The Adventures of Tin Toys

Posted on 21/02/2015 by Luke

Yesterday, as I was walking around Yokohama, I noticed many interesting things on the numerous maps that adorned the streets. Having visited Yokohama only once before, I decided to stay the night and spend a second day exploring this historic city. While staring at the points of interest on the signs, one thing genuinely excited me: the Tin Toy Museum.

I begin my exploration by walking through the Yamate area. This place is characterised by interlocking stone pathways that bend and crawl at various steep degrees, reminiscent of my hometown with its steep hills and Western-style houses. Despite being a popular spot for tourists, locally known as ‘The Bluff,’ I am surprised to find that most maps in this hilly terrain are in Japanese. Needless to say, I get lost and eventually stumble upon a random Spanish-style house.

There is no charge to enter the house, but upon entry, I am required to remove my shoes. Inside, I find a woman playing the flute, accompanied by another woman on the piano, seemingly without any apparent reason. While I recognise the melody, I struggle to put a name to it. As I wander around, I am afforded the opportunity to explore a genuine Spanish kitchen, complete with old cutlery. It surprises me to learn that the house was built by an American but designed by a British architect, adding a layer of complexity to its Spanish theme that I can’t quite comprehend. The Bluff is dotted with many houses of diverse styles, allowing visitors to freely wander and experience the architecture of different countries. From the balcony window, I catch a glimpse of what locals refer to as the ‘British House’ in the distance.

I make my way into the dining room, anticipating tables and chairs, only to be surprised by the presence of strange artwork that clearly doesn’t belong in this space.

I leave the house, resuming my quest for the Tin Toy Museum. I meander through a cemetery for British soldiers and emerge on the other side. Stumbling upon the oldest wooden Christian church in Japan, I find it of little interest and continue walking for about an hour through maze-like streets. Finally, I locate a map in English. The Tin Toy Museum is on the opposite side of The Bluff, close to the house I visited earlier. I navigate steep hills and winding alleyways, and after another half-hour, I arrive at the museum, half-expecting it to be closed today.

At the entrance, I pay ¥200 and race inside.

As I step inside the Tin Toy Museum, I’m greeted by the sound of The Beatles’ album ‘Help!’ playing from the speakers—an unexpected but delightful touch. The exhibition showcases over three thousand miniature toys produced in Japan between 1890 and 1960. Most of the toys, ranging from cars and rockets to robots, form the extensive personal collection of Teruhisa Kitahara, a man with a passionate affection for all things toy.

A sign next to some rather unsettling clowns reads, “Clown and circus toys are highly comical, perfectly capturing the lively movement of the circus. They are popular for their acrobatic flair.” Inside the museum, there’s a second exhibit called the ‘Mini-Mini Museum.’ Included in the ticket price, this small shoe-box-sized exhibit initially seems like a pointless distraction. However, as I explore, I discover it features even smaller toys than I could have imagined were possible to create.

Back at the main exhibition, I find that JAXA astronaut Naoko Yamazaki has visited here too, and she appears to have forgotten a signed postcard of herself, left amongst Atomic Rockets and Space Ship X-7’s. I feel tempted to buy a remote control alligator for the price of a month’s rent, but I instead opt for a wind-up robot for ¥1242; quite expensive, but full of nostalgia, and I like robots.

I leave the museum and the Yamate area, heading for Yamashita Park. The park, situated on the waterfront, is unfortunately cast in shadow by the massive Hikawa Maru, an ocean liner that blocks the sunshine and seems unnecessarily colossal. Nowadays, it serves as another museum, overshadowing the park inconsiderately. Nevertheless, the reason for my visit to this park was sparked by a sign pointing to another point of interest that intrigued me – the Statue of the Guardian God of Water.

It’s no secret that I enjoy irony, so I find it incredibly amusing that the statue here stands within a construction site, placed in a small pond filled with bricks and completely devoid of any water whatsoever. I can’t imagine the statue is pleased with its surroundings.

My final stop in Yokohama is also within Yamashita Park – the Statue of the Little Girl with Red Shoes On. I didn’t have specific expectations, but the description on the sign proved accurate. The girl represents a children’s song from 1922 called ‘Akai Kutsu,’ written by Ujo Noguchi, translating to mean ‘Red Shoes.’

A young girl with red shoes, was taken away by a foreigner.
She rode on a ship from Yokohama pier, taken away by a foreigner.
I imagine right now she has become blue-eyed, living in that foreigner’s land.
Every time I see red shoes, I think of her.
And every time I meet a foreigner, I think of her.

I’m not too sure what the song is about, and the only explanation offered by the sign is that Yokohama City wants this statue to become a cherished landmark for its countless visitors. Sadly, most visitors seem to just walk along, not giving the statue a second glance.

I decide that there is little else to do in Yokohama; despite having enjoyed two nice sightseeing days, it is time to head back to the reality of Tokyo. I take the train over to Shibuya. As I leave the station, I navigate through crowds of photographers capturing images of what once was and still is – just a crossing. The bright lights of Shibuya act as a neon reminder of what I was expecting Japan to look like before I arrived here nine months ago.

