Hell and High Slaughter

Posted on 12/12/2022 by Luke

My plan today was a visit to Ukiha Inari Shrine, a remote shrine with a hillside vista over the Chikogu Plains that offer stunning views of red torii gates and the meadows beyond. However, as I finally arrive at Tosu Station to switch trains, I find that my next train, the Yufu 3 Limited Express bound for Beppu, doesn’t depart for another six hours, so in desperate need of a plan, and a sudden change of itinerary, I rush onto a random train bound for Kurume.

Kurume is a small city in Fukuoka Prefecture. I flip a coin to let fate decide my direction, but woefully fail to catch the coin and it lands in the gutter of a drain. Today isn’t going very well and it’s still morning. I choose to go south. It doesn’t take long for my optimism to return though, for in the distance standing tall and proud, a mysterious white statue captures my attention, and essentially my destination decides on itself.

The statue can be seen from far and wide, and as I finally get close enough, it turns out to not be what I first thought, but instead a 62-metre tall statue of Kannon, the Goddess of Mercy. I always enjoy a good Kannon statue, not only does she save the souls of the suffering, but there’s often something rather unexpected to see.

The first thing that’s a little unusual is the 38-metre tall structure next to the Goddess. This replica of India’s Mahabodhi Temple, the Great Awakening Temple, is the first of its kind in Japan, and is based on the story that Buddha sat under a tree in India for seven days to meditate, became awakened, and then the original temple was built to honour that event. Why there is such a replica here in Kurume I have no idea. Also, and it may be a matter of perspective, but the Mahabodhi Temple is 24-metres shorter than Kannon, however, at every angle, the temple seems to tower over the Goddess.

As I approach the ticket office to enter Daihonzan Naritasan Kurume Temple, I inadvertently wake up a young Japanese woman; obviously this place doesn’t get a lot of visitors despite its massive car park that boasts space for 700 vehicles.

I take a seat on a small stone bench for a time, admiring the statue and contemplating, just like Buddha had once done. A statue of Ebisu disturbs my thinking, purely because he’s sitting on a cow next to a big pile of money. Distracted, I walk around the temple grounds, here there are numerous smaller statues depicting twisted souls in anguish.

I notice a shaft in the side of the Kannon statue, and decide to enter. Endless corridors greet me. Random artwork lines the walls, steep steps twist and turn through the statue, there is no elevator, and the climb to the top takes an age. From the top there are tiny windows that offer a nice view of the city below.

After admiring the landscape, I decide it’s probably time to leave now, and as I climb back down to the ground floor, I notice steps leading deeper down into a basement. As I further approach, I hear the creaky voices of evil spirits echoing down the lonely hall. A room here is marked either side by a pillar of skull heads. Inside are some lifeless effigies, but as I approach, I activate a sensor of sorts, and the first model begins to move.

This animatronic demon is sawing a naked man in half; the saw slides back and forth for as long as I watch. The man, despite his obvious injury is still alive, his screams are piercing and chilling, the sound effects of the saw all adding to the macabre scene. An absolute show of horror.

I move through the exhibits. A woman surrounded by spike traps gives me a jump scare as she screams into life. Two children covered in bruises and blood rotate on a platform as a demon with a sinister grin watches on. A man holding a huge boulder is about to smash in the head of a woman whilst a giant towers above. A chained up man is having a red-hot poker stuffed into his mouth.

I decide that this is one of the most harrowing things I’ve seen in my whole life. The passable realism of the statues blending with the authentic yet disturbing sound effects really adds to the eeriness evoked by this imagery. It seems that hidden beneath this innocent looking statue of the Goddess Kannon holding a baby, is a secret haunted house.

I take one last walk through what I learn to be the Hell Museum, before leaving the basement, the statue, and stepping quietly past the ticket gate as to not wake up the sleeping woman.

As I walk away, I look back at the statue, its phallic shape from behind visible for miles and miles, it makes me wonder if it was indeed designed that way, or just a misshaped mishap. I guess I’ll never know.

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.

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.

Journey to the Centre of the Buddha

Posted on 30/01/2015 by Luke

It has gotten very cold as of late, but today offers rare blue skies and a warm winter sun. Today might be the last day hot enough to do anything practical before spring, so I decide to make the most of it with a day trip out of Tokyo. My destination is a little over two hours away by train: the city of Kamakura.

Outside Kamakura Station, I am approached by a poorly dressed Japanese man speaking in English with an American accent. He is banging on about Buddhism, or something. When I mention that I have things to do, he looks a little disappointed before wandering off to talk to some new people just off the train.

