Canal City, a Wedding, a Japanese Massage

Posted on 23/07/2014 by Luke Kinsella

Today is Marine Day, but nobody let me know. The purpose of this public holiday is to thank the ocean for all the fish. Stock markets are closed, as are some shops. The weather is nice, and everyone has taken a day off for a trip to the beach.

I spend two hours of my Marine Day celebrations cycling between closed post offices. I wonder why they are all closed? After finding the fourth post office open, I conclude my business and leave with great dissatisfaction. These three police officers on one-speed bicycles soon cheer me up as they chase after a fugitive.

My legs are starting to ache after days of excessive exercise. I’ve established an eight-kilometre cycling routine that I follow every morning and evening for the past four days. I’ve managed to trim it down to about forty minutes, which is good by my standards, considering I’m on a one-speed bike and often encounter crowds of pedestrians that slow me down.

I head to Hakata on foot. Outside Hakata Station a stage has been erected and god knows what is going on. People on stage finish up singing, “We are the Bridge.” The theme song for the Asian Pacific Children’s Convention; a non-profit organisation that ‘connects dreams around the world’. I recognise the song, but I am not sure how or where from.

I head to a place called Canal City. This place is huge. 234,460 metres squaredof shops, restaurants, a theatre, a Taito Station video game arcade, a cinema, two hotels, and an indoor canal running through the middle. The nickname for Canal City is, ‘the city within the city’, and it certainly lives up to its name.

There is also a water jet show. The water sprays up into the air from the fountains below. There is a mat of synthetic grass where children can get absolutely soaked as they dodge the water as it falls toward them. A woman stands with a huge water pistol, shooting at the children, a grin on her face.

If you look closely, in the window beyond the water, a bride and groom are getting married.

Back at the hostel, the manager asks me if I ever eat. I was asked this question yesterday by another member of staff. It turns out none of the staff here have ever seen me eating. I try to explain to them that ten years of working nights have reduced me to just eating one meal a day, but they don’t seem to understand.

I head to the Nakagawa River. On the way, I stop and talk to Alan, the busker. He is taking a break, sipping on his Royal Milk Tea. He is from England and became homeless eight years ago. Singing with a banjo, he managed to earn enough money for a one-way ticket to Australia. For the past eight years, he has spent six months at a time in various countries. The money he makes busking every day covers the costs of his accommodation and meals.

As I walk across the river, my calf muscles are hurting. I decide to have my first Japanese massage, a type called Shiatsu, which focuses on finger pressure. I opt for a 50-minute full-body massage, emphasising my neck, back, legs, and Achilles. Afterward, I indulge in a ten-minute head and eye massage. The massage, performed fully clothed, is amazing. It costs me ¥4470.

I don’t have any photographs from the massage, as I didn’t have my camera with me. Instead, lazily, here’s a photograph I took of televisions earlier today:

I leave the massage feeling great, but darkness has fallen on Fukuoka, and I don’t know where I am. I buy a bottle of green tea and walk for a while in the vague direction of Hakata Station before giving up and asking a young Japanese man which direction it is.

He says to me, ‘I am going to Hakata, come with me.’ I follow him until Japan turns into a Monty Python sketch. ‘Come along, come along,’ he tells me, ‘over here.’ I follow him for ten minutes; at each intersection, he checks to see that I am still following him. ‘This way, come on,’ he says, ‘nearly there now.’ We do indeed arrive at Hakata Station. I thank him, and we go our separate ways.

I haven’t eaten anything today, just water and green tea, and it’s 9 p.m. It’s been thirty hours without food, but I don’t feel hungry. I force down a Family Mart dinner before heading out to do my laundry.

As I open the dryer door, a voice inside greets me with, ‘Irasshaimase!’ I sit in the Coin Laundry, reading, and every now and then, I glance up to watch my clothes spinning. I’m only writing about my laundry experience because I found the orange sign above the dryer amusing. ‘Help!’ shouts the shirt, as if about to be gobbled up. After the drying cycle is finished, the machine cleverly switches to ‘Cool Down Mode.’ Five minutes later, my laundry is at room temperature—fascinating. The dryer door thanks me as it opens, ‘Arigatou gozaimasu.’

