Schindler’s Lift

Posted on 17/12/2014 by Luke

Recently I have been a little caught up with having a cold, taking numerous visits to the dentist, and a sudden urge to spend the remainder of my free time filling out multiple sheets of paperwork pertaining to banking and insurance. This morning, I head outside to discover that everything has fallen down. I lift my bicycle up from the floor, pulling it apart from the scattered mess of other fallen bikes. The temperature in Japan is freezing cold now. Two days ago, there was snow in central Tokyo. Today, a strong wind blows through the air. I take my bicycle, armed with winter clothes, and cycle to Asakusa.

I head over to Senso-ji, passing hordes of skeletal trees. For the next three days, a festival takes place. Something to do with badminton rackets, or so it seems.

Today is Hagoita-ichi, a festival of decorated battledores—old-style badminton rackets depicting characters from kabuki shows. There are about twelve different stores here, each selling these rackets at a high price. These decorated wooden boards are supposed to deflect evil; perhaps this is where the ‘bad’ comes from in badminton. The sport that these rackets are used for is something of a Japanese childhood game called ‘hanetsuki,’ very similar to badminton but played without a net. I suppose the evil is the shuttlecock, and hitting it toward your opponent is a way to deflect that evil upon others.

The traditional way that hanetsuki is played involves the use of face paint. If you lose a point, your opponent gets to rub paint on your face. If you were terrible at the game, I suppose after a while, your colourful face might begin to resemble one of the characters portrayed on the hagoita. These days, these rackets are mainly used for decoration purposes. Sandwiched between the stores selling badminton rackets are food shops, and one specific store caught my eye because it looked so out of place.

Daruma dolls are traditional Buddhist dolls depicting the image of Dharma, and they are considered a symbol of good luck. With white eyes that stare into nothingness, it is said that if you colour in one eye, you can make a wish. Once the wish comes true, colour in the second eye, and your Daruma is almost complete. The only thing left for the doll is to be returned to the temple it was bought from and burned. It feels slightly unfair to burn an object that has done its best to grant you a wish, but sadly, that’s just how these things go. As I am taking a photograph of the dolls, a man next to me is doing the same. His hat flies off his head in a gust of wind. Somehow, I manage to reach my hand up and catch his hat in mid-air, like a pro.

After the festival, I go to Akihabara for some Christmas shopping. In Japan, where Alcatraz-themed restaurants and robot cabaret shows are common, it’s no longer strange to find a cafe themed around a popular girl idol band. Akihabara is bustling with comic book stores, video game shops, and large electronic department stores. However, that’s not my reason for being here. Almost instinctively, I leave the station and head directly to the AKB48 Cafe and Shop.

The last twenty-three single releases by AKB48 have consistently claimed the top spot on the charts, indicating their immense popularity among Japanese people. One clever marketing strategy involves including a ticket for a handshake with a band member with every CD purchase. Observing the guy in front of me in the queue buying over one hundred copies of the same CD, it’s clear that he’s a fan of the handshake perk. I exit the store with ten copies of ‘Kiboteki Refrain’, and I can’t help but feel like a weirdo. Nevertheless, I’ve managed to wrap up Christmas shopping for ten people in less than ten minutes.

Before returning to Asakusa, I make a detour to Yodobashi Camera to play some piano. However, after thirty minutes, I decide to leave because one of the staff members is giving me an ‘are you going to buy anything?’ sort of look. Outside Akihabara Station, somebody seems to have mixed their Christmas up with Easter.

For some unknown reason, it is not possible to open a bank account in Japan unless you have lived here for a minimum of six months. Since my time in the country has exceeded that quota by almost three weeks, I decided it was about time to get my documents in order and take the plunge toward integration. But, I can’t just wander into a bank saying, “I have been here six months, give me a bank account!” First, I need to get myself a personal seal. Not the aquatic mammal I had been hoping for; this seal is more like a stamp and is known as an ‘inkan’.

I head over to a small inkan shop opposite Tawaramachi Station and take the escalator up to the second floor. The escalator provides me with amusement, and the title of this overdue blog post practically writes itself.