I wander through the city, its streets lined with souvenir shops, gift shops, and stores selling various mementos. At this point, I realise I haven’t taken a single photograph in Kamakura, so I decide to walk up to the first temple I see.

Shu Genji Temple doesn’t exude much happiness. It was once the residence of Shijo Kingo, a renowned Nichiren Buddhist skilled in medicine. Following Nichiren’s death, Shijo Kingo attended the funeral but ultimately chose to end his own life to demonstrate his unwavering faith in the religion.

A little further from the temple, I spot a strange machine covered in stickers. The ‘Happy Capsule’ machine costs ¥100, and each capsule contains at least three prizes. I try to resist, but as if possessed by some demon from another world, I find that I have already inserted a coin.

My capsule contains a small glass fish statue with fried eggs randomly painted on each side, a colourful ankle bracelet with a small relic in the shape of an ice cream, and a teddy bear with the word ‘Love’ written on it. I also receive a ‘Lucky Sticker,’ which I am free to add to all the other lucky stickers that litter the machine. Noting the sign for ‘No Garbage,’ I take another look at my happy prizes and stand for a moment, enjoying the irony.

Eventually, I arrive at the place I came here to visit, Kotoku-in Temple. It is home to a giant Buddha, the same Buddha featured in Rudyard Kipling’s poem ‘The Five Nations.

A tourist-show, a legend told,
A rusting bulk of bronze and gold,
So much, and scarce so much, ye hold,
The meaning of Kamakura?

I pay ¥200 to enter the grounds of the temple and stand for a while in awe. The Great Buddha of Kamakura was housed within a wooden temple three times. It was destroyed by strong winds twice but rebuilt on both occasions. Eventually, in 1498, it was destroyed for a third time by a tsunami and was never rebuilt. The Buddha survived and now sits outside in the cold of winter, patiently waiting for the seasons to change.

As I walk around the statue, I notice two windows located in its back. There is a sign in Japanese emphasising the importance of showing deep respect when walking around inside the Great Buddha. A man sits half asleep at a small booth, and a sign above displays a price of ¥20. For such a low price, I would be a fool not to enter. I squeeze my way into a small hole in Buddha’s side and take the steps up into his massive belly.

Inside the Great Buddha of Kamakura, the acoustics are fantastic. I speak softly to myself and find that my words are thrown around by the bronze interior, echoing off into infinity. However, a bit of graffiti inside slightly spoils the experience — a complete lack of reverence by some.

I exit the Buddha and leave the temple. On the way out, I spot a sign warning about a particular type of bird in the area that likes to steal food from tourists. I start heading back toward the train station, stopping off at a small food shop to enjoy a sweet potato croquette. All the while, I keep my eye out for the hungry birds. Unfortunately, the birds don’t materialise, which is a shame.

I decide to take a different route for variety, and eventually, I spot some steps that sweep up a mountain. Intrigued, I take a little detour to see where they might lead.

I find myself standing in front of Amanawa Shinmei Shrine. The place is deserted, seemingly untouched for years, presenting a stark contrast to the other places I have seen in Kamakura. This shrine, founded in 710 AD, is the oldest Shinto shrine in the city and is dedicated to Amaterasu, the goddess of the sun and the universe.

The view from the shrine is stunning, offering a different perspective of the area. In the distance, I see mountains, old houses, and multiple temples and shrines. From the top of the steps, I can also glimpse the sea. As I am about to leave, I spot a small path carved into the side of the mountain above, and with nobody else around, I decide to investigate.

As I climb, the path is relatively easy to follow, twisting around the mountain and becoming less obvious. I have to brush away cobwebs from my face as I follow the steep approach. With every step, I am careful not to lose my footing as the mud gets wetter and the path becomes steeper. After about five minutes of climbing, the overgrowth becomes too much, and I can’t continue. I stop and take a look around, taking in my surroundings, and realise that this was probably not a good idea.

I struggle to get back down, having to crawl a little to ease my way down from the path that has clearly not been used for years. I use my hands on the rocks as I work my way back to safety. I am slightly disappointed that I couldn’t find where it leads, perhaps to the sun goddess, or maybe just an escape route lost over time. There’s nothing for me to see, though, and eventually, I am back at the shrine, taking the steps back toward the main road.

I wander down deserted side streets that are full of old houses, some with massive gardens, others with disproportionately small ones.

