secret rice.

Somewhere along the Ginza Line, my train just powers down. All the lights extinguish, plunging the carriage into an abyss of darkness. The train drifts aimlessly towards Ueno Station and finally grinds to a haunting halt. The silence thickens, shrouding the dead train in an eerie stillness, an unsettling void that grips the carriage. Everyone remains silent, messing with their mobile phones, despite the obvious sorrow of the situation. It is all very worrying. About five minutes pass, and there is an announcement in Japanese, then nothing. A further five minutes, and the train starts up like nothing ever happened.

As I exit Mitsukoshimae Station, I accidentally wander into an adjacent department store.

Inside the department store, there is a Mask Art Museum, and it is free. A nice but rather small exhibition. The store housing the museum is incredibly upmarket. I ask politely if I am allowed to take photographs, and lucky for me, it is fine. The exhibition actually ends today. Rather fittingly, all of the mannequins in this department store are wearing masks.

One thing I have noticed in Japan are the many strange museums. I believe I have previously mentioned the famous World Bags and Luggage Museum. A few other favourites of mine that I am yet to visit are the Gas Science Museum, the National Leprosy Museum, and the Parasite Museum.

I wander around for a while looking for the entrance to the secret underground rice bunker. It takes a while but I eventually find a huge office building that has every window on one side completely covered in plants. On the other side of the building I scare away an eagle pecking at a gold statue of Prometheus. This must be the place, I think to myself. It turns out it is.

Deeply tucked away in the second basement level of a huge skyscraper, they grow rice. I am not entirely sure why they grow rice, but people are free to come and see it. Huge natural light shines from above. Rice grows. From what I was told, this area stretches under the whole business district, although it doesn’t. The size of the area was heavily exaggerated to me. The rice isn’t really that much of a secret; it’s not too well advertised, but no one is trying to hide the fact that it grows here either. In fact, I think it’s encouraged for people to come here and learn about rice cultivation. So, another urban myth shattered then.

After looking at rice for a few minutes, I decide to walk to the Imperial Palace. I’m surprised by how close the stations are to each other in this area. Tokyo, Kanda, Shinbashi, and Nihonbashi Stations are literally within a five-minute walk of each other. Outside the Imperial Palace, about thirty elderly Japanese people are sitting and painting.

The Imperial Palace is home to Emperor Akihito, the last remaining monarch in the world to go by the name of Emperor. There isn’t really much else to see at the palace. The grass outside is cut immaculately, and the water fountains spray jets of water about two metres into the air. I notice there is a great view of Tokyo Station from the Palace car park, though. I wander to the nearby Ginza Station and take the train back to Asakusa.

I decide to inspect a potential apartment. Small apartments in Japan are ironically referred to as “mansions.” These one-room coffin apartments offer little to no space and an equal amount of comfort. Another phenomenon in Japan is the grouping of shops, whole areas dedicated to selling one type of product. The area where the apartment is housed is completely surrounded by funeral shops. One street has eight shops in a row, all selling tombstones. I decide the area doesn’t quite feel right. Chimes sound from nowhere as I head back to the hostel, chiming five times signalling 5 p.m.

At 6 p.m., Richard, Luis, Remi, and I head to a nearby restaurant that serves fugu. Jokes are made about toxicity, tetrodotoxin, paralysis, and death. In reality, fugu poison is one-thousand two-hundred times stronger than cyanide; this is no laughing matter. The most poisonous part of the fish is the liver. Outside the restaurant, we watch our dinner for a while, graciously swimming around in a tank. In a moment, this beautiful blowfish will be killed on our behalf; we sure hope it doesn’t have a taste for revenge.

There was a time when a fugu chef would have to pass a training course of ten years before being given certification to prepare fugu. These laws changed about three years ago, and now the rules state just a two or three-year course is required. We really hope that our chef today is of the older generation.

We take a seat in a tatami room. We order fresh blowfish sashimi. We also order diced blowfish sashimi just so I can make a pun about how we diced with death. Oddly, one of the options on the menu is hot sake with dried blowfish fin floating in the liquid. “We only serve the finest live domestic tiger blowfish,” says the menu. Served live? I certainly hope not. We wait anxiously for our food to arrive.