Inside the shop, there are wonderfully expensive stamps on display in high-priced cases. Since I am only getting this product for one reason – a bank account – I opt for the second cheapest option available. The woman draws a circle that takes up a whole page of A4 paper and asks me to write my name in the way I would like it to be engraved in the stamp. Horizontally or vertically? Kanji or katakana? I don’t really care, so I just scribble my name across the paper as quickly as possible, and with very little thought.

Next, I select a case, once again opting for one of the cheapest available, but still seemingly of high quality. Perhaps there is no such thing as bad quality inkan. I hand over ¥2950, the cost of both the inkan and the case. The woman informs me that it will be ready in thirty minutes, hands me a slip of paper, and asks me to bring it back with me when ‘my time is up’.

Half an hour later, I am the proud owner of my very own inkan. Naturally, I head home immediately and start stamping my name on everything I own.

Bridges and Balloons

Posted on 24/10/2014 by Luke

Today, I head into Asakusa, to the tax-free discount shop, Don Quixote. My plan is to finally buy my own bicycle. After browsing for a while, I decide to buy one of the faster ‘red’ coloured bikes. The woman in the shop calls for an English speaker, and within five minutes, all paperwork including the bicycle registration is completed for me. I pay ¥14,324 and become the proud owner of a bright red bicycle.

I cycle over the Sumida River toward Ryogoku. There is a row of parked bicycles, each with a bright purple sticker featuring today’s date. I want to park too, but for some reason, I can’t find any attendant or any machines. I try a bicycle parking lot, but oddly, the machine doesn’t want to accept my coins. No matter how many combinations I try or how much I hammer the buttons on the machine, a Japanese voice just continually thanks me. Instead, I decide to park inconspicuously by some balloons.

Ryogoku is renowned as ‘Sumo Town’ and hosts the Edo Tokyo Museum. Here, a large sumo stadium stands tall, alongside shops specifically selling clothes for ‘larger’ individuals, and it’s common to spot many sumo wrestlers in full costume casually strolling around. I even pass by one sumo wrestler riding a bicycle, the man’s weight making the handlebars visibly strain and threaten to buckle.

The sumo stadium isn’t open, so I head into the adjacent Old Yasuda Garden. Free entry is a bonus. Originally built in 1688, the gardens have endured numerous changes. They were destroyed by an earthquake, completely remodelled, and marred by pollution from the Sumida River. They reopened in 1971, and the pond has now been designed to resemble the Japanese kanji character ‘kokoro’, meaning heart, mind, or spirit. Although I don’t see the resemblance. Ryogoku Sumo Hall sits idly in the distance, beyond a small red bridge.

I wander through the garden for a while, relishing the escape from the bustling city, before hurrying back to retrieve my bicycle. I’m worried it might get removed, and if it does, a ¥5000 retrieval fee is required, almost half the cost of the bike itself.

I check out a nearby map and notice there’s a Fireworks Museum nearby, so I head in that direction. With fate as malleable as clay, the Firework Museum is closed today—typical. I check another map and find a Stationery Museum. Crossing the bridge back over the Sumida River, I discover that all trace of the Stationery Museum has been erased. My lucky day.

I continue cycling around, passing an amusingly named cafe called ‘Nob Coffee’ and a similarly amusingly named clothes shop called ‘Very International’ before spotting the most premature Christmas decorations I have ever seen.

I found it somewhat crazy when Halloween decorations started popping up everywhere by the end of September, in every shop, bar, and restaurant. However, these Christmas decorations take early celebrations to another extreme. I remind myself that it’s still the middle of October before darting off toward another sign. I’m attempting to find something else to do today—a day that, so far, holds no real plans, meaning, or motivations.

The ‘Kokucho Time Bell’ is marked as a place of interest, about ten minutes away from my current location. Sounds interesting enough!

The bell sits unusually in the middle of a children’s play park, positioned in front of a Nichiren Buddhist temple. There’s a famous Senryu—a three-line poem with seventeen syllables—about the bell that claims, ‘The bell of Kokucho reaches as far as Nagasaki.’ Considering Nagasaki is in Kyushu, over one thousand kilometres away, I highly doubt the accuracy of the poem.