Back at Kamakura Station, I get ready to endure another two hours sitting on trains. Day trips are fun but rather exhausting at the same time. It’s nice to escape, though, and see places that offer a difference. I think about climbing up that mountain path, feeling completely free for a short time—free from anything but my own eagerness to explore, or perhaps to escape altogether. I decide that my next day trip will be to a mountain of sorts, a place unlike those I have been discovering of late. Somewhere new and exciting, where I can rekindle my sense of adventure. A place flowing with natural beauty.

As I arrive back in Tokyo, a chill consumes the air. Above, thick clouds made of snow hover over the skyscrapers, lying in wait—almost ready to unleash their flakes of misery over the city.

Lucky Number Seven Gods of Fortune

Posted on 05/01/2015 by Luke

Today, I attempt to go on a pilgrimage. Seven different gods, seven different temples, and no idea where to start. I head into Asakusa for a traditional Japanese breakfast and find that a Japanese New Year’s ritual is taking place outside my favourite izakaya. “Happy Merry Christmas after year,” the owner says to me, flashing his trademark ten-yen smile.

The ritual is mochi making. Mochi is sticky rice that is boiled, and when it is hit with a wooden mallet, it becomes soft. These rice cakes end up more like dumplings and are consumed during January. Some sort of stew is cooking in a big pot beside the mochi, but I have no idea if it’s relevant to the ritual or not.

After watching a man hit rice with a mallet for far too long, I decide to visit the first temple: Shingen-ji Temple in Iriya. This temple has two names; ‘Iriya no Kishibojin’ is the other name used, which just adds to my confusion. Inside the temple, I can hear the sound of monks chanting. Two young Japanese women dressed in kimonos pose for photographs. I wander to the temple, throw in some loose change, and pray.

The temple not only houses one of the seven gods but also Kishimojin, a goddess of children. Her story goes that she was once an evil goddess, snatching children and then eating them. One day, Gautama Buddha kidnapped the youngest son of this goddess, and it was only after experiencing the sorrow of losing a child that she became good. Now, she is worshipped as the guardian of childbirth and child-growing. However, she remains a criminal in my mind; all the children that she previously devoured have somehow been forgotten with her forgiveness.

Next to the temple sits Fukurokuju, the god of happiness, wealth, and longevity—the first of the seven gods that I am here to visit on this pilgrimage.

My second stop is Eishinji Temple, which enshrines Daikokuten, another of the seven gods of fortune. Daikokuten is considered to bring the belief of commercial prosperity. At the entrance, children play with spinning tops and badminton rackets. This temple gives me the opportunity to get my fortune for ¥200, and with me currently on a roll of good fortune from these things, I decide to participate once again.

The fortune I receive is huge. It contains three separate pieces of paper and one golden plastic frog.

“Average luck: Leading to the road of happiness will bless you if you have your own eyes open to the gods. Keeping the person in harm dear in my heart, will ensure that no harm is done, and the world will fit into the flame. With love, be aggressive. Take time to contemplate. The person you are waiting for will come, but will be very late. Don’t be impatient with your law suit. Contemplate. The lost article will be found and returned by someone with kindness. Be honest with money. If you are planning a trip, wait.”

As for the little golden frog, it should be placed in my wallet to ensure that money always comes back. There is also a mention of rakes and ovals, but I can’t understand what this means. Additionally, the fortune tells of magical eggplants, but again, I have no idea. “This lucky charm grants wishes and brings happiness. Please keep it always in your purse.”

At the temple exit, I study the slightly confusing map and head to temple number three.

Following the map, I end up at Onoterusaki Shrine. Although this shrine doesn’t house one of the seven lucky gods, I continue to explore it regardless. A monk on a balcony is hitting drums in a timely rhythm, and something about its calmness draws me inside. The shrine features a man-made imitation in the image of Mount Fuji.

Apparently, many Japanese people once believed that there was a god that lived inside the mountain; therefore, Mount Fuji became a place of worship for many religious groups. This particular Mount Fuji is called Fujizuka of Shitaya-Sakamoto and looks like a big pile of rocks. On July 1st every year, to celebrate the start of the climbing season of the actual Mount Fuji, this miniature mountain is open for the public to climb.

Onoterusaki Shrine is also dedicated to Ono-no-Takamura, a scholar of Chinese classics in the early years of the Heian period.

Scattered around the shrine are these unusual white arrows. I discover that these arrows are known as hamaya. The name is derived from a once dangerously popular game for children involving archery and target practice. Nowadays, these arrows, which translate to mean ‘Demon-breaking arrows,’ are a popular means to dispel evil spirits at the beginning of the New Year.