I wander aimlessly for a while through the busy nightlife before feeling overwhelmed by the lights and sounds, eventually making me feel dizzy. After a tiring few days, it’s time for me to go home. I buy some takeaway food for the train, taken away by a foreigner, and head back to Minowa.

Tokyo and the Emperor of the Night

Posted on 28/12/2014 by Luke

Christine and I meet up at 10 a.m., catching the Tokyo Metro Ginza Line to Shibuya. Today is once again warm, and all traces of Christmas Day are gone. There are no longer decorations outside shops, and the music of the festive season has been replaced by Taylor Swift, Oasis, and, of course, AKB48. Inside Shibuya Station, we spot another random horse.

We head outside and into the scramble of people as we cross Shibuya Crossing. My opinion of the crossing remains unchanged; it’s just a road. Many tourists are gathered here, taking photographs of people walking along the intersection. This once again demonstrates the power of the guidebook — a simple mention of any place, and tourists flock there.

We wander through the chaos of Shibuya, passing bright lights and television screens practically shouting at us to buy things. However, there isn’t the usual post-Christmas shopping frenzy going on here; this is just a normal day in Shibuya. We decide to explore a building shaped like a castle, which turns out to be the Disney Store. The place is filled with stuffed toys and Italian puppets.

With nothing worth buying and a planned trip to Tokyo Disneyland later this week, we leave the Disney Store empty-handed. Next, we walk to Harajuku Station and take a stroll down the trendy Takeshita Street, full of teen fashion and crêperies, before heading over to Meiji Shrine. While waiting to cross the road, I notice the monk who tried to scam me almost six months ago is still here, attempting to lure in tourists. I simply laugh at him and shake my head as he tries to hand me his gold Siddhārtha Gautama card

We wander into Meiji Shrine, a serene Shinto shrine dedicated to the spirit of Emperor Meiji. As we stroll along the path, absorbing the tranquil atmosphere, a friendly Japanese person notices us and begins to wave, their warm greeting adding a touch of local hospitality to our visit.
“Hello, welcome to Japan,” he says enthusiastically. “Are you American?”
“No, from England.”
“Ah, England! Where in England?”
“Close to Manchester,” I tell him, avoiding the need to explain the location of my unknown town.
“Ah, Manchester United,” he says, “Soccer.” He makes a kicking gesture, emphasising that soccer means football. The man modestly plays down my remarks about his English ability before going on his merry way.

We pass through wooden torii gates and by massive barrels of donated sake before heading to the main shrine.

The cleansing ritual has become second nature to me now, and Christine manages it perfectly, despite having only done it once before. We wander around looking for a place to get our fortunes, hoping to rectify the ‘Bad Fortune’ from yesterday, but it doesn’t appear that this service is offered here.

We wander the length of the shrine and exit on the other side, finding ourselves amidst the vibrant carnival that is Shinjuku. We stroll through Shinjuku Park Tower, the building that houses the Park Hyatt Hotel, famous not only in its own right but also well-known for its feature in the movie Lost in Translation.

We head to the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building, only to be unexpectedly attacked by a masked assailant inside.

The oni, a demon in Japanese folklore known as a ‘Blue Devil,’ surprisingly works for the Japanese Government. Guiding us, he directs to the lift, and we swiftly ascend to the 45th floor of the building.

From the panoramic observation deck, I can see Mount Fuji in the distance. Its snowy white peak blends seamlessly into the clouds, and if you didn’t know where the mountain sits on the horizon, you would never know it was there. Huge office buildings sprawl in every direction, making Tokyo look endless from this height.

I check out the tacky souvenirs and discover that my name in Japanese kanji can mean ‘Lapis Wings Eternal.’ However, given the multiple meanings kanji can have, I opt for a more impactful name. From the available possibilities, I decide that my name actually means ‘Nine Immortal Dragons.’

We leave the government building and make our way to Shinjuku Station. After queueing at the ticket office for about ten minutes, we hand over the tickets from our Narita Express debacle yesterday. We successfully manage to get ¥3800 of our ¥6780 refunded, a welcome bonus. With a sense of triumph, we decide that the Japan Railway Company will be covering the cost of our tempura lunch.

We wander through Shinjuku for a while before deciding to head back to Asakusa. I consider buying a coffee but can’t decide whether I want black coffee, black coffee, or black coffee.

Back in Asakusa, we meet up with some of the other people staying in the hostel, Jeff and Ajitan. The four of us head out for a quick drink at Nui before taking a taxi over to Ryogoku. We find ourselves at a bar called ‘Popeye,’ a delightful place boasting seventy-four different craft beers on tap. Following the bar, we return to Asakusa for some affordable Chinese food before ending the night with karaoke and all-around merriment.