After searching intensely for places of interest, I cycle back in the direction of Asakusa. Along the way, I cross a bridge and notice a plaque with some English writing. Intrigued, I double back to check out the text:

“The Yanagibashi Bridge was first built in 1698, the present bridge was erected in 1929. There are several explanations for the origin of the name, yanagi (meaning willow) bridge. One explanation is that willow trees stood at the base of the bridge. In the 19th century this neighbourhood was a bustling red-light district known in Japanese as Gay World. Yanabashi was the subject of art and literature at that time.”

Once again, the willow is the symbol for a red-light district in Japan. The small river leading up to the bridge is dotted with numerous small boats housing little bars and restaurants. Intrigued, I decide to explore the area around the bridge, only to discover that Gay World and the red-light district have since been replaced by street after street of fashion shops.

As the night draws in, it’s time for me to head home. While cycling back, I make an exciting discovery—the light on my bicycle is powered by a gyroscope. It’s probably the most exciting thing that has happened to me all day.

Towering Above the Rest

Posted on 25/07/2014 by Luke

The day began with a ¥1000 haircut, which is actually quite cheap for a haircut. I was a little worried about communicating in Japanese, but the barber understood what I wanted and did a very good job. After finishing the haircut, he surprised me by vacuuming my head. I wasn’t expecting that!

With my nice new haircut, I decide to check out some boat racing. At the Kyotei Boat Racing Stadium, security is very tight. The entire perimeter of the 1,397-capacity atrium is littered with security guards. Today happens to be the 28th Ladies Championship Boat Race. I pay my ¥100 entry fee and take a seat on the steps outside that overlook the racecourse.

This is one of 24 boat racing stadiums in Japan, a sport that is unique to the country. As the race starts, I pull out my camera. Instantly, one of the security guards taps me on the shoulder. “No photography is allowed here,” he says. The above photograph of no race happening was the only one I could manage to steal.

The six boats complete three laps of the 1,800-metre-long course. The red boat, numbered five, gets bumped by another racer and ends up stalling. It reminds me a lot of greyhound racing. Strangely, there’s betting involved here too. Boat number one emerges as the winner. A 1-4-2 tricast yields ¥1590 from a ¥100 bet.

After the boat racing I swing by Fukuoka Yafuoku! Dome.

The dome serves as the official baseball stadium for the Fukuoka SoftBank Hawks. It holds the distinction of being Japan’s first stadium equipped with a retractable roof. With a capacity of 38,561 spectators, seat prices range from ¥1000 to ¥14,000. Baseball enjoys immense popularity in Japan, and based on the games I’ve caught on TV in bars, it seems the Hawks are a pretty good team.

Beyond the dome in the distance is Fukuoka Tower. I park my bicycle near the tower and take a closer look.

Fukuoka Tower kicks Beppu Tower to the dirt. Upon entering, I’m pleasantly surprised to learn that as a foreigner, I receive a twenty percent discount; I pay ¥640 in total. Stepping into the tower’s main area, I’m instructed to look up. Following the instruction, I gaze upward to see a 108-metre shaft above me.

“The lift takes seventy seconds. The tower is 234 metres tall. The viewing platform stands at 123 metres,” the attendant states mechanically. “The tower has been built to withstand magnitude 7 earthquakes.”

On the fifth floor of Fukuoka Tower, the view of Fukuoka City is wonderful. In the distance I can see Hakata Bay, in the opposite direction I can see the Sefuri Mountains.

I take the stairs down to the third floor, then ride the lift down. At night, the tower will be illuminated in ‘Milky Way’ colours—whatever that’s supposed to mean. The illuminations change for each season.

My next stop is in the building opposite the tower. On the second floor, I visit Robosquare. This is absolutely the place to be in Fukuoka if you like robots, want to learn about robots, or take part in robot workshops.

It is free to enter. Inside, there’s a robot museum and a little shop selling robots and other kits. Some robots are for playing, while others are for interacting through conversation. Sadly, I arrived twenty minutes late for the 2 p.m. performance. Me and my bad timing.

After Robosquare, I head five minutes to the Fukuoka Disaster Prevention Centre. It’s a facility that realistically simulates various disasters for visitors, serving as an excellent way to promote citizen safety in case of emergencies. Additionally, it houses a museum dedicated to firefighting and earthquakes.