I leave the shrine and go in search of the third of the seven temples on the pilgrimage course. Temples with multiple names, maps that have no sense of scale, and a cold day of wandering around unfamiliar places. I end up in Uguisudani, an area that should contain one of the seven gods, but for me, the only things in and around the train station are love hotels.

I’ve been walking a lot this last week. Tired and slightly cold, I give up for the day. I head back to Minowa to rest my legs and tumble into a deep sleep.

Japanese New Year’s Eve

Posted on 02/01/2015 by Luke

New Year’s Eve in Japan differs significantly from the celebrations and lively scenes I’m accustomed to in England. We kick off the evening at our favourite izakaya, where the owner, in his broken English, warmly greets us with, “Good morning this evening.” The atmosphere is festive, with people enjoying drinks and exchanging smiles all around. Among the options on the extensive Japanese menu is ‘Smile, ¥10, limited to ten per day.’ Fortunately, the stocks are plentiful, so I toss the owner a ten-yen coin in exchange for his wonderfully elaborate smile.

The television set above the bar is broadcasting the 65th annual Kohaku Uta Gassen.

Kohaku is a live talent battle between two teams of musical acts that have had a successful year in Japan. The white team consists of all male artists, while the red team is composed of all female artists. This exclusive, invitation-only event happens to be the most-watched show on NHK every year. Audience members cast their votes, and the only prize is pride for the winning team.

I was thoroughly enjoying a band of male vocalists singing, “La lalalala lalalala,” when out of nowhere, the owner of the izakaya switches channels to watch the latest episode of the popular pirate anime, One Piece. Food is then served to each of us in tiny bowls—traditional Japanese soba noodles, known as toshikoshi soba.

Soba noodles are notably thin and long, with the belief that their length symbolises a long life. It is also said that consuming these noodles helps ward off any lingering ghosts as the New Year arrives. The seasoning for the meal is served from a salt shaker crafted from a light bulb. While I’m unsure if this is part of the traditional way to eat Japanese soba, I find it quite appealing.

One Piece comes to an end, and the owner channel-hops, briefly settling on boxing before switching back to Kohaku. On the television, Idina Menzel graces the stage, singing ‘Let It Go.’ It’s quite rare for a non-native Japanese artist to be invited to perform at the event, but given the immense success of the movie Frozen in Japan, her appearance comes as no surprise. It’s at this moment that I’m hit with my first Tokyo Disneyland flashback.

We continue to enjoy our drinks, with people singing along to ‘Let It Go.’ Suddenly, the owner begins handing out gifts in small white envelopes.

Next year marks the Chinese zodiac year of the Ram, or ‘sheep’ as my Japanese friend corrects me. I suppose interpretations vary across countries. The pendant I receive, if I’m completely honest, looks more like a goat. Regardless, I appreciate the gesture and the unexpected gift.

As midnight rapidly approaches, we finish our drinks and take a wander over to Senso-ji for Joyanokane. At the stroke of midnight, a priest will ring the bell 108 times, symbolising the 108 sins of Buddhism. Unfortunately for me, sarcasm is one of those sins. By merely staying and listening to the tolls of the bell, your body and mind are believed to be cleansed—an excellent way to start the year, if only we could get close enough to hear them.

It’s incredibly crowded here. People are queueing up to make their first prayer of the New Year. Others are here to shop at the many little food stores lining the route to the temple, while some are here to count down to the New Year. Our purpose is simpler—we are here to listen to the bells. Eventually, as the clock approaches midnight, we manage to get close enough to the temple, arriving at about two minutes to midnight.

The first bell chimes, and we cheer. Suddenly, as if a switch has been flicked, the plastic sheeting over the market stalls starts to shake. A ferocious wind appears out of nowhere, and the temperature drops to the lowest it has been since I arrived in Japan. It’s as if the gods are angry or trying to sleep, with the millions of people here disturbing their slumber.

It will probably take over two hours to queue and make our first prayer of the year, and the cold is too much to bear. We decide to postpone this ritual until tomorrow. Instead, we opt to get our fortunes for ¥100 each. Surprisingly, none of our group receives a bad fortune. I, personally, receive a ‘Good Fortune’ that says, ‘The linen robe turns into a green one.’ I’m not entirely sure what this means, but I presume it implies that I will turn into a kappa.

After receiving our fortunes, we go our separate ways. As I cycle home, the wind almost blows me off my bike.