The Tooth Without Enamel

Posted on 03/12/2014 by Luke

Today marks the final day in Japan to admire the autumn leaves. Abscission has commenced, and the leaves are poised to fall. It’s as if some secret internal clock, powered by nature, instructs the trees that today is the day to part ways with their foliage. Cascading like clockwork, fading like time. Today, the leaves will begin their descent, and there is no changing that fact. The Japanese people inform me that it starts today. The trees, too, are aware that it starts today. The ground outside is a wash of greens, yellows, and reds. A reflecting traffic light on a rain-swept road would complement the scene perfectly. Today is clear with sunshine, dry but with a light breeze. No rain, no reflections. I step outside for one last time to relish in the autumn colours. Tomorrow, there will be nothing left.

Despite my obvious fascination with the tranquil joy of autumn colours, I am distracted—still suffering silently from a toothache. The dentist doesn’t open until half-past two, and with an afternoon lunch planned, I decide on a 4 p.m. appointment. I take the train to Harajuku. Today, two very different festivals are taking place in the space outside Yoyogi Park. The first is a vegan food festival, and the second is a Spanish food festival.

I exit the train at Harajuku Station. On the other side of the ticket barrier, a young Japanese man with a microphone awaits. Like an animal waiting to catch its prey, he stands silently until I draw near. Suddenly, he rushes into my path, stopping me in my tracks and interrupting my thoughts of dental disquiet. “Excuse me, can you speak English?” he asks, holding the microphone rather intrusively beneath my chin before pushing it toward my mouth, seeking a reply. I hesitate for a moment, unprepared for his question.
“No, sorry,” I tell him.
“Oh,” he says, looking at me with a mix of confusion and wry disappointment. “Okay, sorry then.” With that, he scans his Suica card on the ticket machine and heads through the barrier in the direction of the platform; his outline lost in seconds as he is swallowed up by the reckless crowds.

I arrive at Yoyogi Park to find the Spanish festival in full swing: various food stalls, eleven of which are selling paella, traditional Spanish clothing, and flamenco dancers performing on the large stage. The dancers appear to be genuinely enjoying themselves, their souls lost to the rhythm of the music.

I didn’t come all this way to be harassed by men with microphones or to listen to Spanish music, though. Today, my purpose is the vegan festival. As I wander from Spain, I inadvertently end up in Germany. Somewhere between the two food markets, car manufacturer BMW has a stage showcasing their newest electric car, the BMW i8. I can’t quite see what this has to do with the Spanish festival or a diet free from animal products. The BMW stage looks incredibly out of place; it is mostly ignored by the many people clearly here to eat food.

At the vegan food festival, there is a lot less hot food than I expected. Most of the stalls are selling organic and Fair Trade products—coffees, chocolates, teas, sugars, and various types of bread. There are only about ten hot food stalls, but almost all of the food has already sold out. I am spoiled for choice between a shop selling Indian curry and another selling vegan burgers.

¥500 later, and I’m sitting on a park bench, eating a burger, surrounded by fallen leaves that probably taste better than my food. If not for the sauce that adds at least a hint of flavour, I would likely discard the burger and rush back to Spain for some lukewarm paella instead. As I leave the festival, I notice that the people browsing the vegan stalls seem less happy than those over at the Spanish festival.

Literally full of beans, I head back to Asakusa and to the dentist. I’ve chosen to visit a much smaller surgery than the one I had been to previously—an English-speaking dentist I met in a bar, and I’ve kept her business card for a day like today. At the dentist, I endure four separate x-rays before a quick fix is done on my tooth. I make an appointment to return in two weeks’ time. It looks like my tooth will face the same fate as the autumn leaves—an abscission of sorts. After an hour at the dentist, I pay ¥9720 and receive another packet of little yellow pills. I am told that if I apply for a Japanese insurance card, I can reclaim two-thirds of the cost of this treatment and all subsequent treatments—a welcome bonus and information they didn’t really have to disclose.

Tooth sorted, I head over to Cafe Byron Bay to play at an open mic night—my second time today before a microphone. At some point during the evening, I receive a phone call from my dentist. She is calling to check how my tooth is doing. I am surprised she made the effort to see how I am—an excellent example of customer service in Japan. Despite knowing that in two weeks, I’ll have my tooth severed without anæsthesia, her compassion somehow relaxes me. I forget about my fate and enjoy the rest of the evening, virtually pain-free.

I Warm Duck Smoke

Posted on 01/11/2014 by Luke

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The menu boasts the following delicious highlights:

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

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

At home, I dream of horses in the spring.

Eye Patches and Boxing Matches

Posted on 27/10/2014 by Luke

Today, I woke up to find that my apartment is shaking. Not due to an earthquake, but because of music. The A-Round festival is still ongoing, and the indoor shopping arcade near my house is hosting a live performance by ‘Ego-Wrappin”, a renowned Japanese jazz band. I suppose I better go and take a look.

Today, the arcade is free from the usual sleeping homeless individuals; they have all been replaced by small market stalls selling drinks and snacks. A stage has been erected at one end of the street, and a live band is performing. This market is usually dead, but today it has been transformed by music.

Ego-Wrappin’ originated in Osaka, and interestingly, one of the members grew up in this area. The band currently performing live on stage might be Ego-Wrappin’, but I can’t be entirely sure. Strangely, most of the members are wearing eye patches.