The poisonous fish is served in elegantly arranged translucent slices; it doesn’t look very threatening.

A taste for revenge would be an overstatement. A taste of anything would be welcome. The food is the freshest fish I have ever tasted, of course; it has been dead just minutes. The food is also the least tasty fish I have ever had. It has no flavour at all; perhaps there is a subtle hint of death. I’m just glad we went to a cheap non-certified restaurant. It costs us just ¥5480 between the four of us for two dishes and four drinks.

I tried the sacred fugu of Japan and all I got was this lousy anecdote.

Siliconan the Ovarian

Posted on 21/08/2014 by Luke

The previous three days drifted along to the tune of uneventfulness. I met old friends, went out for dinners, and had drinks. I didn’t even leave Asakusa once. Today, a sign in my hostel says, “Soba party today, come and enjoy Japanese noodles!” There is also a list of local artists that will be here to teach various arts and crafts. Free food and free crafts, excellent.

Outside, it is a blistering 36°C. I take the Tokyo Metro Ginza Line to Ginza. Ginza is a massive shopping district and fashion area. The kind of place you only drive through if you have an Aston Martin or a Bentley. If there is a Tokyo edition of the board game Monopoly, Ginza would be Mayfair. There is an array of well-dressed people, expensive fashion boutiques, and all the high-priced big brand stores.

My first stop in Ginza is the rather difficult-to-find Vanilla Gallery. Hidden away in a basement floor of a rather uninteresting building, it plays host to the Fourth Artificial Otome Expo: a Love Dolls exhibition. I shyly pay my ¥1000 entry fee to a young woman and shuffle through the gallery, trying to avoid eye contact with the other customers and the dolls. The dolls are made of silicone, are hauntingly childlike, and can be customised to the finest detail; every part of a doll can be ‘made to order’. Also in the exhibition is the mould that creates these dolls; a sign says, ‘Crystal craftsmanship to build the doll up to perfection.’

The Vanilla Gallery is small, and the exhibition is in just two little rooms. Orient Industry has been making these luxury Love Dolls for thirty-seven years, or so a video of the production process tells me. They also claim to make the most luxurious and expensive dolls; probably why they chose Ginza to showcase their creations. There is one doll that you can touch, ‘Feel her soft realistic skin,’ a sign says. I pass on the touching. I can only show the photograph of the sign, as there was a strict no-photography policy in place.

I once saw a television interview with a Japanese man who said that he doesn’t want his wife to know about his collection of Love Dolls, so he rents a second apartment just for his dolls. I stay for no longer than five minutes. The life-size, realistic-looking dolls scare me. Their stillness makes me think of the dead.

Next in Ginza, I head to the nearby ‘Hello Kitty Toy Park.’ Here, there are so many toys, games, keyrings, plates, umbrellas—everything you can imagine featuring Hello Kitty. Five floors of toys, two floors of restaurants, a theatre, and a small theme park. I have never seen so many Hello Kitty items in one place. I don’t know which is more embarrassing, going to a Love Doll exhibition or entering a Hello Kitty store. Inside the store, I see a policeman on his break, inspecting the Hello Kitty toys.

Next, I head in the direction of the Police Museum. On the way, I see a huge Yamaha store and decide to play on some very expensive-looking pianos for a while. I also spot the Pachinko Museum. A sign outside says, ‘We can teach you the basics about pachinko.’ It is adults only, but free. I head inside to find that they have forgotten the museum aspect. It’s just a regular pachinko parlour. ‘More enjoy more happy,’ a sign outside tells me as I leave.

The Police Museum doesn’t seem to exist. The building that houses it is under heavy construction and gated off. A shame, I was looking forward to doing something normal today. I see a sign for the nearby Kyobashi Station; lucky for me, I know this station is on the Ginza Line, so I take the train back to Asakusa.