House of Red Leaves

Posted on 10/11/2014 by Luke

There is a famous phrase in Japan, ‘You haven’t seen real beauty until you’ve seen Nikko.’ So far on this trip, I haven’t really seen a thing. Only darkness. I wake up at 9 a.m., and the first thing I do is take a look at the view from the ryokan window. No skyscrapers here, only mountains and sky.

Outside, the air is clean, and a reasonable 20°C, so I take one last soak in the outdoor onsen before paying for the room and leaving. I realise once I am all the way at the bus stop that I’ve forgotten to pay for my ice cream. The bus stop tells me I have half an hour before the next bus, so I decide to explore the Yumoto onsen area.

Despite this being the highest point in these mountains that the bus chooses to stop, and at an altitude of 1,475 metres, there is a huge natural lake up here. Lake Yunoko, translating to mean, ‘Hot Water Lake.’ The lake sits almost completely still. Formed twenty thousand years ago when a nearby volcano erupted, the lake is a nesting ground for wild ducks. A sign beside the lake says that ‘fresh’ landlocked sockeye salmon and rainbow trout swim in these waters.

I take a wander around the water. At the south end, a waterfall; at the north, the view is somewhat ruined by a construction team nestled at the edge of the lake. It isn’t quite clear what they are actually doing, other than making noise and ruining the otherwise peaceful scene.

My bus eventually arrives. The elderly residents use their hand on the Suica card machine instead of actually scanning their cards. Presumably, they don’t have electronic cards on the mountain, and by the looks of it, they get to travel on the route bus free of charge.

The bus swings back down the mountain, passing impressive scenery. Mountains sit quietly in the distance, the view very much different from the journey yesterday. Toward the bottom of the bus route, I see some interesting red leaves, so decide to hop off.

“Koyo” refers to the colourful autumn leaves in Japan. They spread across the country starting from the north and moving south. This process takes about two months and is known as the koyo front. Almost completely opposite to cherry blossom season, but getting equally as popular, people come to areas of nature such as Nikko to view these leaves in the autumn.

Beside the area of red leaves, I see a sign for a World Heritage Site, Toshogu Shrine. The shrine is the place where Tokugawa Shogunate founder, Tokugawa Ieyasu, is enshrined. It was built on his orders and used as his hideaway, and I can see why he chose this area. The view from the entrance to the shrine is an impressive mix of mountains and wildlife, the perfect place for a military leader to spend his free time.

Inside the temple grounds is the origin of a Buddhist proverb about not dwelling on evil thoughts. A statue of the three wise monkeys, Mizaru, Kikazaru, and Iwazaru, sits over the shrine. The proverb is rather well-known and translates to, ‘See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.’

At the entrance to the temple grounds sits the five-storey Gojunoto Pagoda. A sign beside the pagoda tells me that the structure is the same height as Tokyo Skytree. I think this is a translation issue, as this pagoda is a mere 36 metres tall, whereas Tokyo Skytree is an impressive 634 metres tall.

What I think is meant by the sign is that the elevation here is 598 metres, meaning that the roof of the pagoda is at the same elevation as Tokyo Skytree. Perhaps this is merely a coincidence, but I would guess that Tokyo Skytree was built at this specific height so that it shares the same point in the sky as this famous pagoda.

After visiting the temples, I take a wander around the Nikko area. I see a shop selling ‘Heritage Nikko Cheese Egg,’ and would be a fool to pass up on the opportunity to eat a Cheese Egg. It costs just ¥100, and completely shatters my ignorant assumption that the Cheese Egg would contain at least one of the two ingredients in its name. Instead, I find myself eating a bland, tasteless cake. The primary flavour: disappointment.

I continue my wander and spot a cigarette machine with some advertising above it that would never be allowed in England.

I make my way back toward Nikko Station. The area around the station has a selection of small shops all selling exactly the same things—souvenirs. Other shops sell more souvenirs, and more shops sell the same souvenirs as the other twenty shops. The stallholders here are cashing in on a popular Japanese custom, omiyage. In Japan, when you visit another region, you are expected to buy souvenirs for everyone else who couldn’t make the trip. So for me, I have to buy everyone I know a gift.

Wishing I had purchased Cheese Eggs for all, I instead opt for a relatively pricey box of Strawberry Pie. I chose this gift because I enjoyed the English text; it reads: ‘Plenty of choice of strawberry red, so happy tea time we can enjoy this strawberry pie.’ Whatever that means.

After shopping, I wave goodbye to Nikko from the train station platform; the view of Mount Nantai in the distance is simply stunning.