Some people in the crowd are wearing fancy dress costumes; Mario and Luigi are here, hanging out with some witches. A staff member comes over to me to practice his English. When I ask him the name of the band performing, he has no idea. “I’m just a staff member,” he explains. Meanwhile, three men are performing live graffiti on one of the shutter doors, and the sweet smell of toxic paint fumes fills the arcade.

Deciding to take a stroll through the market, I randomly bump into Gomez from yesterday. He is sitting and enjoying some of the cheap food from one of the small stalls, so I join him. I ask him about the area, and he tells me that horses used to walk the main street. He also mentions a very famous horse meat restaurant not far from here. A Japanese man sitting at the same table joins in our conversation about the local sights. He starts talking about the nearby red-light district, saying, “They take major credit cards; you should go.” He confides, “I want to go, but I’m an elementary school teacher, so if people find out, then my career will be over.”

The teacher eventually leaves, and Gomez goes on to explain that this shopping arcade is based on a famous character from a Japanese manga series, ‘Ashita no Joe’. One of the other main characters is an alcoholic ex-boxer called Danpei Tange. In the manga, his character wears an eye patch; at least this explains why the band is wearing them. In the story, this area is known as the slums of Tokyo; brilliant, I find out that I live in the slums. A statue of the main character, Joe, stands guard at the entrance to the arcade.

I stay and watch the music for a while; it isn’t too bad, but it really isn’t my style either. Besides, I have things to do in Shibuya. So, I decide to leave the festival and head to the train station.

In Shibuya, I head over to the housing office to pay my rent for next month. As I leave, a well-dressed young man stops me and says he wants to ask me a few questions. “Do you live in Tokyo?” he inquires. “We are looking for people for a fashion shoot, and I think you would be perfect,” he explains.
“Me?!” I respond, quite surprised. I provide him with my details: waist size, shoe size, height, and contact information before letting him take my photograph a few times.
“I will be in touch,” he tells me. I thank him, still confused, and head back to the station.

At the station, more live music is happening, and once again, the music is jazz.

Today is the Shibuya Art Festival, and there are many different events taking place throughout the day. I decide to have a little walk around Shibuya, hoping to spot some of the other artistic events happening in the area. After wandering for about twenty minutes, the only thing I see is an anti-nuclear protest march. I decide to call it a day and head back to Minowa.

On the train ride home, I sit and daydream about becoming a fashion model.

There Will Be Flood

Posted on 06/10/2014 by Luke

Typhoon Phanfone is making its miserable way toward Tokyo and is expected to arrive this evening. I can’t wait. It’s already raining today, and judging by the state of the pavement outside, it seems like it has been raining all night. To avoid getting soaked, I walk for one minute to reach the nearest station and take the somewhat aptly named Tsukuba Express Line (pronounced ‘scuba’), before transferring to the Yamanote Line at Akihabara Station.

My destination today is Meiji Shrine. The train ride takes thirty-one minutes to reach Harajuku Station. While on the train, the telescreen has taken a break from displaying the usual dull advertisements and, instead, is showing the current position of the looming typhoon.

I leave the station and make my way through the pouring rain towards Meiji Shrine.

There’s a weird festival happening called Ningyo Kanshasai, centred around setting fire to broken old toys. This unique event is a way to express gratitude to dolls and is held annually at Meiji Shrine. It originated in 1989 and this year marks its 26th anniversary. In Japan, there’s a belief that a fragment of your soul resides within your possessions. Consequently, the practice of giving used gifts isn’t very common here, as it’s believed that a part of your essence accompanies the second-hand object.

Today, this Shinto exorcism ceremony serves as a method to purify the doll, releasing the part of your soul believed to be encapsulated within the inanimate object—a means to attain a liberated spirit for a healthy mind. For a nominal fee of ¥3000, you can include your dolls in the extensive collection along with others, granting your soul its liberation. The spirit of the doll is elevated through the Haraikiyome (purification) ritual performed by the priest, involving a cleansing ceremony known as Oharai conducted on the dolls.

Last year, over 7,000 people donated a staggering 44,000 dolls for purification. The assortment of dolls is incredibly diverse, encompassing Japanese traditional dolls, Western dolls, and popular stuffed animals this year. The rain has somewhat subdued the turnout, but there’s still a plentiful display of dolls. Inside the main hall, two women in splendid costumes are conducting a captivating and beautiful ritual. According to the official website, this solemn festival is highly recommended as a must-see.

I depart just before the distribution of the ‘sacred sake.’ Despite the shelter provided by the numerous trees within Meiji Shrine, I am still soaked by the storm outside. Determined to seek refuge, I make my way across the road to Yoyogi Park, only to discover yet another event taking place.

This weekend’s event is ‘The Road of Hokkai-Food,’ a celebration dedicated to Hokkaido cuisine. Interestingly, like the previous festival, this event also commemorates its 26th year, despite appearing unrelated. Here, there are almost ninety stalls selling a variety of snacks, inexpensive meals, trinkets, cheeses, and beer. The tightly packed stalls, accompanied by the pouring rain and the tantalising aroma of food, create an energetic atmosphere akin to a lively music event.