Back at the hostel, I strike up a conversation with an Italian girl. She left Italy without money or a job and used whatever she had to fly to South Korea. Swiftly, she found a job and established a new life for herself. As we talk, I mention Alan, the busker; his story seems to have some parallels. Surprisingly, she knows Alan—around four months ago, she met him in Seoul. ‘An Englishman with a banjo, right!’ she exclaims.

Many of the people I’ve met at this hostel are residing in South Korea and are currently here on a visa run. Their visas expire, prompting them to fly to Japan, stay for a day, then fly back out, earning another three-month tourist visa. Interestingly, as tourists, they legally trade work in hostels for free accommodation without exchanging money. This way, they can keep traveling indefinitely, and some have been doing just that.

A guy from Canada has a big carrier bag full of jet black volcanic ash. “A souvenir from Kagoshima,” he proudly tells me. It weighs a tonne.

Udon in (three-hundred and) Sixty Seconds

Posted on 22/07/2014 by Luke Kinsella

With the sun directly above me, there’s nowhere to hide from the heat. I anticipated the scorching conditions; the seat on my bright yellow bicycle was already burning when I first set off. I had to pour a bottle of water over it to cool it down; the water began to boil on the pavement. The tarmac here blisters and broils.

As I head toward Tenjin, I realise I’ve inadvertently chosen to wear a bright yellow shirt. I must look rather peculiar: a foreigner on a yellow bike, clad in yellow. Fortunately, I find a nice cycle path with newly laid tarmac, and my destination seems to have chosen itself.

Inconsiderate pedestrians often walk on the cycle path, obstructing me without a care. I make a stop to let a taxi pass, as I usually do, and the driver nods in acknowledgement, as they typically do. Interestingly, here, even when the crossing light is on a pedestrian green, motorists can still turn left, but they must yield to pedestrians first. I’ve made it a habit to let taxis turn before me, especially when they have a passenger. I like to think I’m doing everyone a favour.

I cycle for what feels like an eternity until I reach a place called Ohahsi. Not much happening in Ohashi, so I spot a sign for Hakata Station and decide to head back. On my way, I come across a woman holding a sign that says, ‘Time Sale.’ I humorously decide to ‘buy’ five minutes. Additionally, I encounter an army of crossing guards—three people directing one vehicle. Absolutely insane.

Attempting to find some eccentric Japanese electronics to write about, I discover that everything seems rather ordinary. Instead, I end up in a music shop on the seventh floor of Hakata Station. I spend about ten minutes practicing the piano, drifting away as I try to recall how to play the only song I can fully remember: ‘To Zanarkand’ by Nobuo Uematsu. It eventually comes back to me, but it was mentally challenging. The thought crosses my mind that I might have forgotten how to play the guitar by now.

I spend a while restaurant window shopping, stopping to admire the models of plastic food. A sign outside a Chinese restaurant catches my eye.

Instead of dining in Hakata, I opt for Tenjin, thinking it would be a better choice. With tired legs, I decide to hop on a subway train for the first time in nearly a month. I’m surprised by how soft and springy the seats on the train are, probably because the bicycle seat is hard and uncomfortable.

I disembark at the last stop, Fukuoka Airport, realising I’ve taken the wrong train. Not to worry, it was just a two-stop ride, and I won’t be charged for my mistake. As everyone exits the train, I wait a moment while it’s cleaned, and then I board the same train heading back to Tenjin. Surprisingly, many others do the same, presumably having made the same mistake as me. One of the things I enjoy about subway trains here is that since the tracks are separate from the ticket gates, you can effectively ride the train all day, getting on and off as many times as you like. There’s not much purpose in doing so except to rectify errors.

Ultimately, I spend a full thirty minutes on the train, the same amount of time it would have taken me to walk. The fare for this brief trip amounts to ¥200.

In Tenjin Station, there is a train made out of cardboard. The detail incredible. The photograph doesn’t do the quality of this cardboard art justice though:

I explore the thirteen floors of the train station, the overwhelming feeling I experienced on my first day in Fukuoka now just a fleeting thought.