From the train, I watch the mountains disappear. A thrilling two-hour journey to Ueno awaits, then it is back to the chaos of Tokyo.

Head of a Lion, Tail of a Dog

Posted on 21/10/2014 by Luke

The sun is shining, which naturally makes me feel productive. I head over to Roppongi to visit the Tokyo Midtown Award 2014. The awards are in their 7th year, and the ceremony is a design and art competition sponsored by Tokyo Midtown. Its aim is to discover and support future designers and artists. Fourteen award-winning artworks and designs are on display, all competing for the grand prize: a trophy designed and produced by the famous Japanese sculptor Kimio Tsuchiya.

The audience here are given the opportunity to vote by pushing a button on a digital display board. The display unfairly shows the number of votes each piece of art has received. Currently winning is a piece from Saki Maeda, called, “Konkan.”

“Konkan” is similar to the Japanese “inkan,” a name given to a personal seal commonly used in Japan in place of a signature. Inkan are akin to the emblems used in medieval England, stamped into wax to seal an envelope. This seemingly simple piece of art holds slightly more depth. My interpretation is that the two konkan represent the male (black) and female (red), lying together to symbolise the seal of marriage.

Among the other pieces are: Waami, a Japanese-patterned grill pan; Yoroikappa, an armored raincoat; Origami Tale, a fairy tale told using paper folding; Harmonaca, a box of harmonica-shaped sweets filled with red-bean paste; and Omikuji, a selection of Japanese fortune picks. The winner of the competition will be announced on Friday, November 7th.

My favourite piece is Toru Otsuka’s, Empty Freezer.

The reason I vote for this piece is not just for the incredible design, but also for the fitting message that accompanies it:

“Buddhism teaches of impermanence, that there is a beginning and end to all things. As long as this world is impermanent. Buddhist statues will some day fade just as disposable cups do, and may not be much different. However, Buddhist statues and disposable goods are considered separate. That is why I would like to use the same carving techniques for Buddhist statues on disposable goods, indicating my questioning of existing values.”

After browsing all the pieces vying for the prize, I step back into the sunshine and make my way to the outdoor display area. Today, an exhibition called ‘Seating Forest’ is taking place. The setting is hardly a forest; instead, it’s a collection of diverse chairs, each carrying a unique theme or artistic edge.

There are seats that take the concept of ‘musical chairs’ a bit too literally, crafted from musical instruments; sitting down causes the seat to play music. Additionally, two chairs shaped like ears are placed on opposite sides of the forest. These ears are somehow connected, allowing communication between the individuals seated in them. However, the standout chair is a wooden structure featuring a seat on a pulley, with apples hanging from above. It allows me to hoist myself up into the sky while remaining seated.

After Roppongi, I head over to Asakusa. Today, two of my friends are playing afternoon jazz music at a bar called Soultrane, named after the Coltrane album. The bar is a bit tricky to locate, but eventually, I find it, pay my ¥2000 ‘music charge,’ and take a seat. It’s tiny, with a drum kit in one corner and a grand piano in the other. Other instruments here include a double bass, a trumpet, two guitars, and a flute.

There are about ten people here, all flipping through sheet music books—a music collective and the closest thing to an open mic event I’ve found in Japan. As a song finishes, people applaud in appreciation, and then the owner/barman calls out names. If your name is called, you get up and play, even if you have no knowledge of the song. If he asks for the trumpet and you play the trumpet, you perform. After two hours of live spontaneous jazz, we all part ways.

I wander through Asakusa for a while, and head to where all the performing artists hang out. This afternoon, they are wrestling.

The four wrestlers are incredibly lively, each dressed as characters from popular television shows. Pikachu is seen taking a beating from a character resembling Goku from Dragon Ball Z. Meanwhile, a ninja stealthily moves about, brandishing ‘Kapow!’ signs in true Batman style at precisely the right moments. Adding to the chaos, a person dressed in pink manages to overpower everyone using their tail. The scene is a whirlwind of props and rapid costume changes.

Eventually, the wrestling finishes and is replaced by the spray paint space art performer, whom I’ve seen many times before. I decide to continue wandering around. As I stroll, I pass by five geishas adorned in full makeup. Soon after, the sound of drums catches my attention, prompting me to follow the noise until I arrive at Kokusai Street.