Some of the foods on offer include, Ishikari-nabe (salmon, stewed vegetables, and tofu in a miso broth), Yakitori (grilled chicken on a stick), various types of seafood, and plenty of Sapporo beer. The only thing missing is the people; it would be fair to say the event is a complete washout. There’s a woman dressed in a smart white suit giving a talk on the stage for an event advertised as ‘Sapporo Presents …’; however, she speaks only in Japanese, and my language skills are still lacking.

I leave the festival and head over to Shibuya. Today marks the final day of an art exhibition I’ve been planning to visit, so while I’m in the area, I decide to drop by Bunkamura—a venue encompassing a concert hall, theatre, and museum. ‘Visual Deception II: Into the Future’ is a trick art exhibition focusing on shadows, silhouettes, mirror images, optical illusions, and anamorphosis. Admission costs ¥1500, providing a nice respite from the weather. The display of peculiar artwork can only be described as mind-boggling. As usual, photography is not permitted.

After the exhibition, I opt to head home before potential train cancellations. At my hostel, preventive measures have already been taken to tackle potential flooding: staff members cleaned out the drains and placed a row of bricks in front of the steps where flooding occurred last month.

Back at the hostel, I order Glastonbury Festival tickets and spend some time writing before heading out for a few drinks at a nearby bar. The rain persists. As I eventually leave the bar, I find the pavement outside flooded with rushing pools of water.

The forecast predicts the rain to persist throughout the night, intensifying at 3 a.m. as Typhoon Phanfone hits Tokyo. I doubt I’ll witness the full impact of the storm; I’ll likely be asleep by then, unless the howling wind wakes me up amidst the chaos outside.

Parasite at the Museum

Posted on 16/09/2014 by Luke

Today is a public holiday dedicated to respecting the elderly and celebrating longevity. In Japan, there are fifteen different public holidays annually, and due to the implementation of the ‘Happy Monday System,’ several holidays have been shifted to Mondays to grant people a three-day weekend. Unfortunately, my toothache has plunged me into perpetual agony today. Regrettably, all the dentists are on holiday because of the celebration honouring the elderly. Not wishing to bare one’s teeth, I struggle on in pain.

My first stop today is Shibuya Station. With most of the country off work today, the area is overcrowded and annoying. I grab a bottle of drink that claims to contain one thousand lemons (which I very much doubt) before walking in the sunshine toward Harajuku, in search of some illustrious graffiti. On the way, I pass Yoyogi Park; here, there are swarms of teenage girls all standing around waiting for some sort of summer concert to start. I decide to pass on the concert. In Harajuku, it is just as crowded. I wander around side streets but find the graffiti to be somewhat lacklustre. I take just one photograph before walking back to Harajuku Station.

I take the Yamanote Line to Meguro, which translates to mean ‘black eyes’. After eventually finding a map, I discover that my destination isn’t marked. So, I search for a Seven Eleven and use their free wireless Internet. I then head to the Meguro Parasitological Museum; the only parasite museum in the world, I might add. I am surprised to find it open on a public holiday, and I am even more surprised to find that the entry is free.

If you are looking for a cheap destination for a romantic afternoon, then the Meguro Parasitological Museum is for you. Here, there are jars of parasites, magnifying glasses for that closer look, and an interactive screen displaying the life cycle of a parasite. There is even a small souvenir shop selling shirts depicting parasitological dissections. Finally, a gift shop selling something worth buying.

With my appetite faded, I leave the museum and decide to skip lunch. I take the Meguro Line six stops to Ookayama Station. Each time the train starts up, it sounds like a jet engine. I change at Ookayama to the Tokyu Oimachi Line; this train also sounds like it is about to take off as it leaves the station. Eventually, I land in Jiyugaoka.

Jiyugaoka is often voted as one of the best places to live in Tokyo. The streets here are a cluster of expensive clothes shops and shops selling expensive cakes and sweets. Some stores have signs outside that say, ‘Women only.’ The roads here are even pedestrianised during the daytime, providing extra space for the many crowds. My intrigue takes me to a place called ‘Sweets Forest.’

Sweets Forest is an indoor theme park filled with cake shops and overpriced candies. For no apparent reason, traditional Irish folk music is playing inside. However, the thought of eating sweets brings more pain to my teeth, so I decide it’s time to leave. I take the Tokyu Toyoko Line to Shibuya, transferring to the Ginza Line before heading home.

Back at the hostel, everything is getting on my nerves. People keep asking each other the same questions, speaking in languages that could be English, but I can’t be sure. There’s too much noise, and I can’t seem to focus my mind. I try to write, but the pain in my teeth and jaw keeps distracting me. Tomorrow, I’m faced with the daunting task of visiting a Japanese dentist. A friend jokes about how dentists here continue to administer pain even if you scream and raise your hand to signal them to stop, or how instead of fixing your problem, they just remove your teeth.