Entry is again free, and so is the one-hour tour. During the tour, you can watch a video about safety before learning how to react in a number of simulations: handling strong winds, extinguishing fires, navigating through rooms filled with smoke, and escaping safely. There are doors simulating water pressure: a car door submerged underwater that visitors can try to push to test their ability to escape. Photographs depicting earthquake disasters adorn the walls. It all feels rather macabre.

Finally, there’s an earthquake simulator where you have the chance to hide under a table with a pillow on your head and experience the impact of a magnitude 7 earthquake on the Richter scale. Unfortunately, I arrive late for the tour and miss out on the simulations. I contemplate waiting for the next tour, but it won’t start for almost an hour.

I return to my bicycle, only to discover it’s about to be clamped. The security guard has already fastened seat clamps to other bicycles nearby and is currently inspecting the bicycle two from mine. Casually, I walk toward my bicycle, adrenaline pumping through my body, and swiftly unlock it as fast as I can.

I shoot off in the direction of Ohori Park. Me and my impeccable timing.

Ohori Park is lovely, offering cycling, jogging, and walking paths—all flat concrete, my favourite surface. Distances are marked along each path, making it an ideal spot for athletes to train. The route circles a vast lake at the park’s centre. I cycle the route several times before deciding to head back to the hostel for some food.

Down a random side street near Tenjin Station, something incredible happens—I spot the YouTube personality Micaela Braithwaite pleasantly strolling along. As we pass, I greet her with a rather coy “Hello.” She replies with a slightly hesitant “Hi.” I glance back for a second look, but she’s already gone.

The very reason these two weeks in Fukuoka even made it onto my itinerary is because of her. Before returning to Japan, I spent a fair amount of free time scouring through YouTube videos about the country. Micaela’s videos always towered above the rest. Based in Fukuoka, her captivating videos about the area were the reason I felt compelled to visit. Without her videos, Fukuoka would never have crossed my mind.

As I continue cycling, somewhat starstruck, I find myself unable to stop thinking about the day’s events. My mind conjures endless possibilities. If I had stayed for the disaster tour, I would have undoubtedly ended up with my bicycle clamped. The remainder of the day would’ve been miserable—I’d have had to explain it all to the hostel staff, pay a fine, waste the entire day sorting it out. It’s astonishing how two minutes made such a significant difference. Lost in these thoughts, I realise I’ve been cycling instinctively for ten minutes without noticing. I have no idea where I am or how I got here.

…

Back at the hostel, Ged shows up—an Englishman I met back in Beppu. He’s staying here tonight but leaving Japan tomorrow. He hands me his Seishun 18 Ticket, having used three of the five days on it. I offer to pay for the ticket, but he refuses my money. This ticket grants me unlimited travel for any two days on any Japan Rail local line. It’s amazing—I can essentially travel from Kyoto to Tokyo for free with this ticket. Thank you, Ged.

I head out for some food and a couple of Suntory whisky highballs at my favourite bar. Attempting to read my book, I feel a little troubled. I can’t shake off thoughts of the alternate version of me—standing there, trying to explain myself to the bicycle traffic warden. Nothing has felt real to me since that moment.

I leave the bar after only two drinks. Gazing at the sky, I see a star, for the first time in eight weeks.

Udon in (three-hundred and) Sixty Seconds

Posted on 22/07/2014 by Luke

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.

Rice and Shime

Posted on 18/07/2014 by Luke

I wake up at 11 am. Today, I’m heading to a place called Dazaifu, roughly fifteen kilometres away. Cycling on my one-speed bike in a straight line towards it, it should take me about an hour. Last night, the girl I met suggested I visit there—a kind suggestion.

As I set out, I discover a Domino’s Pizza just five minutes away from the hostel on the same road. I haven’t had one since arriving here—fifty days in Japan, only four pizzas so far. Tomorrow, it’ll probably become five.

A bit further along the road, near the Mikasagawa River, the skyscrapers start to disappear, and the sight of rice growing underwater becomes commonplace. Paddy fields full of semi-aquatic rice—it’s a picturesque sight, deserving a photograph.

