In an Interstellar Burst

Posted on 30/11/2014 by Luke

Toothache has returned. After two full months of remaining silent in the corner of my mouth, the pain floods back like a terrible memory. My previous trauma at the dentist is once again vivid in the forefront of my mind. Luckily for me, I still have some little yellow pills from my last visit to the dentist, and these will do for today to both numb the pain and numb my nerves.

I cycle to Seven Eleven. The moment I park my bicycle, a policeman appears out of nowhere, parking his bicycle next to mine as if intentionally blocking me in. He hops off his bike at practiced speed and starts speaking in a language so fast it might not even be Japanese anymore, pointing at me. Eventually, he asks, “Buy?” Presumably, he wants to know if the bicycle I was riding is stolen or actually my own. I hand him my residence card, and he punches my bicycle registration number into a small digital device. “Okay,” he tells me, handing back my card before riding off just as quickly as he appeared.

I leave the stolen bicycle at Minowa Station and take the Tokyo Metro Hibiya Line. Thirty minutes later, I arrive in Roppongi. My first stop today: a spot of traditional British lunch.

I am yet to see a sign for an ‘English Restaurant’; perhaps such a restaurant doesn’t exist. ‘Malins Fish and Chips’ is the closest thing I will probably find in Japan. My lunch is served to me in a newspaper-covered box: fish, chips, and mushy peas. A home comfort in the shape of a stereotype. The peas taste horrible, but the fish and chips are very good. I also order a fish cake. Sadly, this restaurant gets it completely wrong, and I am presented with something that looks and tastes nothing like the fish cakes I am used to back home.

I wander over to Roppongi Hills, an area rich with overpriced apartments, five-star hotels, and expensive shops selling ‘luxury’ goods—things people don’t really need. There are valuable bowls that are merely display pieces, candles costing over ¥10,000 each, and sofas with price tags equivalent to the average annual salary in Japan. After leaving the shops, I head out into a makeshift courtyard, only to find a giant spider outside.

This bronze statue was made by the French artist Louise Bourgeois and is one of the largest sculptures of a spider in the world. Many people are here taking photographs or posing beneath her egg sac. I snap a quick shot before heading up an escalator that leads into a cinema.

One of the main reasons I came to Roppongi today, other than to eat fish and chips, is to watch the movie ‘Interstellar.’ I pay ¥1800 and head inside to find my seat. The Japanese cinema experience is no different from what I am used to: adverts, terrible trailers for upcoming releases, and cute characters telling everyone here to, ‘Switch off your mobile phone,’ and, ‘Do not talk during the movie.’ About halfway through the movie, my little yellow pill decides to wear off. I am already in pain from having to listen to Matthew McConaughey mumble through his lines. Now I have a second level of pain, further adding to my misery.

After what feels like seven hours, the movie finally ends. I leave the cinema and head over to Tokyo Midtown to see some over-the-top decorations.

After looking at the decorations outside the overpriced stores, I head to a small ice cream shop. The staff here are the happiest people in the world. A sign at the counter declares, ‘We sing for tips.’ I order strawberry cheesecake ice cream in a waffle cone, with a latte for good measure. It is possible to request a favourite song, and the staff will cheerfully sing it as they prepare the delicious homemade ice cream. “Old MacDonald had a farm, E-I-E-I-O,” they sing to the man in the queue before me—an odd choice for a favourite song. I doubt the staff will know any Radiohead, so I don’t trouble them by asking. My ice cream and coffee cost me ¥940, another casualty of an expensive Roppongi.

After dessert, I discover that Tokyo Midtown is having its annual winter illuminations, known as ‘Midtown Christmas.’ Since I’m already here, I decide to check them out.

The illuminations are impressive, far better than those at Tokyo Dome. There are multiple displays, including Christmas trees that line the roads and champagne glass-shaped lighting arrangements. However, the highlight for me is the ‘Starlight Garden’—millions of dancing lights, cool smoke machine effects, and haunting music. It’s very blue. I watch for a while, transfixed by the light show, before pondering that the electricity bill here must be massive. Heading back to the station, I buy a selection of expensive cheeses before taking the train bound for Minowa.

On the train ride home, my mind is consumed by broken time paradoxes, millions of blinking blue lights, and my lingering fear of dentistry.