With my appetence faded and my mind consumed by pain, I try to get an early night. I head off to bed at 9 p.m.; although sleep, I expect, will be somewhat limited. Not a very happy Monday at all.

Shiitake My Breath Away

Posted on 08/09/2014 by Luke

The hostel shared news of a festival at Mukojima-Hyakkaen Gardens. Today is Tsukimi-no-Kai, which means ‘Moon Viewing’ – a tradition marking its 210th year in these gardens. The goal tonight is to celebrate and enjoy the Harvest Moon. We’re set to meet up at 4 p.m. It’s cloudy outside; I doubt the moon will be visible, but the event sounds fun.

My first destination of the day is the brilliantly titled ‘Project Eat More Mushrooms,’ just an enticing eleven stations away on the Ginza Line. This year, it’s hosted at Ark Hills, a substantial office development in the heart of Akasaka. I hop on the train and disembark at mnemonic favourite, Toranamon, to run a marathon. I take a rather unhurried walk to the venue. Along the way I pass the Embassy of Micronesia and the Foundation of Miracles, before finally arriving at Project Eat More Mushrooms.

The mushroom festival here is disappointing, an absolute waste of thirty minutes each way on the train. Forget about eating more mushrooms; having more stores selling them would be a welcome start. I can hardly classify four market stalls as a festival. There are no miracles here, no mascots either, and certainly not many mushrooms. To salvage the journey from being a complete waste, I purchase some shiitake mushrooms and enoki mushrooms for a total of ¥450.

Back at the hostel, it dawns on me that these mushrooms are precisely the same ones I could have purchased from Seven Eleven. Considering the wasted time and train fares, these have turned out to be the most expensive mushrooms on the planet.

After the mushroom episode, I gather as planned at 4 p.m. The small group of seven comprises my friends Aram and Dagmar, along with two fantastic tour guides from the hostel, Keina and Gomez. We make our way to Asakusa Station and board the Tobu Skytree Line to Higashimukojima Station. Interestingly, the train deliberately slows to a crawl as it crosses the Sumida River to showcase the glorious view, or so we’re told. Upon reaching Sumida, we head straight to Mukojima-Hyakkaen Gardens, marking my third visit to these beautiful gardens during my time in Japan. The entrance fee remains the usual ¥150.

At the entrance, we’re requested to douse ourselves in mosquito repellent due to a Dengue fever outbreak in Tokyo. Just last week, Yoyogi Park was closed for extensive fumigation to eradicate mosquitoes and is likely to remain shut for several months. Similarly, Shinjuku Gyoen Park underwent the same treatment two days ago. It seems this week might be the least opportune time to visit an outdoor garden.

We enter the gardens, and inside, offerings are being made to the moon.

Television crews are setting up at the entrance to the Hagi Tunnel. Swarms of people are queueing up for the ¥2000 tea ceremony, the same ceremony I had previously enjoyed at no cost. The sound of chirping insects fills the air. We kill some time exploring the park before heading back to the wisteria trellis for the opening ceremony. Following a short opening speech, a performance of the shinobue begins.

A shinobue is a Japanese transverse flute made from hollow bamboo. Two performers play for almost thirty minutes. During their performance, I lose myself in meditation on a bench surrounded by foliage and mosquitoes.

After the performance, it’s time to light the many lanterns scattered throughout the gardens. The paper lanterns are lit just as twilight sets in. In total, there are thirty-five lanterns, and volunteers are encouraged to participate in the event. Each lantern is decorated with a haiku.

Once the lanterns are lit, a curtain of dusk descends to the melodic tune of the koto, a traditional thirteen-stringed Japanese instrument. The five performers play in perfect harmony, and the sweet sound of the koto resonates throughout the gardens. Eventually, the earlier gifts presented and the beautiful music work their magic, transforming the overcast evening sky into a clear one. As if on cue, the clouds part ways, unveiling the face of the Harvest Moon.

We sit down and admire the sky. The moon is a ghostly white, brighter than I can ever recall; but it has been a while. Like the stars, the moon rarely appears above the Tokyo skyline. Tonight the moon doesn’t hide, it looks beautiful, it is breathtaking.

We eat snacks. The chatter combines with the music. The thought crosses my mind that this ceremony has been taking place exactly where I am right now, for the last two-hundred or so years. It probably hasn’t changed much since then either. My mind transported to another time.

I eat a bowl of oden, a Japanese winter food consisting of various fish and vegetables in a soy-flavoured broth. It costs ¥800 and is delicious. We chat for a while longer, enjoying the sound of the insects, the music from the koto performance, and the lull of the moon.

At 7 p.m., it feels much later than it is. Darkness arrives earlier now, but the weather is still warm—an atypical autumn. We all head back to Asakusa on the train before going our separate ways.

I take the Ginza Line for thirty minutes, and as I exit the station into the crowds of Shibuya Crossing, it begins to rain. At 9 p.m., I meet up with a friend from England, Laurence, and his two friends. We gather outside Hachiko, a statue of a dog. The dog belonged to Professor Ueno. Hachiko would wait for the professor at the end of each day outside Shibuya Station until one day, in 1925, the Professor died. Despite the professor’s absence, Hachiko continued to wait faithfully, but his owner never appeared. Legend says the dog returned to the station at the same time every day for nine years, yet Professor Ueno never returned. Then, sadly, in 1935, Hachiko passed away.