I leave the train station and make my way to an indoor shopping arcade near the much-loved Reisen Park. There, I spot an udon restaurant—a Japanese dish I’ve yet to try. I opt for a mix of healthy and slightly indulgent choices by ordering a big set meal of udon served with vegetable and seafood tempura, on rice.

After placing my order, I notice I’m not offered a towel, something I’ve grown accustomed to in Japan. Typically, when dining at a restaurant, you’re almost always handed an ‘o-shibori,’ a wet hand towel to clean your hands before eating. Surprisingly, I’m also not given any water, and I sit waiting, feeling quite thirsty.

The drink I order takes five minutes to arrive, the food takes six.

The food turns out to be a bit of a puzzle; I have to assemble it myself. I pour the jug of sauce onto the tempura and then crack the egg on top, just for good measure. As I start sprinkling sesame seeds over the lightly battered vegetables and seafood, a Japanese man eating nearby tells me to stop.

He lifts the tray of sesame and wasabi to reveal a dip hidden underneath. ‘This,’ he points out, ‘is for udon.’ I express my gratitude for his guidance. Hopefully, I managed the tempura correctly. Once I finish my cold tempura served on warm rice, I move on to the ice-cold udon. Interestingly, the dip meant for the udon is warm, making everything seem quite backwards.

I find these thick wheat flour noodles a bit dull. I dip them, slurping and chewing at the seemingly endless strands. As I eat, my reflection stares back at me from the sauce. Hoping for a change, I mix some wasabi into the dipping sauce for a kick, but it doesn’t seem to make much difference to the dullness.

The food didn’t quite meet the usual standards I’ve come to expect in Japan. Perhaps my expectations were too high. The total cost of ¥1060, including a drink, offers good value for what was an average meal.

As I step outside the shopping arcade, the evening has settled in, casting a dark, starless sky. Walking along the river, I’m surrounded by crowds and vibrant bars. I pause to admire the numerous izakayas lining the riverbanks, each offering its own specialty food. It seems like an ideal place to unwind after a hectic workday or a leisurely Sunday afternoon spent in the sun.

Returning to Hakata Station to retrieve my bicycle, I encounter the same busker for the third consecutive day, stationed along my familiar path. Today, we exchange pleasantries. Judging by his accent, he’s a fellow Englishman. Our interaction has been evolving: yesterday, we greeted each other with a ‘hello,’ and the day before, it was a mere nod.

Back at the hostel, I make new friends. An Australian guy tells me that he went for a walk on the beach today and the sand was so hot that it burnt the soles of his feet. Blisters and broils.

Global Tower, Beppu Park, Crocodile Hell

Posted on 02/07/2014 by Luke Kinsella

After a few days of relaxing and enjoying the views, I decide it’s about time I head out and see the sights. A sign in my hostel reads, “Like us on Facebook! You get 1 free boiled egg.” I instantly like them on Facebook. I write for a few hours then hire a bike from the hostel. ¥1000 deposit, returned to me when I return the bike. Not bad, a free bike.

I cycle around the narrow streets. Mostly empty with the exception of the odd car. I pass a shop selling face masks of Manchester United players and former Manchester United manager, Sir Alex Ferguson. As I cycle uphill I see a tower in the distance. It feels like I am cycling up a mountain. I suppose that I am. I park my bicycle at Global Tower. Here, I pay ¥300 to ride the elevator 100 metres to the top. Global Tower is the symbol for one of the largest most advanced conference facilities in Western Japan.

I take my first few steps out of the lift and onto the upper observation deck. I instinctively know that there is nothing below me. The platform hangs in mid-air. It takes me a while to find my feet; before I enjoy a lovely 360 degree panoramic view of Beppu and the ocean beyond. Very nice. I then start down a staircase encased with glass. The staircase literally floats in the sky between the upper and lower observation decks. It takes me a while to find my feet.