Back at the hostel, I watch the news. A company called Shin-shin Foods has decided to stop its one-hundred-year-long pickle production and has converted its headquarters into a capsule hotel. I learn about a process called muon tomography, cosmic rays that detect radiation. Twenty-nine cats have mysteriously been found dead in Ota Ward; police think it was poison. The usual nonsense. I do some writing before heading out for a Shiatsu massage.

The place I go to was recommended to me by the owner of Cafe Byron Bay and is owned by her friend. When I enter the building, the woman at reception looks shocked to see me. I don’t think the place gets too many overseas visitors. I mention that I know her friend, and the tension in the room instantly fades away. After my thirty-minute massage, the tension in my shoulders also fades away. The man who performed the massage offers me a fifty percent discount, just ¥1500. I actually don’t think this is fair to him; the massage was good. I compromise and tell him to keep the ¥500 change, which he does. So much for not tipping in Japan. He thanks me and gives me a points card; I am nine more massages away from a free one-hour session.

Back at the hostel, the soba party is just starting. Soba are Japanese noodles made from buckwheat flour. This is actually my favourite type of noodle. There are stalls selling badges made from Instagram photographs. You can send them six of your photographs, and they’ll make them into high-quality badges or magnets. There is also a store where you can rent a kimono or a yukata. The word kimono inventively translates as ‘thing to wear’.

There is, of course, plenty of free food. Plates piled high with ice-cold soba noodles. Tiny plastic bowls are filled with sauce, and a selection of toppings is available. I eat my noodles with spring onion and seaweed. Delicious. There is also free rice wine to drink. When all the free sake has been consumed, I head to the hostel bar for more free drinks. The night crawls along. I eat soba noodles in the lounge and get considerably less sober at the bar. The night ends, and I crawl to my room.

Dog Day, Afternoon

Posted on 18/08/2014 by Luke

Saturday

For the past three days, the Obon festival has been taking place in Japan. This 500-year-old Buddhist festival emphasises honouring the deceased. Today marks the final day of Obon, coinciding with the Asakusa Summer Night Festival. The event originated in 1946, shortly after the end of World War II, serving as a way for people to bid farewell to those who perished. As I arrive before the opening ceremony, the bridge is already overflowing with tourists.

The Japanese name for this event is Toro Nagashi, which translates literally to ‘flow of lanterns’. Here, you can purchase a small paper lantern for ¥1500. Each lantern symbolises the soul of a deceased relative. Visitors have the opportunity to write a message on the lantern, queue up, and then release it into the water. I find the entire process quite abstruse.

As the lanterns float down the Sumida River, carrying the souls of the departed to the other world, a certain solemnity lingers in the air.

After the festival, the atmosphere becomes somewhat lighter. I meet up with Robin, a German I befriended in Kyoto, who happens to be staying in Asakusa. We decide to unwind over drinks and perhaps get a bit less sober. We head to Nui and indulge until just after ten, then make our way to a Family Mart to play a few rounds of the Konbini Hop drinking game.

Outside our third convenience store, we come across a poster featuring numerous Japanese individuals with sunflowers encircling their heads. Despite our attempts to decipher its meaning, we’re left utterly baffled. It remains an enigma, leaving us without a single clue.

We head to a Japanese bar nestled behind Senso-ji. This area houses around ten small bars, each with only two to three bar stools. I’ve long desired to experience a drink in one of these hidden spots since my visit in June, yet I never found the courage to venture in alone. Describing the way to this area would probably confound you; it’s remarkably concealed, and my directions are truly abysmal.

We settle in a small bar called Tom². This bar, with only four bar stools, feels quite spacious compared to the others nearby. ‘I Was Made for Lovin’ You’ by Kiss fills the air from the speakers. Two Japanese men occupy two stools, and we take the remaining two. The bartender seems a bit tipsy. We order a Suntory whisky highball and a beer for ¥500 each, and enjoy complimentary peanuts.

Then a dog appears.

