Death Becomes Here

Posted on 04/04/2015 by Luke

Today is warm again, and I have arranged to go on a bicycle tour with three very close friends. We meet up at half-past one and cycle in the direction of Yanaka Cemetery. It might sound a little morbid, heading once again to this huge cemetery, but the reason we have settled on this location is that it is quiet, out of the way, and not packed full of tourists. Today might well be the last day we can view sakura, and I can’t think of a better way to enjoy the flowers than with my friends in an area that is free from the usual crowds.

We decide, for whatever reason, to park our bikes in a zone where abandoned bicycles are collected and locked away. This fenced-off area charges a fine of ¥5000 to people who have left their bicycles illegally parked. After impounding our own bicycles, I worry that something might go wrong, and we too will have to pay the hefty fine when we return here later this afternoon. “Don’t worry about it,” says one of my friends, “we can just pretend that we don’t speak any Japanese, it’s no problem.”

We head through the cemetery, getting very lost in the process. The interesting thing about Yanaka Cemetery is that there are no bodies in the ground. Every grave here features a cremated corpse in an urn. Something about the blend of cherry blossom trees mixed in with the gravestones soothes me in a way that I can’t really describe. I really like this cemetery, and today is perhaps my tenth visit to this area since arriving in Japan.

On the other side of the dead, there are some old houses and a street known as Cherry-blossom Avenue. I noticed a sign here a few months ago that displayed the four seasons of Yanaka Cemetery and various flowers. The section for winter was incomplete, but now, finding the sign, I can see that whoever is in charge here has finally updated the winter information, and it was worth the wait: a snow-protective lifting tool.

The photograph shows nothing resembling winter, and the sign is meant to depict the different flowers of each season (it doesn’t). I’m not certain if a snow-protective lifting tool is a genus of flowering plants or perhaps something more obscure; nevertheless, I am intrigued enough to make plans to return here next winter and investigate this peculiar seasonal tool.

On Cherry-blossom Avenue, it is slightly more crowded than we had anticipated. Dozens of people meander the street, each side adorned with a wall of pink flowers arching over the tunnel-like path, creating an incredible sight. It’s unquestionably worth the visit, offering the most serene view of sakura I have seen so far. We continue our stroll on this lovely spring afternoon, relishing views under the canopy of blossoms.

On the other side of the street, we enter a very large temple. Tennoji Temple boasts a massive statue of Buddha and an ancient well that still functions today. One of my friends appears excessively excited about the well and immediately starts pumping water from the ground below. Apparently, the water has a metallic taste.

We leave the temple and the cherry blossoms behind us, heading down Yanaka Ginza Street. The market is an unusual bustle of crowds and tourists, drawn to the area for flower viewing and now wandering along this ancient street. Although tea houses, locally sourced products, and hand-made items are on sale, none of them capture our interest. In our quest for food, we stumble upon the knowledge that there’s a cat cafe nearby, and given our shared love for cats, we eagerly turn a corner and walk for ten minutes in a vague direction before finding a cafe adorned with cat paraphernalia. “Maybe this is the place?” I am told, with transparent obviousness.

We wander into the deceptively small cafe and take a seat on the floor around a small table. Unlike the other cat cafe I have visited, this one doesn’t require us to pay any additional fee to eat with the cats. It feels more like someone’s living room than an actual cafe. Although the place is slightly pricey, perhaps the extra charge is used to subsidise the cost of cat food, care, and maintenance.

I order a vegetarian curry and wait. My friends, seemingly uninterested in real food, opt for a selection of cakes and sweets. As we sit and talk for a while, I completely forget that I am in the company of cats; perhaps the reason for this is that there is just a single cat here. Only one. Sleeping quietly under a heated table. Eventually, my food arrives, and a second cat appears from seemingly nowhere. Much to my surprise, my food looks nothing like any curry I have had before. Something is very different about it, and it takes me a while to realise exactly what it is.

As I dine on curry and rice shaped like a feline, or perhaps a fox, I begin to wonder if this is okay. Eating food in the shape of a cat, while surrounded by two actual cats, makes me feel very strange indeed. What would a cat think if it saw me eating one of its friends? Perhaps it would get angry, maybe even scratch at me. After finishing my curry, I attempt to pet the awake cat, but it runs away in fear, confirming my suspicions about eating cat-shaped food. The owner informs us that the manager of the cafe is, in fact, the sleeping cat. It makes me wonder if the cat even knows how to operate the antiquated till system (it doesn’t).

We set off in the direction of our bicycles, and along the way, we once again inadvertently stumble upon a temple. This particular temple houses the King of Hell, Enma-raja. The statue, carved from stone, depicts him with his servants sitting on either side. His servants are Shimyo and Shiroku, tasked with delivering the King’s judgment and recording it, respectively.

It is believed that Enma-raja judges the conduct of the living and determines their destination after death. Rumour has it that if you tell a lie in front of the statue, the King of Hell will remove your tongue. Intrigued, I decide to test this out with a paradoxical statement, “You will cut out my tongue.” Nothing happens, indicating that I have told a lie, meaning the statue should cut out my tongue. But if it does, then I can’t have told a lie, and this creates a paradoxical loop. The logical conundrum continues endlessly. Eventually, the statue disintegrates in a quarrel of logic (it doesn’t).