Amidst the distraction of the rice fields, I suddenly realise that I am completely lost. In typical Fukuoka fashion, I see no maps, and signs pointing to Dazaifu have ceased to appear. Eventually, after cycling for about an hour, I find myself somehow at the base of a mountain.

For about ten minutes, I cycle without seeing another pedestrian. Eventually, a sign for a place called Shime catches my eye. My brain pauses for a second before a pun crashes into my consciousness. I decide to head there if only to make use of the pun: Rice and Shime.

It turns out Shime is up a hill—likely the same mountain I spotted earlier. I haven’t done much uphill cycling since Beppu, so my knees aren’t quite prepared for it. The footpath leading into Shime is in a state of disarray. Eventually, the incline transforms into a decline, and I find myself in a free fall into Shime. The wind is refreshingly cool on what is otherwise an alarmingly hot day.

If you thought my post about Nishioita Station was exciting, wait until you hear about what Shime has to offer. Low-flying planes drift over and hang gracefully in the sky. At least I can follow the planes and track back to Fukuoka Airport; I know this isn’t far from Hakata, where I am staying.

I cycle around Shime, searching for anything of interest, but find nothing. Wikipedia confirmed it: ‘Although the town still has a railway station, the line is no longer used.’ Seems there’s no escaping Shime. Just as I decide to leave, I finally spot something noteworthy: a chicken wandering around in some mud.

“Koke-kokko,” says the chicken in Japanese.
“Cluck-cluck,” I correct in English.

As I leave Shime, I find myself on the urban expressway, where all of the signs point to unfamiliar place names. I give in and revert to my plan of following the planes, soon arriving at the not very well-signed Fukuoka Airport.

I see the same Chinook I saw yesterday, just landed. How very odd—I haven’t seen a Chinook in over fifteen years, and yet this week, I’ve seen the same one twice.

After cycling for a total of three hours, I arrive back at the hostel and indulge in a Seven Eleven lunch: a bottle of Pocari Sweat, a fruit salad, and, as usual, egg sandwiches.

After lunch, I do my laundry. In the Coin Laundry waiting area, there’s a rather odd set of photographs. I have no idea what they are showing. Alongside the images are some Japanese notices.

I translate the notices back at the hostel. They read, ‘To prevent theft: if you notice any suspicious individuals, please contact the barnyard alternating Hakata police station if it was a robbery.’ There are also references to a theft in February, and still images captured by the 24-hour CCTV camera showing the criminal’s face. Named and shamed in a Coin Laundry.

After doing laundry and spending some time on Skype, I head to Hakata Station. Instead of taking the lift, I monotonously explore each of the ten floors. Hakata Station is a massive shopping centre with all sorts of shops, including the biggest bookstore I have ever seen.

There’s a record shop selling rare Japanese versions of classic albums. Perhaps there’s a profit to be made in reselling, but I don’t have the patience for that. I check for ‘Com Lag,’ but it’s the only Radiohead album they don’t have. The record shop also dedicates three entire aisles to the music of everyone’s favourite J-pop idols, AKB48. Crazy.

On the roof of the train station, I sit for a few hours, finishing off 159 pages of a Murakami novel. Night quietly sweeps in. The view at night is okay, but devoid of any stars. I ponder for a moment, questioning reality.

The Murakami book somewhat inspires me to make some changes in my life, specifically to start running more often.

On the tenth floor of Hakata Station, a Spanish restaurant.

Paella and Rioja happen.

I jog back to the hostel, finding the late hours have already wrapped the city in silence, a stark contrast to the bustling streets earlier. Passing by the second Christmas tree I’ve seen since arriving in Japan, I can’t help but wonder why it’s there; it does seem a little early for such decorations.

The reflection of Lawson blue bounces off the glass beyond.

Mushroom With A View

Posted on 15/07/2014 by Luke

Today was supposed to be a day off writing, a day to myself. I wake up at 10 a.m. full of energy. I hire the hostel bicycle for two hours. Two hundred yen but I don’t mind. The bicycle is bright yellow but I don’t mind.

Fukuoka is massive, it reminds me of Tokyo; similar but of smaller scale. There are skyscrapers all over the place. Littered between the buildings, random glass boxes on street corners display ceramic artwork; poetry is written next to streams and etched into fountains. It feels like I am wandering around inside some giant outdoor art exhibition.

