Welcome to the Lunar Industries

Posted on 26/01/2015 by Luke

Another intrusive start to the day in Japan. The ground rattles like teeth on an icy morning, the skyscrapers singing a chorus of concrete scraping together, pulled apart in directions against their will. It’s another earthquake, the strongest one I’ve felt so far. Suddenly, everything stops. Just as I begin to drift away, hoping to return to whatever fleeting memory lingers in my dream-filled head, the shaking resumes. This time, it lasts only a few seconds, but it’s enough to shatter whatever it was in my imagination that I desperately sought to remember.

I head outside to grab a can of Boss Coffee before taking a seat on the steps leading up to my front door. A homeless man, who resides in a cardboard castle outside the entrance to my apartment, stirs in his sleep. He coughs and groans before looking around and noticing me, perhaps awakened by the early morning shaking of the earth. The man speaks broken English and asks me the usual stagnant questions. It turns out he was once in a famous rock band, a drummer. Aged sixty-five but looking perhaps twice that, I can’t help but feel a little sorry for him. Without knowing his circumstances, I decide it would be rude to judge him any further. I want to ask him why he keeps sleeping where I would normally park my bicycle, but I think my English words might be lost on him. He tells me something is happening on Sunday in the arcade that runs close to my house. With its worn-out shops and shutters, it might well be the first activity this area has seen for months.

After becoming fully awake, I can’t help but notice that the moon is still up. Although crescent, the moon’s light casts a shadow, revealing the clear roundness of its form, something I have never noticed before. I begin to wonder if I am still dreaming.

I cycle into Asakusa to find the streets littered with Australian tourists. It seems they have chosen to leave behind the glorious summer weather of their home country for the winter of Japan. Today is Australia Day, a celebration of the first British ships landing on Australian shores. I weave my bicycle between drunk people shouting and fighting on the street. I thought it was the English who didn’t know how to behave. Drunk before lunchtime, not even Mr. Sixty-Five-year-old homeless man can achieve that.

I head across the city for some exploring. Despite spending a lot of time in Asakusa, I’m continually surprised to discover new things every day. Today, I visit what was once a beautiful pond, now home to ghostly apparitions.

Ubagaike Pond is now enveloped in what looks like a construction site. The pond is completely dried up; only the old stone outline that makes up its shape remains. Many years ago, an old woman lived in a house close to the pond. She lived with her beautiful young daughter. The mother would send her daughter out into the streets to lure in gentlemen, hoping that they would spend the night in her daughter’s embrace. The unsuspecting gentlemen would join the daughter, and after lovemaking, when the pair were both sound asleep, the old woman would creep into the room. With a huge piece of stone, the mother would bash the man’s skull in before taking all of his possessions. This weapon was known then as a ‘stone pillow.’ One day, the old woman threw herself into the pond, an act that was out of character and has no bearing on the rest of the story. These days, at night, you can hear the quiet sobs of her daughter, or so the legend goes.

Back in the slums of Tokyo, I sit in my house, editing some writing that I have been working on, my mind rinsed clear by the haunting melody of Clint Mansell’s ‘Moon’ soundtrack. The drifting peace only lasts momentarily, though. At 5 p.m., the familiar sound of music penetrates my window. It seems that, despite the winter and occasional snowflake, ice cream is sold all year round in Japan.

“Aisukuriimu, Aisukuriimu, Aisukuriimayoou.” Typically, the song occupies the space in my head usually reserved for contemplation and creative thinking. Every evening in Japan, I sit suffering in silence, with the ice cream song playing over and over in my mind, like a broken merry-go-round.

I leave the house after an hour of silent anger toward frozen milk and cream, and cycle as usual in the direction of Asakusa. For no reason, I decide not to cycle through the red-light district (my usual route) but take a different path. It leads me to the sound of live reggae music and a smattering of distant applause seemingly from nowhere. I decide to leave my bicycle and head down a narrow side street to locate the source of the music.

Moments later, I arrive at a small outdoor festival. The grounds of the festival seem to combine a swing park and a school playground.

The festival is here to raise awareness for the area of Fukushima, devastated in 2011 by the Tohoku Earthquake and tsunami. The area continues to struggle, with people living without homes, families not receiving proper support from the government, and rice grown in the area seldom purchased. This festival is described as a ‘Nation’s rallying call for the Fukushima area,’ and in my opinion, it’s a worthy cause.

Inside the swing park, small stalls sell hot food. Inside the school playground, ice is being fashioned into a snow house. Children play within the igloo, while others pose before it for photographs. Reggae music continues to play from the stage, a song about everything being ‘fine fine fine.’ It warms my heart to see this. Something about today has contained a subtle misery — earthquakes and homeless people. A community rallying together to help those in desperate need. Certain people getting drunk without a care in the world, blissfully unaware of the problems faced by others, lost to the oblivion of alcohol.

As I head back to the main road, my mind distracted by ice cream and lost in thoughts of others, I realise that I have completely forgotten where I left my bicycle.