It is quite fitting to find such a statue here, as the area of Yanaka is in the direction of the Ox Tiger, depicted with horns, sharp claws, and an evil demeanour. Because of this, it is considered an unlucky direction, and Yanaka shares the unfortunate possibility that it contains a demon gate—an invisible gate that leads directly to hell, known as a Kimon. Often, temples in Japan face the same direction as this Chinese zodiac symbol. This might explain why there are over thirty temples and shrines here, helping to purify the area and prevent an oni demon from showing up and killing everyone.

With death surrounding us, it is a pleasure to encounter something that brings a wry smile to my face. A man quietly sweeps up the fallen, dead petals of cherry blossom flowers that litter the floor. I watch eagerly as he sweeps. The area he cleans is instantly covered with petals within a minute of him finishing, and I fear for him; his job might be unavailing and endless.

We eventually return to our bicycles, relieved to find them unharmed. However, a man looks confused as we stroll into the compound, unlock our bikes, and race toward the exit. Speaking in Japanese to one of my friends, he seems suspicious about our actions. “Next time, you should kindly ask for permission first,” is all he says. Fortunately, he doesn’t impose any penalties or cause any problems. As we cycle away from the cemetery towards Asakusa, it appears I had nothing to worry about, except perhaps for the sudden sharp pain that starts to shoot through my tongue.

Under the Spreading Cherry Blossom Tree

Posted on 02/04/2015 by Luke

As the heat of 23°C sweeps across Tokyo, it brings with it a sea of pink and white flowers. Spreading in every direction are sakura, flowers that only bloom for about a week of the year and are so delicately dependent on weather conditions that they could easily vanish in an instant. The problem with cherry blossoms is that they take a while to reach full bloom, and in previous years, 100% hasn’t quite been reached. This year I am fortunate, and the weather has been excellent. Today, the flowers are at their full potential and will stay like this for a few days or until it rains. If it rains, the flowers will wash away, sharing the same fate as a ludicrously named spider in a nursery rhyme.

I head toward the Sumida River, passing rows of flowers that line the river on both sides. The same river, but this week, offering an entirely different setting.

I cross the river and head into Sumida Park. I have arranged to meet my friends for a traditional event known as hanami. I wander the park, passing large groups of people drinking alcohol as they sit shoeless on bright blue tarpaulin. As I traverse the verdant gardens, after a full thirty minutes, I arrive at the location of the first-ever cherry blossom viewing party of the Imperial Court. Just over the hill behind this historic location, sit my friends, drinking whisky at noon.

As I gaze at cherry blossoms and observe the other people here enjoying their little picnics of alcohol and snacks, I realise that a man from Pizza Hut is delivering a hot pizza to one of the groups at the bottom of the hill. I find it astonishing; firstly, how could the delivery man ever find the group that ordered, and secondly, if this were in England, the company would never deliver to a crowded park. They would insist on a postal address, and if that couldn’t be provided, they would simply refuse.

We sit under a cherry blossom tree, mostly in quiet contemplation. The point of hanami is to enjoy the flowers, the alcohol, and the company of others. As I stare at the flowers, I recall a story about horses. In the past, many Buddhists would ask to be buried with sakura, so to shake the branches and release a snowfall of flowers, horses would be tied around a cherry blossom tree. This is actually the reason that raw horse meat in Japan is known as sakura.

Sakura also has a third meaning, a stooge. Many years ago, people would be allowed to view kabuki shows for free, in exchange for over-the-top laughter and applause. These stooges would sit in the audience to encourage the paying members watching the show to participate in applause. It is said that the applause blooms very quickly, spreads, then fades away, much like the flowers. Our party eventually fades away too, just like the flowers, and I take my leave and walk toward Asakusa, to look at some cucumbers.

Within the grounds of Sogenji Temple sit a pair of perfectly preserved kappa. Child of the river and an imaginary animal said to help local people with float control, or so the confusing sign states. It is said that a kappa has a bowl on its head, always full to the brim with water. If the bowl becomes empty, then the kappa sadly dies. Apparently, eating cucumbers rehydrates the kappa, keeping it alive, which might explain the cucumbers. I bow at the kappa statues, hoping to see them bow back, thus spilling their bowls and killing them in the process, but nothing happens. Just a statue covered in cucumber, staring blankly at me. A man cutting the lawn tells me that there are limbs from an actual kappa inside the temple; however, I am not allowed to see them, and am given no explanation as to why not. It makes me wonder why he even mentioned it in the first place. Regardless, I leave the temple with a free cucumber under each arm.

I turn back to cherry blossom viewing once more and head to the overly crowded Ueno Park.

The park has one of the best spots to view flowers in Tokyo, with endless rows of blossoming trees spreading from the middle of the park all the way to the Fountain of Frog. There isn’t much else to do here though; I have seen flowers already and am perhaps losing interest slightly. I instead wander away from the park, in search of something interesting.

Eventually, I stumble into Toeizan Kan’ei-ji Endon-in, a temple that features many graves of famous perished people, including that of a priest named Ryoozenji. The priest had a revelation in a dream, and upon waking, he invented a powerful medicine named Kintaien. This medicine cured every illness in the world, and he sold it at a drugstore that was owned by his nephew. All of the profits from this super drug, Ryoozenji spent on a library in the grounds of this very temple. I find it a little odd. If I had invented a drug that cured every illness in the world, I would have thought my profits would have stretched a lot further than a simple library. Still, the story of Ryoozenji isn’t the strangest thing at Toeizan Kan’ei-ji Endon-in.