Our evening begins in an absinthe bar exclusively playing The Smiths’ music and ends in a cheap izakaya-style bar. Artwork and literature dominate our evening’s discussions. An enjoyable night washed away with rain and ¥450 Suntory whisky highballs. I don’t take a single photograph; much like Hachiko, my camera is dead. With no photographs of my own, Laurence kindly lets me use one of his: Neon Nirvana:

Pyrotechnics and Parade

Posted on 25/08/2014 by Luke

I wake up at 5 a.m. to the sound of a drunk man in our dormitory room. He spends fifteen minutes trying to open his locker before giving up and leaving the room. It’s nights like these that I wish I were in a hotel. An hour later, the same guy who doesn’t know how to open a locker comes back and spends fifteen minutes trying to climb the ladder to his bed, which, of course, is the bed above mine.

More noise at eight. Two people packing and re-packing their cases loudly, stamping around loudly. I give up on sleep and get up, tired and annoyed. I kill time, drink coffee, then go to a cafe at nine for more coffee. Despite drinking a lot of coffee, I still feel drained. The hot weather adds to my exhaustion. I lazily stroll through the mid-morning Asakusa streets. There is an artist on the street using spray paint to create science-fiction themed space art. He goes from a blank canvas to a beautiful planetscape in a matter of minutes. Incredible.

I continue wandering. One guy raises his hand above his head as I walk past, “Woah! You are too tall!” he exclaims, much to my amusement. I head back to where the street performers gather and watch a yo-yo master skilfully Split the Atom.

Back at the hostel, I write up non-events, then kill time playing Baldur’s Gate on my camera. At 3 p.m., I still have no energy but need to get out of the hostel. I decide to head to Chofu. I take the Tokyo Metro Ginza Line to Shibuya. On the way, I hop off at Nihonbashi Station for a ¥300 smoothie (orange and ginger), then back on the next train three minutes later.

I cross Shibuya Crossing and take a shortcut through Yoyogi Park. My shortcut is somewhat obstructed by the Super Yosakoi dance festival. The entrance to Yoyogi Park’s event open space is blocked by hundreds of people dancing in the street.

The dancing here is actually quite good, the music catchy and rhythmic; I much prefer it to the Samba music that was playing all day yesterday. The stage here is in use too, with people in traditional clothing waving flags and dancing to very similar music to that of the street dancers. I take the ten-minute walk to Harajuku Station, trying to get away from the crowds. My plan is a shortcut through the forests surrounding the peaceful Meiji Shrine.

My shortcut is somewhat obstructed by the crowds of people gathering at the entrance to the shrine. A stage has been erected here, and more people are dancing. The Super Yosakoi dance festival is everywhere. The music from the speakers here is so loud that I actually have to walk with my fingers in my ears. A one-way system through the grounds of Meiji Shrine is also in place.

Halfway through my route through the shrine grounds, a third stage is active and features more dancing and loud live music. There is a sign with a big red cross over a picture of a camera; I presume it to mean “No photography,” yet everyone seems to be taking photographs. Very odd. Perhaps I have been misinterpreting this sign all these years.

I leave Meiji Shrine and head toward Shinjuku Station. It’s another hot day, and I have another ten minutes of walking to endure in the heat. Somehow, as this realisation of the temperature comes to mind, a stranger in the street hands me a fan. At Shinjuku Station, I get a little lost but eventually find my way to the entrance to the Keio Line. A million other people have decided to take this train too. I take the second train that pulls in as there is no room on the first. As I am pushed into the carriage, I see that the crowd behind me spills up the steps and beyond. It appears the whole of Tokyo is following me to Chofu.

The Special Express train makes just one other stop between Shinjuku and Chofu, and I arrive promptly at 6 p.m. I follow the swarms of people to the Tamagawa River. Just as I arrive at the river, there is an explosion in the sky.

Today is the annual Chofu City Fireworks Festival. It runs for an hour and includes 8,000 fireworks. I have a pretty decent spot and enjoy the spectacle. All along the river, little stores sell street food, and even Lawson Stores and Seven Eleven are getting in on the action. They have beers for sale outside floating in big ice buckets, and they have moved their hot food counters to the front of their stores.

The fireworks are impressive, although very stop and start. A lot of fireworks are launched at once, then nothing happens for twenty or so seconds, then lots of fireworks at once, et cætera. Every time a big explosion occurs, everyone around me says, “Sugoiii!” “Sugoi!” and “Oh, Sugoi!” This word means ‘amazing’ in English and seems to be the only word that the Japanese people here use to describe the fireworks. They certainly were amazing.