The dog, incredibly friendly, joins us and settles in. We discover that Tsutomo, the owner, resides above the bar. We linger for some time—I manage to outlast Robin in drinks, and eventually, he departs. I remain for two more. The two Japanese gentlemen present speak minimal English, and the dog, unsurprisingly, doesn’t contribute much to the conversation. So, I sit there, mostly in silence, sipping my drink and exchanging glances with the dog. An atypical end to the evening.

Sunday

I rent a ¥300 bicycle for the day and cycle thirty minutes to Nihonbashi, making a stop to see my friend Daisuke along the way. It’s a shame to find out he no longer works at the hostel where I’m staying. Today, Nihonbashi hosts the annual Fukagawa Hachiman Matsuri festival. It’s considered one of the three major Shinto festivals in Tokyo and is likely the largest.

The festival is celebrated in its entirety once every three years, and today happens to be that day. With one hundred and twenty portable shrines, three hundred thousand participants, and half a million spectators, it’s definitely not an ideal day for cycling.

Amidst the crowds, people throw buckets of water over those carrying the shrines, a ritual to cool them down, earning the festival its nickname, the ‘Water Fight Festival’. It’s undoubtedly challenging to bear these enormous shrines in such sweltering heat, particularly under today’s scorching summer sky. I opt to step away from the bustling crowds and take a stroll through Nihonbashi. While I visit the renowned Nihonbashi Bridge, it fails to captivate me. I decide to return to Asakusa in search of some food.

I head to my favorite Japanese restaurant, Mizuguchi. I indulge in breaded salmon and salmon teriyaki, served with a side of greens, potato salad, pickles, and rice. Absolutely delicious. The total comes to ¥1810, including a Suntory whisky highball.

As I leave the restaurant I hear applause. It turns out there is a street performer just outside. Never a dull moment in Asakusa on a Sunday.

The street performer does a balancing act whilst juggling a traffic cone between two sticks. He has drawn in a huge crowd. He is also a comedian. Throughout his routine he speaks intermittently on a microphone, telling jokes in Japanese, everyone laughs. When he is finished he cheekily places three bowler hats on the floor, upturned for tips. I give him ¥1000. He was really good.

Back at my hostel, The Strokes are playing from the speakers. ‘Is This It?’ I write for a while before heading back out to meet fellow Englishman, Richard. We meet at 8 p.m. and drink until 4 a.m. A typical end to the evening.

A Kale of Two Sakes

Posted on 23/06/2014 by Luke

I ride the Tokyo Metro Ginza Line. I get off the train at Nihonbashi Station to buy a drink. I recently discovered that there is a small shop selling ¥300 smoothies here. It is the same side of the crossing gate as the tracks so there is no need for me to buy another ticket. I buy a smoothie and hop onto the next train some two minutes later. Today I choose a healthy bright green plastic cup of crushed kale.

From Harajuku Station, I take the five minute walk to Yoyogi Park. There is a festival here today in celebration of fifty years of diplomatic relationship between Japan and Jamaica. The festival is relatively quiet, but it is still morning. There are market stalls selling jerk chicken, mugs, and adorable hats adorning the Jamaican flag; the usual. There is a stage and a choir, they sound good but they are only sound checking, so no one applauds when they finish. I wander for fifteen minutes before deciding to leave.

As I exit the festival a man with a shaved head and white clothing approaches me. He hands me a gold card with a picture of Siddhārtha Gautama etched to the surface. He is not a native Japanese person, and is probably not even a real monk. He tries to get me to write my name, address, and how much money I am willing to ‘pledge’ to him. I tell him that I’m not interested, give him back his card, and walk away shaking my head. Using religion to scam people out of money, that’s a first.

Around the corner from the park, opposite the entrance to Harajuku Station is Takeshita Street; a famous pedestrianised shopping street with an amusing name. It is lined with small boutiques featuring all the newest fashion, and far too many ice cream shops. There is nothing really of interest for me here so I walk the length of the street before returning to Harajuku Station and jumping back on the train.