Next to the copper bell sits a large stone surrounded by plants. I take a closer look and discover that this rock is a tomb that contains the souls of insects. Specifically, insects that were sketched by a lord in the Edo Period. This type of monument is known as a Mushizuka and was built to console the spirits of various insects that were both drawn and used for science.

I leave the temple and return to Ueno Park. Most of the people in the park are gathered for hanami, but there is one area where the crowd seems to be oblivious to the beauty all around them, engaged in a protest of sorts. A man stands with a book and a microphone, shouting loudly and with anger, as fifty elderly Japanese men sit and watch in awe, nodding in agreement. I am not sure what the man is so angry about, perhaps the flowers, but regardless, he does his protest next to a sign that ironically says, “No protesting, no gathering, no advertising, and no politics.”

I leave the park with a head full of cucumbers. As I wander down flower-covered roads, I turn onto Kappabashi Street, in the hope that I might meet an actual kappa. Obviously, nothing transpires, so my float control dilemma will have to wait until another day.

The Time Traveler’s Strife

Posted on 01/04/2015 by Luke

Today, I decide to explore the Asakusa area once again. Recently, I engaged in a conversation with friends about Denbou-in Gardens, the secret gardens I visited, hidden in the grounds of Senso-ji Temple. Intrigued to discover more about this area and its hidden gems, I then heard a mention of the interestingly named Drawing Light Temple. Obviously, I wanted to find out more. In the blazing sunshine, I head to Asakusa once again and search for the temple.

It takes me about thirty minutes to wander through the huge complex of temples and shrines that make up the Senso-ji compound before I eventually find a rather obscure-looking tunnel with overhanging plants and nondescript flowers. Oddly, I have never seen this tunnel before, so for the second time in just over a fortnight, I have stumbled upon a new place in Tokyo, a city I have lived in for eight months now. Hidden beyond the foliage, on the other side of the tunnel, sits the impressive Drawing Light Temple.

Built in 1609, this temple houses the goddess of protection from drawing light images. Fortunately, an English sign serves to remove any confusion and informs me that, “The Goddess in this temple protects against photography, portraits, and reflections.” Ironically, photography is allowed here. As I read the signboards about the history of this place, it becomes instantly apparent that if this temple was built in 1609, as the sign states, then it precedes the very first photograph, making it impossible for the goddess that resides here to know what she would be protecting against. It reminds me of the Flying God Temple, where people go to pray before they fly on an aircraft. The god there existed before aircraft were even invented. Even the story about the origin of Senso-ji, concerning the golden statue of Kannon fished from a lake, is riddled with confusion; the statue is no longer housed in Senso-ji Temple, and has never actually been seen by anyone who can prove it existed in the first place.

The inconsistencies and inaccuracies in religious narratives make me increasingly sceptical. Considering the possibility that religious stories and certain deities might be nothing more than fabrications is a notion I had never entertained before, but it now begins to take shape in my mind. What if it’s all untrue? I ponder this for a moment, and then, quite unexpectedly, I spot a magical cow.

“Look closely,” says a sign next to the cow. I stare at the cow, not really sure what I am supposed to be seeing. Everything here looks perfectly normal – just a statue of a cow. Below the sign, there is a description in Japanese, which later translates to read, “As a way to protect the stolen soul, in the cow, your image will be hidden from the drawing of light.” I take a photograph of the cow, and oddly, my image isn’t present. Very strange. I take seven more photographs from various angles, yet each time, the scenery behind me is visible, but my own reflection is mysteriously erased.

Why a cow has been chosen to symbolise the absence of reflection is beyond me, but some sort of wizardry is at hand here – a trick of light, perhaps. Continuing my exploration of this hidden temple, I discover that it holds the origin of the story that a photograph can steal your soul. It was said that when this temple was built before photographs were invented, the thought of an image of a person being taken was a direct link to the spiritual world. This history has also spread to the rest of the Senso-ji area, where no mirrors can be seen at any of the temples or shrines. It makes me wonder if the Edo Period in Japan was populated by time travellers, building temples everywhere that predict future inventions.

As I leave the Drawing Light Temple, I continue my exploration of the nearby area and discover another display of inconsistent historical information.

The Stone Lantern of Rokujizo was built in either 1146, 1150, or 1368, and already I find that there are too many contradictions. The sign even states that the details are unknown. Yet, the lantern itself features topography that wasn’t used until 1834. So somehow, the lantern features Japanese text that was first used 688 years, 684 years, or 466 years after it was originally built. My suspicions surrounding the history behind Senso-ji Temple are once again confirmed here.

I continue my tour and find a monument to Kume no Heinai. He was a samurai in the Edo Period and a master of sword fighting. Over the years, he killed many people before eventually turning to a life of virtue. Heinai began to live in Kongo-in Temple, inside Senso-ji Temple, and devoted himself to Zen Buddhism. He held religious services in honour of the souls of the people he killed. One day, he ordered his followers to carve his figure in stone and bury it in a busy district of Asakusa, so that forever, people would step on him—presumably what he thought he deserved after years of killing. Oddly, Heinai was in good health the day the statue was ordered to be built; however, the next day, he died suddenly, as if his fate was already known.

My final stop is the peculiarly named, Bell of Time.