At 19:11, I head back to the station; the fireworks will continue for another twenty minutes or so, but I really don’t like the idea of getting back on a packed train. It seems everyone else has had the same idea; once again, the station is packed. I am not proud of it, but when the doors finally open, I dash to grab a ‘Priority Seat.’ These seats are intended for pregnant, elderly, and disabled people. I feel somewhat less guilty when the other seven Priority Seats are taken by youths.

Back in Shinjuku, I change to the Marunuchi Line and take it as far as Ginza before switching to the Ginza Line. I arrive back in Asakusa around eight.

I meet with some friends, and we head to a nearby British pub run by actual British people. They brew their own beer here, play British music, and serve by the pint. I go for the porter; nice but expensive at ¥1000. The song ‘Empty at the End’ by my friend’s band The Electric Soft Parade comes on at some point in the evening; my mind ends up back in Brighton.

Dance, Dance, Ambulance

Posted on 24/08/2014 by Luke

It is humid today, a cool 31°C with patches of rain, the perfect weather for dancing in the street. I head over to Tawaramachi Station for a train to Shibuya. From Shibuya Station, I head to Yoyogi Park, stopping off at the Tobacco and Salt Museum. The sign in the window reassures me that the museum will relocate to Sumida in spring 2015. It closed almost a year ago. I begin to wonder why it takes almost a full two years to move the contents of a museum.

I continue my walk, taking a detour through a ‘Shopping road that is nice to people’ before eventually arriving at Yoyogi Park. This weekend, there is a festival held at the Yoyogi Park event open space, the ‘Battle of the Udon.’

There are nine different television stations here. There are nineteen different udon stands, each selling their own local variety of udon noodles. Stalls also sell various non-noodle-based drinks and snacks. The best noodles from all over Japan have come here to compete in the nation’s biggest food competition. Every bowl of noodles is charged at a flat rate of ¥500. When you order food at the Battle of the Udon, you are given a vote card with the name of the stall. On the final day of the event, the votes are tallied up, and the best udon in Tokyo is crowned.

The noise here is deafening; every store has a banner, mascot, and a guy with a megaphone shouting at me to visit their store. Some of the mascots are better than others. I really like stall number 18’s mascot from Nagoya; they are promoting their Kishimen-style udon noodles.

I go to stall number 19 from Saitama Prefecture, offering Shoji-style udon noodles. As I approach the store, the guy at the counter shouts, “Welcome!” in English and literally welcomes me with open arms. When I arrive, he reaches out his hand to shake mine. He looks genuinely pleased that I chose his store; most likely, he is proud of the food he makes. “Udon!” I exclaim, my smile matched by his.

After food, I head back to Asakusa. I exit Tawaramachi Station to the sound of tourism and the sight of umbrellas. The rain has started now, but the show will go on. Today is the 33rd Asakusa Samba Carnival, and half a million people are expected to attend. The streets are packed on every side, and the roads are closed to vehicles. The carnival is just about to start.

This festival first began in 1981 when the mayor of Taito Ward invited the winning team of the Brazilian Rio Carnival to perform on the streets of Asakusa. Each of the teams has its own theme, but in effect, they compete to be crowned the winner of a dancing contest. The parade starts behind Senso-ji temple, where a display of the floats is free to inspect, and conveniently finishes close to Tawaramachi Station.

The teams vary in style. There is a ‘Puzzles & Dragons’ float, loads of marching bands, women dancing Samba dressed in traditional Brazilian garb. Some teams even have a comedy aspect, like women with fish on their heads or dancing clowns. For the rest of the afternoon, every inch of Asakusa is alive with the sound of drums and loud music.

At 5 p.m., I decide to eat some food from Seven Eleven before heading to Cafe Byron Bay to drink. Instead, the night takes a somewhat unexpected turn, and one of my friends from the cafe is in need of medical treatment. An ambulance is called, and we wait an age.

The owner of the cafe, our friend, and I sit in a parked ambulance for ten minutes. Here, her symptoms are explained, and the usual questions are answered. I think that this procedure could have been done during the journey to the hospital, but then again, I don’t have any medical training, so what do I know? Eventually, we are on the move. Something I have observed in the past is that ambulances in Japan move seemingly without any haste or purpose. They wait at traffic lights with sirens blazing. They move with absolutely no urgency.

We arrive at a small hospital in Ueno. Our friend is placed into the Emergency Room, and we wait outside. Sitting in the hospital, an overwhelming sense of exhaustion washes over me. The humming clock reads 20:20, but it’s boring, like the walls; once white, now stained yellow. We ask if there is any news on our friend, but we are politely told that they don’t know anything. Hospitals have a way of draining energy from people; sitting here any longer might just kill me. We decide to go for a walk.

We head to an Indian restaurant and eat some excellent food. I suggest to the cafe owner that she should serve similar food and rename her shop to Cafe Byron Bombay. Despite worrying about our friend in the hospital, we make the most of the situation and try to enjoy ourselves as much as we can. In the end, I don’t have such a terrible time.

After four hours, our friend is allowed to leave and is going to be alright; good news. We hop on the train at the nearby Ueno Station and head back to Tawaramachi Station before going our separate ways.

Japanising.com

about Japan

Category Archives: Shibuya