Rock, Shock and Tooth Aching Perils

Posted on 17/09/2014 by Luke

Today is D-Day. Dentist Day. I wake up at 5 a.m. with pain in the whole left side of my mouth, all my teeth are throbbing with pain. It is excruciating. It is deafening. I wait until 10 a.m., before my Japanese speaking friend books me an appointment with a nearby dentist. I eat something out of necessity, scrambled eggs; before heading back to the hostel to play the waiting game.

At around half twelve, the pain feels like an earthquake. The building begins to shake. It isn’t pain, though; a magnitude 5.6 earthquake has struck Ibaraki, some 100 kilometres northeast of Asakusa. After one minute, the shaking stops. I head into the hostel lounge, and everyone is just carrying on as normal, as if nothing has happened. How strange.

I kill time reading about earthquakes before the time arrives to visit the dentist. I must admit, I am a little nervous. My friend is here though, so I have nothing to worry about as far as speaking Japanese is concerned. We head to the nearby Rox building; a massive commercial shopping complex containing many different shops, a gymnasium, a public bath, and oddly, a dental clinic.

We head up to the fifth floor to the clinic and fill out all the necessary paperwork at the reception. How often do I brush my teeth? How long have I been in pain? The usual questions. My name is eventually called at five to three, and I head into the surgery. Rather than separate rooms, the dentists work in an open space divided by booths separated by curtains. As I walk to my booth, the other dentists greet me with a cheery “Hello.” The atmosphere is somewhat comforting.

My booth is immaculately clean, shiny, and very white. I take a seat in the dentist chair, which has a television screen showing news footage of the earlier earthquake. A cloth is placed over my eyes while my teeth are carefully examined one by one. Next, I am asked to go for an X-ray. The dentist says that I am the tallest person to ever use the X-ray machine; it is clearly not designed for somebody of my height. I actually have to squat slightly to use it. As the X-ray machine scans my teeth, ‘Für Elise’ by Beethoven plays.

A tablet screen is placed in front of me showing the X-ray results. The dentist goes off somewhere, so I decide to count my teeth while I wait: an even thirty-two.

When the dentist returns, he examines my X-ray before putting a camera in my mouth to take photographs of the suspect area. The problem lies in my upper left third molar—a cavity. The news is replaced with the photograph he has just taken. The dentist is surprised by the state of my teeth; he says it is very rare to see such ‘Virgin teeth,’ as he puts it. My teeth are immaculate and untouched; I have never had any type of dental surgery before—no fillings, no tooth removals, and no severed nerves. He says that usually in Japan, a problem like the one I have would be solved by killing the nerve so the pain stops permanently. But because I have all of my nerves intact, he gives me the option to have the cavity cleaned, which he assures me has an 85% chance of success. If it doesn’t solve the problem, then I can always come back again and have my nerve severed.

I agree to the treatment. He places a numbing agent in the affected area before administering a local anæsthetic. Three seconds after the injection, I say to my friend, “I don’t feel so good.” Actually, my entire body begins to tingle and turn numb. I go into anaphylactic shock. My body starts to shake. Eyes open, mind elsewhere. My gaze remains fixed, staring off into some distant abyss.

Darkness envelops me, spiriting me away to a realm beyond comprehension. I traverse a dimension so profound, a depth within my own mind or an alternate world more tangible than our reality. Here, an overwhelming sensation engulfs me, a nameless horror that devours my very essence. Describing the depth of my emotions during this time eludes words; I exist, yet not as myself; and the memory evaporates the instant I return.

I blink, gripped by fear. As my eyes reopen, two figures shrouded in blue masks materialise before me—one male, one female. A woman, unfamiliar and indistinct, clasps my hand, murmuring words I cannot grasp. Panic seizes me. I’m adrift in an abyss of unknowing, unaware of my surroundings or even my own identity. Desperation claws at me; tears threaten to spill. Never before have I felt such terror. Who are these strangers? A momentary void swallows my memory. Was I just born anew? Did I perish? I attempt speech, but words elude me. Tremors wrack my body, not violently, but quivering with sheer nervousness and dread. Slowly, like a fog lifting, memories trickle back, accompanied by my friend’s urgent directive to “Breathe deeply.” Gradually, I emerge from the haze, shaken, tearful, and engulfed by sheer panic.

Eventually, things calm down. My friend explains what happened—about my vacant stare and trembling. My knee hurts; I must have bumped it against the machine. The dentist, with my friend translating, clarifies that I received only a half dose of local anæsthetic. I had previously told my friend that I hadn’t taken any medication for over ten years, a detail I fortunately mentioned to her. She relayed this information to the dentist before the injection; had she not, the full dosage of anæsthesia could have been lethal. She might have just saved my life. I could have remained in that other place forever; eyes open, mind elsewhere.

The dentist reassures me that I will be okay, all smiles and jokes now. I relax but can’t shake images from my head. This moment will be etched in my memory forever. The procedure is eventually finished, the cavity cleaned, and I am free to go and pay. The whole treatment and two packets of painkillers cost me a total of ¥7890. Drowsy, with my knee hurting and my mind drifting, I head back to the hostel to sleep.

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.

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Tag Archives: earthquake

Welcome to the Lunar Industries

Rock, Shock and Tooth Aching Perils

Towering Above the Rest