This innocent looking bell housed in a wooden structure, to the untrained eye, wouldn’t be significant. To my overactive imagination, this confirms my earlier suspicions that religion, or at least the area around Senso-ji Temple, was built by time travellers, and this bell was their time machine. Obviously, time travellers building temples sounds ridiculous, although the evidence is definitely here. If this isn’t the case though, then perhaps instead, religion is being used to make money here; exploiting the beliefs of innocent people, and making this area more attractive to tourists. It does seem from my brief attempt at investigating the area, that most of the information I have discovered is based entirely on lies.

A Streetcar, Feigned Desire

Posted on 29/03/2015 by Luke

I decide that despite the warm weather today, it would be a nice idea to explore the area around my own neighbourhood on foot, rather than heading further afield by bicycle. Looking at the map outside of my apartment, I notice a few points of interest that I had never previously given much thought. The first is the Toden Arakawa Streetcar, the last remaining streetcar that still operates in Tokyo. I wander five minutes from my home in that direction. As I approach, I follow the sound of silent electricity until I arrive at the tracks.

At the streetcar depot, nobody is waiting to ride. The only sign of life here, other than the movement of old trams, is a superabundance of starving pigeons waiting for their next meal. Opened in 1913, this streetcar somehow survived when all other streetcars were scrapped in Japan some fifty years ago. I consider taking the tram, but because there is no official timetable, I fear that if I do, I will end up in the middle of nowhere, with no way of getting back. Instead, I try to photograph this historic vehicle, but a blur of pigeon rudely interrupts my photography.

My next stop is at the nearby Jokan-ji Temple, a historical site and cultural asset of Arakawa. It becomes apparent as I enter the temple grounds that this temple contains some rather dark history. The temple dates back to 1665, and with such close proximity to the nearby Yoshiwara red-light district, it became known to the locals as the throw-away temple. A place to dispose of unclaimed or discarded deceased prostitutes.

The temple itself looks like any other temple, but beyond the shiny temple walls is a memorial to the unknown dead and a hidden entrance that leads into a vast cemetery.

The 1854 Tokai earthquake claimed many lives, including young women who had been sold by their parents to the Yoshiwara district. These prostitutes were often forced into this trade, considering themselves as living in hell, destined to eventually die and join the other women in a mass grave at Jokan-ji Temple. The deceased women were not granted a proper funeral or burial; instead, they were wrapped in a straw mat and left outside the temple gates for someone else to collect, burn, and add to the pile of death and ash.

I stroll through the cemetery, and it becomes evident where the souls of the twenty-five thousand deceased prostitutes are laid to rest. A small tomb is adorned with artefacts related to prostitution. An inscription above the tomb reads, “Birth is pain, death is Jokan-ji.” Cosmetic products, hair clips, and makeup rest on top, leaving a haunting reminder of death. It is even possible to peer inside the tomb through an overly exposed metal grate, offering no dignity to the departed. Inside, a stacked pile of white urns extends down into oblivion.

I depart from the tomb with mixed feelings. I question why I even visited here; perhaps I should have simply boarded the streetcar and escaped the sense of doom and gloom. Another notable presence is a monument dedicated to the novelist Kafu Nagai, who used these deceased women as a source for his satire. I ponder on the motivations of someone writing about such a macabre subject, only to realise that, in my own way, I am no different as I pen down these words.

I depart from Jokan-ji Temple and start walking toward Minami-Senju, an area my friends have deemed extremely dangerous. As I approach, it appears to be like any other place I’ve visited in Tokyo: a Seven Eleven, a few shrines, a clean park, an old woman feeding a cat, bullet holes, a train station … Bullet holes?

Entsu-ji Temple stands tall, featuring a twelve-metre-tall golden statue of Kannon. What is remarkable about this temple is that it proudly serves as the new location for the Black Gate. Kuromon was previously the gate at the entrance to Akizuki Castle, but after a gunfight during the Battle of Ueno, the gate was damaged, explaining the bullet holes. The gate was moved to this location in 1907. Not one to dwell on death and misery, I leave the temple in a rush and forget to take a photograph of the famous Black Gate.

I head back in the direction of Minowa, and with prostitution on my mind, I take a stroll through the Yoshiwara area. What always strikes me as odd about Yoshiwara is that at one entrance to the legalised brothel district is a police station, and at the other end, there is a shrine that houses a goddess that offers protection to women.

Every day, when a prostitute finishes her shift, she will walk past this shrine and bow deeply. I have seen it so many times, due to this shrine being on my route from my home to Asakusa. In fact, I pass this shrine twice a day, and almost always see women here, praying, bowing, and hoping to not share the same fate as those other twenty-five thousand abandoned dead women.

The Fashion of the Crystal Wax

Posted on 21/03/2015 by Luke

I am in Shinjuku to meet a friend. I instantly regret choosing to meet her at the West Exit of the busiest train station in the world. After ten minutes of searching, we eventually find each other before heading outside to take a free shuttle bus bound for Shinjuku Park Tower. Inside this building are many high-priced restaurants, financial institutes, and the Park Hyatt Hotel; perhaps the most expensive night’s sleep in Japan. We are not here for any of that nonsense though, as in the basement of this building, we have exclusive invitations to an event hosted by French cosmetic giant, L’Oréal.