After leaving Global Tower, I cycle downhill in the direction of Beppu Park. My one speed bicycle gathers momentum, and I begin to overtake cars. I slow down and my brakes shriek. The loudest brakes I have ever heard. All around me in the distance I hear dogs barking at the sound of my shrieking brakes. I pass a random golf course made entirely from concrete, before arriving at Beppu Park.

The park has no entry fee, but I think it deservedly should. I cycle around the park. There are not many people here so I do a few laps and take in the lush greenery, the surrounding scenery, and the shelter of a bamboo forest. I leave the park and head further downhill toward the ocean where I stop off at a giant supermarket. Japanese supermarkets are amazing. They have a huge selection of ready to eat food in plastic trays, but it’s all fresh, mostly healthy, and mostly delicious. I spend an hour wandering the infinite aisles before settling on today’s lunch.

My lunch is amberjack sashimi, some shrimp cutlet with tartare sauce, and two side salads. I also find some cheese that for once isn’t in the shape of a Mushi Cake. Real cheese is scarce in Japan, so this is a big deal for me. With my meal I also drink a bottle containing seventeen different types of vegetable and three different types of fruit. Sounds quite healthy but tastes of disappointment.

Last night I took advantage of the free Nintendo Wii in the hostel and played Mario Kart with Ed, a guy from London. At the hostel, he asks me what I’m doing today. I tell him I don’t really fancy taking a bus anywhere (most tourist attractions here are accessed by bus), and that I’ve already hired a bicycle. We look at a map, Ed hires a bike, and we set off, uphill, in the direction of Kannawa. After about fifteen minutes we stop off for a ‘Cooling Break’ outside some netted complex that turns out to be a driving range.

Inside the driving range, we somehow communicate with a non-English speaking man at reception before receiving two clubs and ball tokens. I insert the token into the machine, expecting just a few balls, but at least 250 pour out—I wasn’t expecting this many. Taking our places on the driving range, we each have an auto tee-up machine, a little robotic arm that places a new golf ball onto the tee for us. We spend an hour hitting golf balls in the direction of a net. Beyond the net, all we can see is the ocean.

It’s approaching 2 p.m. and the sun is blazing. I asked yesterday if it ever rains here. The hostel manager told me that the day before I arrived they had just had two weeks of rain. Me and my good timing. Back on track and heading to Kannawa. After what seems like hours of more uphill cycling, we arrive at Kannawa Hyotan Onsen. Hot spring baths are everywhere in Beppu. Plumes of white smoke rise up in almost every direction. Even the cold water here comes out of the tap hot. We use the free outdoor foot onsen at the entrance and relax for a while before heading even further uphill.

We arrive in an area called “The Hells.” Eight connected outdoor springs each with their own theme. We pay ¥400 each and enter one of ‘The Hells’. Oniyama Jigoku, or Crocodile Hell. A sign inside says: “The force of the steam is so strong here that about one and a half train cars can be pulled by its pressure, and it creates ideal conditions for breeding crocodiles.” The sign is next to a really hot stream of spring water. The temperature, the sign says, is 99°C.

When the spring water cools in the winter, they put the crocodiles inside to breed. We wander around. The crocodiles are quite scary and there are lots of them. We stare at crocodiles for a long while. They do not move. They do not even blink. Playing dead a specialty of theirs. We find some enclosures with water and a few crocodiles swimming around. There is one giant crocodile that wants to eat Ed. At 5 p.m. Crocodile Hell closes, and a woman kindly asks us to leave.

Outside, the conversation turns to sushi, and we get on our bikes and head back to the hostel. The cycling is all downhill now. My favourite part. On our way we pass Beppu Port. A huge cruise ship waits at one of the terminals. A bright red lighthouse waits in the distance. Back at the hostel, still no sign of my free boiled egg, we ask for directions to the ¥100 sushi restaurant. It turns out that it’s inside the same shopping complex as the supermarket I had visited earlier today.

At the restaurant, nearly all of the sushi is ¥100. We order our food on a computer screen, it is then made in the kitchen before arriving to us on a train. We order plate after plate of sushi. It’s actually surprisingly fresh. Ed orders a beer, I order a Suntory whisky highball, and we get through eleven plates of raw fish on rice between us. The cost is about ¥1100 each.