Back in Asakusa I hire a bicycle. ¥200 for four hours, brilliant. I park my bike at the hostel and sit on the pavement to take photographs of a lit up Tokyo Skytree; I try to improve the image by messing around with my cameras settings. Someone shouts my name from behind me, “Luke, what are you doing sitting on the floor?” It is a woman who works at the hostel. I tell her I am messing around with exposure and shutter speed. “Oh,” she says rather confused, “I’m emptying trash!” I think to myself that I probably know more about emptying rubbish than I do exposure and shutter speed.

Back on my bike, I cycle around in search of food. After a while, I eventually give in to a Seven Eleven tartare sauce fish burger and a bottle of Pocari Sweat. Pocari Sweat is going to be the first sports drink that has a billboard on the moon, or so an advertising leaflet claims. I cycle around the quiet back streets of Asakusa, stop off for a rest outside the exciting World Bags and Luggage Museum. No idea. I randomly bump into a person I know from the Fuji TV show; he is stood talking to a man dressed as a tree. No idea.

Back at the hostel I chill out in my favourite room, the 4th floor laundry lounge. The room is actually an outdoor conservatory in a big tent. It features a ball pit, a lovely water fountain, and a bath tub full of soil. Cherry tomatoes grow from the soil. I sit on a chair and read the last thirty or so pages of Murakami’s ‘Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World’. It is here that I lose myself to the tranquillity of my surroundings. A staff member interrupts my serenity. She is here to do ‘maintenance’ on the ball pit, or so she tells me with a grin. She elegantly makes sure all the balls are neatly resting in the bathtub before leaving me in peace.

After finishing my book I pop over the road for a quick drink in A.S.A.B. I chat to the bar owner and ask him if he knows any good places to eat. “Yes,” he states matter-of-factly, “I draw you map.” He draws me a map. I thank him, pay, and leave the bar. His map is very accurate and I find the place with ease. Inside I take a stool at the bar and am handed an English menu, a nice surprise.

So, from the top left I have a pot and saucer of Japanese mustard for dipping, fresh cabbage served on ice, a side salad, spring onions, rice, a white box, some odd tasting red pickles, edamame beans, and the star of the show, cutlassfish marinated in soy sauce. The set meal also comes with miso soup, but it is pork based so I ask to have my meal without. I drink two Suntory whisky highballs whilst I feast, and pay ¥2240.

Now, that white box. Natto. It has no place with the rest of the meal so I take it back to the hostel. On the way I buy a tube of salt and vinegar flavour Pringles. I eat the natto using chop sticks, I wrap three to five fermented soy beans around a crisp; the correct way to eat natto, probably. The natto smells so bad that it even comes with a sachet of strong smelling mustard, and some red sauce that just about cancels out the disappointing smell.

In the hostel I meet up with a couple of guys from Hong Kong, and Aaliya, the Canadian I met during my first week here. It is her last night in Japan, so we decide to drink. We go to a bar, closed. We go to another, they’ve stopped serving. At the third bar, Asakusa OTO, we are humbly welcomed inside. It is a sake bar selling Japanese rice wine. It tastes okay, better than the supermarket rubbish I am used to. Sayaka, the English speaking Japanese staff member asks me to go through her English menu and correct the twelve mistakes. The owner of the bar puts on the ‘most famous’ Britpop band ever, Ride. I tell him I’ve never heard of Ride. Instead he puts on The Smiths.

‘Girlfriend in a Coma’ plays in the background while I eat crushed ice with sweet sauces. Delicious. It is time to leave after about an hour of sake drinking. We go to pay and the owner refuses to take our money. He says I should tell more foreigners about his bar in exchange for the drinks he has given us. It’s the least I can do, I tell him, scribbling his website on the back of my hand.

Stop! Hamarikyu Time!

Posted on 16/06/2014 by Luke

It’s 9:31 a.m. and the bar in my hostel is open for business. Japan are playing their opening World Cup game in just under thirty minutes; much to the delight of the staff here. Samurai Blue, a ¥300 cocktail named after the Japan squad is being sold. ‘Free’ soft drinks and bar snacks are also available. Almost everyone is wearing Japanese football shirts, face paint, and bandannas. Fans are waving megaphones and flags.