In the basement, our cards are checked, our identities confirmed, our Quick Response Codes are scanned, our identities are reconfirmed, before we are finally allowed to pass through the first checkpoint. At the second checkpoint, we are searched, our coats and bags are taken, and we are asked to place the possessions we intend to take into the event into a clear plastic bag. For a moment, I get confused and think I am at the airport.

The reason we are here is for a Family Sale; a place to go to buy very cheap products from big-name brands. I am a little confused as to the motivation for such an event, as today, only L’Oréal and affiliated products are on sale, each with ridiculous discounts of up to ninety percent. In the past, whenever I have visited a sale offering such high discounted prices, usually only a select few products hold the high percentage of reduction, but here at the L’Oréal Family Sale, every product is perhaps seventy to ninety percent off. Price down!

We enter the main room, somewhat smaller than I was expecting; a room populated entirely by women. No free samples are on offer, much to my dismay. Somehow, I find myself sucked in by the offers, and take some wax that has been knocked down from ¥3400 to a crazy ¥700; I don’t even use wax. I find it somewhat ironic that one of the most expensive buildings in Tokyo is the venue for discounted goods. I ask to photograph the room, but am told that strictly no photography is allowed. It makes me wonder if L’Oréal is here to promote their company brand or to just offer the rich an exclusive ‘invitation-only’ way to buy cosmetics and save large amounts of money, thus making them richer. With a lack of photography, I instead take a nice photograph from the inside of Shinjuku Park Tower.

As I leave with my wax and head to the cashier, I am told that I can only pay with a credit card. I always thought Japan was very much a cash society, where plastic is seldom used, so this strikes me as odd. I don’t even own a credit card. Luckily, my friend assists me and away we go, back through the checkpoints and out into the chaos of Shinjuku.

Back in Asakusa, we go our separate ways. I decide to head over to Senso-ji Temple to see my first-ever performance of kabuki. Kabuki is a style of theatre that combines music, dance, elaborate costumes, and elaborate masks. Today the show is performed by children, in a style known as Ogano Kabuki. This style boasts two hundred years of tradition, and these days it is the children of Saitama that keep the tradition alive. It is nice to see young people taking an interest in this art form, despite living in a country where the young are obsessed with video games, animated movies, and comic books.

The event starts with an announcer speaking in Japanese for ten minutes before two girls dressed as geisha take to the stage and talk for a further ten minutes. The curtains close, and the announcer speaks about foxes and cherry blossoms; another ten minutes pass, and the introduction is over. All the while, rude people push and shove through the crowds to take a closer look. A rude woman stands on my foot and offers no apology. Eventually, the show starts with a parade of costume-wearing kids.

Traditional music plays, characters kneel down, and dialogue is exchanged with very little movement for what seems like forever. The costumes are fantastic, mesmerising, the music is beautiful, and the characters’ words are almost poetic. If I didn’t know in advance that these were child performers, I would have mistaken the show for a professional production. Despite the professionalism, I get a little bored. The language used isn’t only Japanese, but old Japanese that perhaps nobody has used for hundreds of years. I decide after forty minutes to go and do something else.

Also in Asakusa today, a fashion and art show known as The Asakusa Collection is taking place, so I take to the Sumida River and enter the Riverside Gallery.

Inside the Riverside Gallery, my photograph is hijacked by a wizard wearing high-visibility clothing. I have no idea who he is or what he wants, but after ignoring him for a while, he disappears to ruin the photographs of others. The Asakusa Collection is a free fashion festival that apparently embodies amazing crazy and chaos culture in Tokyo. The show also has a heavy emphasis on innovative fashion without a distinction between Western and Japanese Styles. Amongst the fashion, there is a nice mix of local artists from this area, all hoping to showcase, promote, and sell their work.

Forty-two artists are here, and a mix of photographs, illustrations, ceramics, dolls, bags, jewellery, traditional clothing, accessories, and sheep-shaped flower pots are on display. I stop off to watch a bit of live painting before heading out in search of my favourite artists.

Seeing local works of art is always a treat for me, and I would love to feature the works of each of the forty-two artists here, but I don’t really have time for that. The first display I thoroughly enjoy is the work of Kanbayashi Yukikazu. He creates collage and three-dimensional landscape paintings using a mixture of sand and plaster, finished with oil. His work depicts scenes in Japan, from Mount Fuji to Senso-ji Temple, and was once presented at The Museum of Modern Art in his hometown of Kamakura.

The second artist I enjoy is Ayumi Ogawa. Her work is called ‘Diary,’ and it is contemporary artwork based on calendars and real notebooks. Sadly for Ayumi, the link to her Facebook page reveals absolutely no information about the inspiration or message behind her pieces, yet I am somehow drawn to her abstract modern style.

At home, I realise that I have spent a lot of time writing in great length about topics that are probably of no interest to anyone else; a theme that might continue into my next post, which will be exclusively about anime.

Show My Gear, the Policeman Said

Posted on 16/03/2015 by Luke

I am standing in Seven Eleven, queueing up to buy my morning coffee. The man two before me in the queue smiles and nods as our glances cross. I don’t recognise him, yet he keeps his eyes fixed on mine, quietly staring. Eventually, he points to his eyes and says, “Your eyes are blue.” He seems to be in a state of amazement, “Europa?” he asks.
I decide not to correct him, despite me not being from one of the moons of Jupiter. “Yes,” I say, “England.”
He pauses for thought for a time before asking, “Are you happy?” His question catches me off guard, and I have to give it a certain degree of thought. Perhaps I look a little miserable because I am standing in Seven Eleven at 9 a.m. I eventually reply with a yes. “Good, you should be happy, have a nice day.” With that, he pays for his can of beer and leaves the store.