After sushi we head back to the hostel and watch the news. Japanese Prime Minister Shinzo Abe has revised Article 9. Four of us have a long discussion about the changes to the Constitution of Japan. It is massive news here and I’m hardly surprised. People have been protesting in the streets; on Sunday a man in Shinjuku made a statement by setting himself on fire. War, what is it good for? Abe-solutely nothing.

After we finish our discussion, three of us head out with a couple of beers and have a little wander around Beppu at night. Also, I took this photograph of a dragonfly that I quite liked:

Into the Belly of a Whale

Posted on 25/06/2014 by Luke Kinsella

I am filming the rain as it slowly sweeps toward me. The rain is just a bit further away on the other side of the road. It’s heavy, two weeks worth of rain all in one go. As it passes through me my umbrella goes up with the flick of a button. Flick. Swoosh. Patter patter. At Tawaramachi Station, I see a member of the hostel staff. He doesn’t have an umbrella. I walk him the five minutes to the hostel holding my umbrella above us both, much to his delight.

On the way back to Tawaramachi Station, the path is already flooded. The thunder sounds like a drum, a big booming drum. It starts from behind me and roars across the sky travelling above me and away into the distance. One fell swoop. I stand for a while watching the lightning over the Sumida River, it dances around Tokyo Skytree, a giant lightning rod on a day like today. I wait with my camera, poised for the shot that never comes. Ten minutes pass and I decide ten minutes is long enough to wait.

I grab the train to Shinagawa, via Nihonbashi for a ¥300 orange and ginger smoothie. Outside Shinagawa Station a thick grey blanket of cloud covers every inch of the sky, casting rain and darkness across the city. Street lights have come on and it’s only 10 a.m.

I go to the Tokyo University of Marine Science and Technology. There is a museum here about fishing methods. There is also a big round pond for the turtles to swim around in.

The highlight for me is something you won’t find in a guidebook. A full size skeleton of a western gray whale. There is a sign saying ‘open’ but there is not a sole in sight. I enter the room housing the giant whale skeleton. It is incredible. The way the exhibit has been put together allows you to walk inside its rib cage, into where its stomach would have been. I contemplate spending three days and three nights in the belly, like Jonah, but the smell of the bones is quite potent. Like a rotten seaside smell. I take a few photographs, but the whale is so big, I can’t fit it into a single shot.

I wander around the rest of the university campus. I find it interesting to get a perspective of what it’s like here at a university in Japan. They have tennis courts, surfboards, labs, classrooms, a whale skeleton, boats, dormitories, and an outdoor swimming pool brimming with rainwater. I leave impressed. In Tokyo, every train station has its own theme tune for each train line, and the Tokyu Toyoko Line does not disappoint.

Back at the hostel I think about moving on. A hostel in Beppu claims that: “If you are tired while you are traveling, Beppu is the best place to relex! [sic] Beppu is blessed with abundant nature for trekking, soaking in natural hot springs, or playing in the ocean. You can choose what you want depending on your mood. There are eight different kinds of hot springs, depending on the area you go to.” The hostel having its own hot spring bath making the decision very easy for me, and I book a two week stay.

Outside the rain has just about stopped, so I go to hire a bicycle. Bright green, my favourite. Yesterday I wanted to buy my own bike, I even went to the bike shop. The guy told me I can’t buy a bike unless I have a permanent address. Apparently, to prevent theft, all bicycles in Japan have to be registered to an address and all bicycles are stamped with approval. Each cyclist has a card with their name and address and a number matching the number stamped to the bike. If stopped by the police you can prove the bicycle is yours. If a bike is abandoned the police know who it belongs to and will charge you to have it sent back.