As I cycle around I get a little lost. I find an area of just temples and shrines, tucked neatly away between traffic jams and chaos. After a long look around Fukuoka, I finally find a map and make my way back to the hostel, my two hour bicycle rental almost up.

After a Family Mart lunch of salmon onigiri and egg sandwiches, I do some work for a few hours, writing. I make plans to meet Amy and her friends outside Tenjin Station at half ten. At half Tenjin. I don’t know her friends, so it is nice of her to include me. The plan for this evening is ¥2000 all-you-can-drink karaoke, before going to see the festival at 4:59 a.m.

Amy also suggests a few places I should check out. With four hours to kill, I decide to follow her advice and head to Hakata Station, specifically the tenth floor. The early afternoon drizzle has cleared up, so there’s no need to carry around an umbrella all evening—a welcome bonus. As I take the lift, I notice twenty-two other people joining me; I am the tallest.

On the tenth floor there is topiary everywhere, mostly rabbits and bears. ‘Against All Odds’ by Phil Collins blares from every speaker. There is a miniature train track but the train doesn’t seem to be in operation in the evening. Planes land at the nearby Fukuoka Airport, mountains watch in the background. The view is sensational.

There are gardens, waterfalls, fish, a viewing platform, and a shrine. The beauty of the place somewhat takes me aback; I almost forget that I am on the roof of a train station. I decide to stay for the setting sun at 7:29 p.m.

I walk to Tenjin for food and to take in a bit of the nightlife. I forgot how much of a trek it was to get here; it takes me half an hour from Hakata. Outside a restaurant, I spot a plastic model of a bento box that looks amazing.

Inside, I sit at the bar. The fish is all set out behind glass in front of me. I order a set meal. It contains miso soup, vegetable tempura, sushi, a selection of pickles, potato salad, and a small Japanese omelette. I drink a beer and watch the chef carefully cut and prepare the fish.

The chef asks me if I am American. I tell him England and the atmosphere suddenly changes. Not that there was really a mood in the first place. It is difficult for me to explain. The chef just becomes a little more relaxed and begins to talk a little as he prepares my food.

I don’t drink the miso soup, it has a pork broth. I eat everything else though. The sushi is excellent, very fresh. The mushroom tempura was, hands down, the finest food I’ve ever tasted. It was truly amazing—an exceptional delight. The batter, an exquisite blend of lightness and delicacy, achieved sheer perfection in its simplicity. With a beer my meal is ¥2808. This is actually the most expensive meal I think I have had in Japan. I tell the chef the food is ‘maiuu’ a slang word meaning ‘delicious’. Everyone laughs.

I meet Amy and her friends at the North Exit of Tenji Station. Our group consists of a total of fourteen people. To karaoke! As per usual in Japan, songs are selected using a computer screen, drinks are ordered using a phone. Someone is ordering a round, I ask for a highball. A translation issue occurs and am I handed four drinks instead of one. I can’t give them away.

The karaoke is excellent value. You can order a drink and it arrives in under a minute. In Asakusa, the service at karaoke was incredibly slow. I first met Amy back in England at an open mic night, where she was performing; I somehow forgot just how well she can sing though. There is a really nice mix of Japanese, English, Canadian, French and American people in the group. We sing a lovely mix of Japanese and British pop classics.

After six hours of drinking (and free French fries), we walk back to Hakata for the Oiyamakasa main event of the Hakata Gion Yamakasa Festival.

The first team leaves the starting line at Kushida Shrine at 4:59 a.m. Thousands of semi-naked men wearing loincloths race through the streets carrying decorative one-tonne floats. The floats look spectacular. Spectators shout, ‘Oisa oisa,’ applaud, and splash the semi-naked men with water to keep them cool.

At the festival I take far too many photographs of other people taking photographs. The turn out is amazing for so early in the morning; the streets crowded with crowds. We stay for maybe an hour.

I finally get back to my hostel at half six. Far too late a night, but absolutely worth it.

Into the Belly of a Whale

Posted on 25/06/2014 by Luke

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 whales bones. I stay to watch the first half of the Uruguay game, before giving in to slumber at around 2 a.m.

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