I cycle over to Asakusa, to Senso-ji Temple. To mark the four-year anniversary of the Great East Japan Earthquake, the temple has opened up its secret garden and gallery to the public. ¥300 to enter, and all the proceeds will be donated to support the ongoing recovery. A sign at the entrance says, “There, it is an old beautiful Japanese garden made 400 years ago, it can take a walk.”

I have often seen these gardens on the maps around the temple, and even tried to find them once or twice, but to no avail. Now it is clear to me why; they were a secret. I start queueing just before they open at 10 a.m. Waiting in line once again, but with nobody asking me about being from Jupiter, I stay calm. Eventually, the doors open, and I pay my ¥300 entry fee.

It isn’t just the gardens that are open to the public for the next two months, but also a gallery of artwork depicting samurai and legends. Good quality artwork; dated. No photography is allowed inside the gallery, but for anyone in Tokyo right now or in the coming months, I urge you to visit. It is for a great cause, and the artwork is stunning. After wandering around inside for a time, I head out into the gardens, where my breath is stolen away by the beauty.

Why these gardens are normally closed is beyond me. Prior to the earthquake, the gardens were visited exclusively by noblemen. One thousand square metres of garden, made by an eminent gardener in the early 17th century, sit behind hidden walls. A small building known as Denbou-in stands in the garden, a place where priests from the temple would train in Buddhist discipline. It also became a lodging place for the many nobles that came here to visit. I wander around the circuit, following the route of the signs, and take great care with the multiple signs instructing me to, “Please stop walking, drink in the garden!”

After enjoying the scenery, I head, as usual, to Cafe Byron Bay. Today, I am taking part in a television show starring Yoshio Kojima, a comedian I previously met back in August.

The show features a second comedian, Udai Iwasaki. Very little information can be found about this man. Apparently, he won an award in 2013 for being the funniest man in Japan. He is in a comedy group known as Kamomental, which translates to mean Duck Metal, and his blood type is AB. When researching Yoshio Kojima, I am not at all surprised to find a mention of his blood type, a slight obsession in Japan similar to horoscopes. For the record, his blood type is O.

The show is in English and is a tour of Yoshio Kojima’s favourite neighbourhood, Asakusa. “This coffee is very comfortable,” he says, sipping on his latte. Everyone gets interviewed about where they are from or why they came to Japan before Yoshio Kojima treats us to his famous catchphrase, performed again in English. After that, the show ends. I get a chance to talk to the comedians a little after the shooting. Both of them have excellent English ability and are both very nice people.

The show will air on CS TV Asahi on either May 10th or 24th, but the television people haven’t decided yet. Overall, the shooting was good fun, but I am not sure how much of myself will be included in the final cut.

I leave the cafe and start walking toward my house. As part of my application process to stay in Japan a little longer, I have to get my photograph taken. I find a photo booth that offers the size of photograph that I require, and after inserting my ¥900, I discover that the booth speaks two languages, Japanese and American. Call me naïve, but I didn’t know that there was a language called American. Regardless, a nice man speaks to me in English after I select this option, photographs are snapped, and finally, I am given the chance to modify my photographs. With summer just a few months away, I opt for the sun tan option. “Your photograph will be ready in nineteen seconds,” says the voice in English. Very precise.

As I near my house, two policemen surround me, and in broken English, they ask me for my identification, look at every card in my wallet, search my pockets, write things down, look at me with suspicion, then they apologise, get back on their one-speed bicycles, and disappear; presumably to harass somebody else. A part of me questions their selection process, and for whatever reason, I become adamant that it has something to do with me being from Europa.

The Northern Wind, the Sun and Me

Posted on 09/03/2015 by Luke

Spring is coming, and the weather has gotten nice and warm. I head over to Asakusa, to my usual haunt for breakfast. As I leave, I hold the door open for five ravenous tourists. It turns out they are the American rock band Incubus, here in Tokyo for their current tour of Asia. With very little interest in Incubus’s music, I pass up on the opportunity to be obsequious and instead take a train over to Shinjuku.

Today, I am visiting Takarazuka University of Art and Design to see an exhibition related to video games. After four years of study, the final projects of each student are showcased inside the university, providing visitors and potential new students with a glimpse of what the campus has to offer. I head straight for the 8th-floor office area and persuade my friend to give me a guided tour. Our first stop: a look at the Unreal Engine 4.

The game here, actually created by one of the teachers, is a simple platformer set on what appears to be a distant planet. The controls offer only movement and jumping, and while the game is somewhat basic, its main purpose is to showcase the graphics and textures that can be created with this engine. I enjoy jumping around for a while, admiring the water and landscape, before accidentally hitting a button on the controller that causes the game to stop working.

Next, we enter a room filled with iPads where we can try out actual games made by the students. Some of these delights include ‘Dancing Brain,’ ‘Fruits Panic!,’ and my favourite title, ‘Fable Sour Face.’ Apparently based on a novel, ‘Fable Sour Face’ was challenging to create as the student had to do it all alone—from scratch to the finished product. This tactical espionage operations adventure looks to me like a Doom/Quake clone. The tagline reads, ‘You get a lot of looks and can you tear it off.’