Yesterday a fifty inch television was installed in preparation for the ‘big game’, and signs advertising the match were strategically placed around the hostel. The football is finally here. TV Tokyo are here again too; filming ‘foreigners’ in the hostel who are watching the match. After a good start from Japan, the game ends in a disappointing defeat, but everyone remains upbeat.

I apply for some jobs before deciding to leave the air conditioned hostel and get some breakfast. I go outside to check if I need an umbrella today or sunscreen. Outside clear skies and 30°C; so much for the rainy season. My breakfast consists of a crustless egg sandwich and a British stereotype in the form of Royal Milk Tea; I’m anemic royalty! It is one of many satisfying moments to my day.

After breakfast I have no plans, so I take the Tokyo Metro Ginza Line to a random station. At Shinbashi Station I walk past a Porsche showroom, a broadcasting tower, and an advertising museum. I keep walking until I eventually find an information board with a map; ironically the advertising museum isn’t advertised on the information board. I see a place nearby that looks like a park and decide to check it out.

On the way I pass a drunk man in a Japanese football shirt, randomly singing the names of football players. He slurs his words and staggers as he drinks from a can of Kirin Beer. I arrive at the park, which isn’t actually a park. I pay the ¥300 entrance fee, and enter a place called ‘Hamarikyu Gardens’.

The Hamarikyu Gardens were once the family garden of the Tokugawa Shogun, but were later donated to the City of Tokyo by the Imperial Family in 1945. They are now designated as a Special Place of Scenic Beauty and Special Historical Site of Japan. I wander the lush gardens for a while finally free from the hustle and bustle of Tokyo; however, my tranquillity is somewhat spoilt by the tall office blocks that scrape the sky in every direction.

Back at the hostel there is a poster pinned to the notice board for a gyoza party tomorrow night, offering free dumplings. There is also an advertisement from broadcaster NHK. It is looking for volunteers for a TV program I am familiar with called ‘Tokyo Eye’, which is broadcast worldwide via satellite and the Internet. It’s for a short documentary to film tourists experiences in Odaiba. I sign up.

On Tuesday morning I am to take part in a televised bike tour featuring local foods and activities as part of the ongoing TV Tokyo documentary. On Wednesday morning I am involved in a feature for Fuji TV at Cafe Byron Bay; the English bar I have mentioned many times before, and my local drinking establishment here in Asakusa. It has been voted number 1 out of 2,136 restaurants in Taito on TripAdvisor.

Japan has been kind to me so far, and I consider myself lucky to be featured in three different television shows in my first three weeks of being here.

I swing by Cafe Byron Bay for a quick Suntory whisky highball (whisky and soda). A few highballs later and it’s time to eat. I am still exploring the thousands of restaurants in Asakusa; today I decide on Indian cuisine. I order a vegetarian set meal for ¥980. At the time of ordering there’s a lovely little scale ranging from one to five chilies. I ask for three and the waiter says, “Three! But three is really really hot!” I change my mind and choose ‘two chilies’.

My food arrives. It includes a salad, a lentil based Daal, a nondescript ‘vegetarian curry’, the smallest portion of rice I have ever seen, and the largest naan bread I have ever seen. It tastes great, and the photograph probably doesn’t do the food justice. The Daal is so hot that it causes my eyes to water; I somehow manage to eat it though. It is so hot that I hate to think what would have happened to my eyes had I ordered the three chilies option. Presumably the five chilies option was off the Scoville Scale and on fire.

After my meal, the chef personally comes out of the kitchen and asks me in English how my food was. I tell him that it was very good and I would return. I actually would return and had already been eyeing up the Tandoori Fish option on the menu.

Back at the hostel for a few cans of Suntory whisky highball. I end up in A.S.A.B. drinking with a Swedish guy who’s friend looks and sounds exactly like Steve Buscemi. After a couple of drinks here I take the two minute walk from the bar back to the hostel for a relatively early night.

Japanising.com

about Japan

Category Archives: Chuo