In the middle of the road, music fills the air. Today marks a festival celebrating music and dance from the Okinawa Islands. Okinawa, situated as the furthest southwest prefecture in Japan, lies directly south of Kyushu. With its tropical climate and frequent encounters with typhoons, Okinawa seems to be both an attractive and challenging place to live. Interestingly, Okinawans have a longer life expectancy than people from anywhere else in the world, attributed to their incredibly healthy diet.

There are about ten different acts from the islands, and the procession traverses the full length of the street, culminating on an outdoor stage situated on the second floor of a hotel. The music is fantastic, and the dancing is equally impressive. Some of the costumes or characters, however, are rather intimidating.

Shisa, the official mascot of the island of Okinawa, embodies a fusion of a lion and a dog and is believed to ward off evil spirits. Three shisa are present today, each seemingly more intimidating than the last. Ironically, the only spirits here that appear malevolent are these lion-dog creatures themselves.

As I watch the well-choreographed dancing and listen to the music, I notice a sign proclaiming ‘Best International Authentic Town,’ while another heralds the event’s tenth year celebration. However, the only downside to the event is the absence of stalls vending local cuisine—those dishes known for their health benefits and longevity. I’ve been curious to try the exotic ‘dragon fruit’ of Okinawa, but alas, there are neither dragons nor fruits in sight.

I stay at the festival until it ends, then head home to dream of lion dogs wrestling with giant Pokémon, all set to the music of ‘Polka Dots and Moonbeams’.

Bike to the Fuchsia

Posted on 19/07/2014 by Luke

A cloudy yet hot day, with a cool breeze—a perfect setting for cycling. Today, I’m filled with motivation. My first stop is a small park along the way to yesterday’s failed destination, Dazaifu.

Inside this lovely park, three old ladies play bowls on a synthetic lawn while beautiful fuchsias wave in the wind near a natural stream. Japan currently recognises almost 110 species of fuchsia. These particular flowers boast the classic blend of purple and red hues.

As I arrive at Dazaifu around 3 p.m., the first thing catching my eye is a hill crowned with ruins. Parking my bicycle, I decide to climb it. From the hilltop, I’m greeted with a view of traditional Japanese houses in the distance. At the bottom of the hill lies Gakugyouin Temple.

I cycle around, admiring the greenery and scenery. In Tokyo, the greenery was often overshadowed by the buildings, but here, the mountains seem adorned with temples. A swarm of dragonflies gracefully drifts above an open allotment. This place exudes tranquillity, likely absent from any guidebooks. This is precisely the Japan I’ve yearned for since my arrival—a serene experience I hadn’t yet encountered.

Kanzeon-ji is a seventh-century temple, once the chief Buddhist temple in Kyushu. It houses a multitude of historical, artistic, and religious treasures. Beside it lies the ruins of the once-marvellous seven-story high pagoda.

Dazaifu is starting to remind me a lot of Kyoto. In eight days, I’ll be heading to Kyoto for one week. Then, I have two weeks without plans before I head back to Tokyo. The thought has crossed my mind to cycle back to Tokyo from Kyoto, stopping off at interesting places along the way. The two cities are only 367 kilometres apart.

The sign next to the temple mentions that the pagoda was restored in 741 A.D. at a scale of 1/10. Conveniently, that’s available to see outside the Dazaifu City Fureai Cultural Hall. That’s my next stop.

I enter the cultural hall, and the woman at the desk seems startled by my presence. Politely, I ask if I can look around, and she agrees—it’s also free. Inside, there are various objects encased in glass, mostly old roof tiles. After a brief tour of the building, I take my leave.

Next, I cycle to Komyoten-ji Garden to see the Government Ruins—the remnants of the medieval Dazaifu Administrative Buildings. They rest within a vast public park at the foot of Mount Ono. As I arrive, I notice some boys playing football, using jumpers for goalposts. The goalkeeper rushes forward, expertly dribbling the ball past six players before scoring an excellent goal. Applause erupts from everyone watching.

All the children in Dazaifu say ‘Hello’ to me. Surprisingly, there’s a distinct lack of tourists for such a historic place. Maybe I’m the first Westerner they’ve ever seen. With a wry smile, I reply to them, ‘Konnichiwa.’

As I cycle by, insects chirp loudly near one of the men employed to direct traffic. However, there’s no traffic on this road; I don’t sense a car has come this way for hours. He smiles warmly at me, signalling with a wave of his hand and a deep nod for me to continue.

As I pass Kaidan-in Temple, I see a sign for an Exhibition Hall. Carnival Cutouts wait for me outside. Inside, there’s no one present—no tourists, no staff members, no one to take my money. It’s just more objects enclosed in glass. A sign prohibits photography, but I snap a cheeky shot; no one will ever know.