I pick up the iPad to play, press the start button, but I am instantly greeted by an error message. For the second time today, I’ve managed to break something.

We continue to explore the various games—some very basic, others quite advanced. Interestingly, the video games room also features a collection of beautifully illustrated tarot cards based on German folktales, including the Pied Piper of Hamelin and the story of Rapunzel.

It makes me wonder, if anyone can simply make a set of tarot cards by themselves, how can they possibly be guided by a spiritual force during tarot readings? I start to think about things too much, pondering what might give the cards their mystical power, their divinatory aspect. Realising that I am being overly sceptical, I decide to instead check out the next room for more video games.

Kowloon’s Gate, a hugely popular adventure game released for the PlayStation in 1997, developed a massive cult following under the banner of the company ‘Zeque.’ Interestingly, one of the designers of the game is now a teacher at this university. He utilises the game to showcase the incredible power of the Oculus Rift.

This is my first time trying Oculus, and it’s an absolutely delightful experience. Strangely, when wearing the headset, it truly feels like I am living in another world — in this case, the world of Kowloon, Hong Kong. The Oculus Rift allows me to see everything through the eyes of the protagonist. Massive headphones block out all other sounds, except that of the game, enabling me to become fully immersed. Motion sensors determine where the character is looking. I sit for about five minutes, moving my head around, in awe of the apparent realism I am experiencing. After leaving Kowloon, my head feels a little dizzy, as if I am suffering from serious motion sickness. I bid goodbye to my friend as he returns to work and leave the university.

With a head full of pixels and my thoughts lost to video games, I head over to the only place that makes any sense: Akihabara. I make a stop at Planet Sega, taking the lift to the third floor, where I play some arcade-style video games. After twenty minutes of playing BlazBlue and not doing so well, I need to use the restroom. Above the urinal is a very strange computer screen displaying a different kind of video game.

The game is oddly titled ‘The Northern Wind, the Sun and Me’ and features a young woman presenting the weather. The urinal is fitted with a target and sensor, and the harder I urinate, the stronger the wind blows. The aim of the game is to make the wind so strong that the skirt of the young lady gets high enough to reveal her underwear. It makes me wonder what the ladies’ restroom offers for entertainment. Unfortunately, the video game arcade is populated entirely by men, so I have nobody to ask. Somewhat confused about what I have just experienced, I decide that I have had enough video games for one day and need to go home.

Pot Without Season

Posted on 26/02/2015 by Luke

The local elections are approaching, and this can only mean one thing: megaphones. It seems that in Japan, the person who can shout the loudest and for the longest time is most likely to receive the most votes during a successful election campaign. I’ve come to know this because, for the past three days, I have been rudely awakened by the sound of a man shouting ‘hello’ and repeating his own name over and over again.

Today, the man has decided to park his election truck outside my apartment. For ten minutes, he offers no information regarding his policy, no broken promises, or any reason to vote for him, other than his own name. Someone once told me that the reason for this shouting is to annoy younger voters, causing them to hate politics. Japan, with a larger number of elderly voters than young ones, makes me think that there might be some truth in these words.

With a splitting headache, I decide the best thing to do today is to head to a park and relax, away from the shouting and the megaphones. I take my bicycle and cycle through Asakusa toward Ueno Park. Somehow, on Kappabashi Street, the man who was outside my house just twenty minutes previously has decided to park directly on my route to Ueno. It’s as though he’s following me, tormenting me. I need to escape this noise.

Japan is often described as a country of four definite seasons, or so a popular guidebook tells me. However, this doesn’t seem to be the case. This week has seen a day of snow, a day so full of rain that even an umbrella couldn’t protect me, and today, a day that is unusually warm. So warm, in fact, that as I enter Ueno Park, a wash of green leaves surrounds me, and standing out among the sea of green is a single tree adorned with white and pink blossoms.

Cherry blossom season isn’t scheduled to begin for another month, yet one tree seems to have been confused by the recent strange weather, blossoming a month early. When I was told that every year, Japanese people go to the park or the river and take part in a festival known as ‘hanami’ (literally translating to mean ‘flower viewing’), I couldn’t really understand the appeal. Now, I am beginning to recognise the evanescent beauty of these flowers and the reasoning behind this spring festival.

I stand admiring the cherry blossom tree for a while before deciding that it’s warm enough for me to do one of my favourite things—exploring. I head in the direction of Kita Ward, a Tokyo ward without the annoying election campaign. Nishigahara is the area in this city that stands out for me. I spot a huge torii gate and a distant shrine, so I decide to investigate.

Nanasha Shrine was constructed to safeguard crucial documents related to the Age of Gods, recounting the mythology of how Japan was formed. Regrettably, in 1793, a fire engulfed these documents, conveniently erasing all evidence suggesting that Japan was created by mystical deities. Even a sign written in Japanese at the shrine’s entrance acknowledges the uncertainty, stating, ‘We can’t even be certain if the mythology is true, as the most important documents ever written were lost to fire.’

I continue exploring the Nishigahara area and stumble upon a vast park. Takinogawa Park boasts rock climbing facilities, an abundance of children playing football, and a dried-up pond that supposedly features a waterfall; the only element missing is the water. The park also showcases a very intriguing statue at its entrance, which, at first, I mistook for a misshaped tree.