On my bright green hired bicycle I cycle to Ueno. There is an expedition on today at the Tokyo National Museum. It is art work from Taipei and has been big news in Japan for all the wrong reasons. The Japanese billboard advertising the Treasured Masterpieces from the National Palace Museum in Taipei had omitted the word ‘national,’ an act that was perceived by the Taiwanese government as undermining the nation’s dignity. The exhibition was almost cancelled until a last minute correction was made and an apology from Japan was given. Unfortunately, the famous ‘Jadeite Cabbage’ was left back in Taiwan amidst the controversy. I came here solely to see The Cabbage, so perhaps it was a wasted journey. Outside the museum, I eat green tea ice cream while gazing in, saving my ¥1600.

The time is 19:11, so I head to Seven Eleven. I buy Inarizushi (sushi rice wrapped in deep fried tofu). I also buy an egg sandwich, a box of natto, and some hot chilli flavoured Potato Chips, for the natto. At the counter, chopsticks and a mint tipped toothpick are given to me in a handy little bag, complimentary of course. I head to my hiding place on the 4th floor of the hostel and read. The packaging for my sandwich thanks me for eating its contents. I eat natto until I run out of Potato Chips.

I decide to cycle around Asakusa looking for something to do. Outside Senso-ji Temple, I spot a television crew and TV presenter Kazuo Tokumitsu. He is with a female singer who’s name I haven’t yet discovered. She sings a few songs, her voice sweet, her smile sweeter. She thanks a few members of the crowd and then everybody leaves.

Back at the hostel, I plan on an early night. My early night doesn’t quite happen though and somehow I’m in a bar with three guys from the hostel. For some reason, I can still recall the stench of the whale bones. I stay to watch the first half of the Uruguay game, before giving in to slumber at around 2 a.m.

Coffee and TV

Posted on 10/06/2014 by Luke Kinsella

Today, the weather is a delightful 28°C, clear with occasional sun showers. I meet Andy at breakfast for a cup of coffee before we bid our final farewells. I then decide to walk to Ueno. It’s really quiet here so I keep walking and arrive in Akihabara. Here I go to the top of Akihabara UDX, a huge building full of restaurants. I go to the 4th floor to check out the Tokyo Anime Centre but the sign on the door says, “Today has become a closed day.” After a wasted journey I get the feeling that today will be somewhat uneventful.

Back in Ueno I stumble across Ameya-Yokocho, translated to Candy Shop Alley; it is an outdoor market of about 200 shops next to Ueno Station. Here I see loads of shoes and clothes shops mixed with pachinko parlours and restaurants. I see a section of the market closed off and about ten firefighters standing around looking very bored, presumably there was a fire here. Every store seems to have employed a person to stand outside to shout at passers-by, trying to encourage them to check out their wares. I wander the market aimlessly for about an hour, before getting bored and grabbing a coffee and a sandwich from Family Mart. For no obvious reason the sandwich doesn’t have a crust.

Back at the hostel all but one person in my room has gone. Six beds are empty. I can’t really be bothered to head back out into the humid streets just yet, so I decide to do a little job hunting. I sign up for a student teacher matching website. I set my fee at an overpriced ¥5000 per hour for coffee shop conversational lessons. I ask Daisuke why my sandwich had no crust, and he just laughs and says something about how biting into crust is bad and that soft is better.

Back at my room I meet the one person who is still here. A Brazilian named Marcos. We chat for a while about Japan and traveling in general and he tells me that he is a published author. He shows me his travel book, it looks very professional. Unfortunately for me, I can’t read Portuguese.

I head out for my third visit to my new favourite restaurant, Mizuguchi. As I take my seat I am given a small bowl of octopus sashimi in seaweed as an appetiser. I then order deep fried breaded salmon; it is served with a salad garnish and homemade potato salad, fresh Wasabi, and a selection of pickles. I also order a bowl of rice and a beer. It’s a lot of food but a long day of walking around has made me very hungry. The total cost is a bargain ¥1350.

Back at the hostel I bump into Gomez, the manager. He tells me about a television event happening on Thursday morning. I enthusiastically sign up, not wanting to miss an opportunity. I am not to say anything else on the subject for now.

My earlier instinct of an uneventful day was correct. I finish the night with a couple of beers in the English bar, bid farewell to Matt and Kaes who leave tomorrow, and head back to the hostel to take a much needed early night. I am also now convinced there is a ghost in the elevator.

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