My final stop in Dazaifu is the Kyushu National Museum, seemingly tucked away in the woods. I leave my bike; I really should lock it up, but I don’t bother. There are more temples around here too.

A sign simply saying ‘Museum’ points up a mountain path. I follow the path for a good ten minutes before encountering a new sign, indicating that the museum is 2.1 kilometres away. Quite odd. I retrace my steps to my bicycle and head off in the new direction.

I cycle up into the mountain and reach the museum car park; a sign indicates ‘last entry 4:30 p.m., exhibitions open until five.’ Glancing at my watch, it reads 4:28 p.m. Swiftly, I park my bicycle in one of the bays intended for cars and start running up the many steps to the museum.

A man with a red lightsaber appears out of nowhere. He insists that I must cycle all the way to the top and park my bike in the designated parking area. I protest, saying, “But the museum closes in two minutes, and I came all the way from Hakata!”

He makes a phone call and speaks in Japanese for a few minutes. Afterward, he tells me they can still let me in. Lucky me. As I make the final approach to the Kyushu National Museum, its sheer size almost knocks me off my bike.

Opened in 2005, it stands as the first new National Museum to open in Japan in over 108 years. It’s also the first to emphasise history over art and boasts an on-site conservation centre, the largest in Kyushu. The museum primarily focuses on prehistory to the Meiji era.

Once inside, I ride the escalator to the 4th floor and pay a ¥420 entry fee. The rooms are impeccably clean; the glass seems polished on the hour. The museum is enormous. Separate rooms display various collections of historic artwork or fossilised ruins. Photography isn’t allowed here—not even an opportunity for a quick shot; two staff members stand guard in every section. With just twenty-five minutes to look around, I leave dead on closing time.

After the museum, I cycle 18.2 kilometres back to the hostel. It takes me an hour, stopping once for a bottle of Pocari Sweat, and a second time to photograph this building:

At the hostel, I realise that I’m starving. I decide to keep my stomach empty and write up some of the day’s events. At 8 p.m., I head back outside and run on my empty stomach, finding the red lights of traffic intersections providing nice little rest stops from time to time.

I run for almost fifty minutes, passing packed restaurants offering any choice of cuisine imaginable. Even though it’s been twenty-three hours since I had any food, nothing really draws me in; my appetite is oddly missing.

I see a random square:

As I run, I notice some red lights in the sky that resemble a tower. Intrigued, I head in that direction. As I get closer, I spot planes floating by in the distance. A sinking feeling hits me; I might have circled back to Fukuoka Airport, recognising the tower used for Air Traffic Control. Oddly, I didn’t see any signs indicating the airport, though.

To my relief, my assumptions were false. I arrive at Hakata Pier, realising that the tower I saw was Hakata Port Tower. Calculating the distance, I note I ran for 5.7 kilometres to get here. Earlier today, I cycled at least forty kilometres. It’s surprising—I’ve never had so much energy.

Fishermen line up along the pier, and finally, my appetite for food returns, specifically for fish. However, the only fish I find here are sandwiched between glass in another small, free aquarium. I scout out the area and stumble upon another temple—I seem to have come across quite a few of these today.

The pier looks picturesque at night, adorned with its myriad of lights. Entering the food court, I find that the only place with any appeal is a French restaurant. However, as I approach, the lights suddenly go out. Closed at nine o’clock sharp.

I head back to Hakata and unexpectedly stumble upon the all too familiar Reisen Park. Spotting other runners doing laps around the park, I decide to join them for a while. When I finally locate the camera shop, I get my bearings.

The area around the park is bustling at night, with outdoor izakayas lining the streets. The enticing aroma of barbecued meats fills the air. I’m rather fond of the monument in the park, so I try to take a photograph, but unfortunately, it doesn’t turn out so well. Quickly, I make my way back to Hakata Station.

I undo all the hard work of the day and opt for McDonald’s. It feels like I’m a death-row inmate having his last meal, as I’ve decided this will be my final indulgence in junk food for a while. It costs me ¥986, effectively for fish and chips.

As I walk back from the station to the hostel, it unexpectedly starts to rain—for a grand total of exactly five seconds. Umbrellas shoot up, and just as quickly, they come down. Since I don’t usually carry an umbrella on hot days, I get ever so slightly wet.

Back at the hostel, I find I still have an abundance of energy. It’s been a remarkably productive day. I spend a few more hours writing, followed by some reading. Then, I head to bed—stone cold sober.

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