Hidden on a side path, there’s an ornamental display containing a rather old-looking piece of pottery. The pot is from the Yayoi period—an Iron Age era that began around 300 BC and lasted approximately six hundred years. These lightly decorated pots were the first in Japan to be made using a potter’s wheel; before this, all pots in Japan were crafted by hand.

I’m not sure why such a pot is on display in this small park in Nishigahara, or why it isn’t resting somewhere in a museum—protected from rain, theft, and stray footballs. Regardless, it does look rather nice. Even though it serves as an overlooked reminder of Yayoi Pottery and a memory of a distant past, I somehow enjoy its presence.

A nearby sign states, ‘It may suggest that there was a place of ancient life in you,’ albeit, the sign is nowhere near the pot. Presumably, the sign is referring to the pottery, although this is simply my guess; I can see nothing else near the sign that could possibly relate to an ancient life in me. I note down the text on the sign before deciding that I’ve had enough of parks for one day. I turn around and cycle back in the direction of Asakusa.

On my way home, I make a brief stop for a sandwich outside Oku Station. Across from the station, I notice the strangest named hair salon I’ve seen in a while. Presumably, for the low cost of ¥1500, I can have my brains cut out. Even with my terrific megaphonic headache, the thought of my brains being severed by scissors is far too much to deal with right now.

Brains intact, I arrive in Asakusa and find myself cycling down Orange Street. Despite taking this route many times this month, I hadn’t previously noticed that this street is lined on either side with bright, colorful Christmas trees. Perhaps they are a recent addition to Orange Street, but I will never know for sure. It feels to me that in Tokyo, all of the seasons have become blurred into one giant mess of time. I don’t even know whether today is Christmas Day, the middle of spring, or 300 BC.

From Rush Hour With Love

Posted on 17/02/2015 by Luke

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Age of the Gods

Posted on 11/02/2015 by Luke

Today is National Foundation Day, the day that Emperor Jimmu was declared the very first Emperor of Japan, 2675 years ago. This marked a transitional period in the country’s history, ending what was known then as the Age of the Gods. It is often believed that before the accession of Emperor Jimmu, Japan was founded in an entirely different way.

It was once widely believed that the universe was engulfed in a chaos of sorts. The sound of particles moving around in a ball of confusion somehow created light. This light sat above the universe for a long time. Eventually, the particles began to fall, creating a blanket of clouds. From the clouds, five gods known collectively by the name Kotoamatsukami appeared from seemingly nowhere.

The five gods decided to cast four single droplets of water onto the oceans that formed on the planet below. Miraculously, these four drops materialised into huge land masses that are recognised today as the four main islands of the archipelago known as Japan.

I take to the Sumida River to look at the sunshine and the clouds and think about the formation of the universe. The story of Japanese creation seems to completely exclude the genesis of all the other landmasses on the planet, but oddly, the theory is still believed today by some Japanese people. With no celebrations at all taking place, I decide to follow the path of the river in a new direction and end up in the area of Hashiba.

Hashiba is somewhat unusual. The first thing that strikes me is that there are no maps, no places of interest, and no tourists. Just plenty of graffiti. It always surprises me to see graffiti in Japan, something I had almost forgotten existed until today. The Hashiba area is connected to the river and was once used as a ferry terminal. A floating bridge existed here too, some time ago. Before that, this area was covered in overgrown fields.

An older Japanese person I met with told me that he remembers coming here as a child to catch dragonflies and play in the long grass. The only sense of nature here now is the piles of dirt mixed with rubble, forgotten about and never removed.

In this area, watching over the mounds of trash and the graffiti, sit election posters for the Komeito Political Party. The party was founded by members of the Nichiren sect of Buddhism and therefore does the unpopular act of mixing both politics with religion. I am not sure anyone is here to help Hashiba, though—a place that seems incredibly run down and feels almost absent of potential change.

I decide to remain positive, to try to discover the good things about the area. Mixed amongst the negativity sits Hogenji Temple—a rather beautiful place with an old well, many stone statues, and a cemetery. For whatever reason, the grounds of the temple are filled with the sound of a loud chainsaw, disturbing the silence and further adding to my gloom-ridden impression of the area.

Desperately trying to find a redeeming factor, I continue to explore. I wander around for a while until I eventually find a sign written in English. The sign is provided by the Tokyo Metropolitan Board of Education, which is usually a good indication that something important might be here. Finally, a point of interest. Finally, something to see.

What looks like another temple turns out to be a tomb. The tomb comes complete with its own nature in the form of beautiful trees and a huge aviary. As if deliberately trying to add to the contrast, the tomb also includes a basketball court.

I discover that this is the final resting place of Ando Toya, a famous Confucian scholar. He was known for his time spent studying the Chinese language and teaching it to the people of Japan. He once said about the Chinese language, “It sounds like the chirping of birds. I can write, but when I open my mouth, I truly cannot speak.” This doesn’t quite explain the need for a basketball court here, but it does perhaps explain the aviary.

I stand in the grounds of Ando Toya’s tomb, staring in silence at the birds for almost a full hour.

The beautiful sparrows chirp in their hundreds. The echoing of those words spoken by Ando Toya flows around my head. It makes me wonder if the birds are secretly trying to communicate with me in Chinese. Maybe they are.

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