In the Land of Spuds and Money

Posted on 12/11/2014 by Luke

Today, I overslept, and it’s 4 p.m. by the time I finally crawl out of bed. Having missed most of the day and without a plan, I decide to head to Asakusa to find something to do.

When I arrive in Asakusa, the rhythmic sound of banging drums instantly captures my attention. Following the music, I discover a lively festival underway—the Hirosaki Nebuta Festival. Although traditionally a summer event, the participants have brought their vibrant celebration to the more commercial area of Asakusa to garner attention for their unique tradition. The Nebuta floats, featuring a samurai and a golden dragon, are skilfully dragged on wheels across the lively festival grounds.

Until last year, these floats were carried in the air. Sadly, during an event in Hirosaki last year, a man was crushed to death when one of the floats collapsed. Due to safety reasons, the floats no longer soar in the air.

The parade features participants carrying lanterns, beating drums, and a chorus of flutes providing musical accompaniment. Notably, there are more individuals wielding red traffic-controlling light sticks gathered in one place than I have ever seen before. I continue to follow the procession through Asakusa until it passes Senso-ji. At this point, I decide I have seen enough and opt to head off in search of something to drink.

I head to Cafe Byron Bay for a chat with some locals. There, I meet a man who hasn’t had a day off for over a year, working an average of fourteen hours a day. In an unexpected turn of events, a man celebrating his birthday walks into the cafe dressed in a full Santa Claus outfit – quite an odd sight for the beginning of November. Undeterred by the unusual attire, he orders a bottle of champagne and generously pours everyone a glass.

As conversations flow, a few customers mention an event scheduled for tonight, beginning precisely at midnight. Intrigued, I decide to attend, realising that waking up at 4 p.m. isn’t as much of a waste of a day as I initially thought.

After a while of drinking, I head outside and discover that the department store Rox is putting up their Christmas decorations. However, these aren’t the only decorations outside; the route leading to the shrine for the festival is adorned with loads of little yellow paper lanterns. Intrigued, I follow the yellow-lit road, and it eventually leads me to the entrance of Otori Shrine.

Tonight marks the Tori-no-Ichi event, a unique festival held every November on each day of the rooster. Over thirty Otori Shrines across Japan host this celebration, and today is the first part of the two-part festival; the second instalment will be held twelve days from now. The primary focus of the festival is on rakes, particularly a special one known as a ‘kumade.’ This unique rake is believed to harness the power of a god, bringing with it good financial fortune and prosperity in business.

Here, people are holding last year’s kumade, returning them to replace them with a slightly larger rake. There’s no refund for the rake they bought last year, and I’m not even sure what happens to them; presumably, they are resold in twelve days. These decorated rakes come in various sizes, starting from the smallest versions, which cost around ¥1000 each, to the largest rakes usually reserved for huge companies, costing around ¥800 million.

I find it somewhat ironic that the more you spend on a kumade, the more wealth you are said to acquire. However, I choose to take a small ¥1000 rake and keep my money, thanks. Every time a kumade is sold, a ritual of hand clapping known as ‘tejime’ is performed by the stallholder, and just about everyone else in the vicinity.

After walking through a vast market of shops, all selling the same thing, I no longer feel as though I am inside the grounds of a shrine. It feels like I am lost in a city of market stalls that stretches infinitely and indefinitely.

Pulled along by the wave of shuffling crowds, my route is decided for me, and somehow, I end up at the front of the main shrine. I decide to participate, throwing in a ¥100 coin (adding to the expense), ringing one of the huge bells. The ritual continues as I bow twice, clap twice, bow again, before praying, for nothing at all. After the brief ritual, I find myself pushed out of the shrine toward one of the side exits.

People leave the shrine happy, now in possession of their blessed kumade. The only thing left for them is to carry their massive rakes home. The shrine exits into yet another market.

The market smells incredible, with stalls mostly offering a variety of foods and beverages. For the third time today, I am reminded of Christmas. Intrigued, I approach a stall selling decorated bananas. Once again, etiquette dictates that I have to buy a souvenir, and I can’t think of a better gift than a chocolate-coated banana. After handing over ¥300 to the stallholder, he makes a fist with his hand. ‘One, two, three, rock,’ he says. I hold out my hand flat. ‘Ah, paper, you win!’ Brilliantly, for the second time this week, I win a banana.

Next, I come across a stall emitting the most enticing aroma I have ever experienced. Eager to try, I join a queue that takes about fifteen minutes. During the wait, I can’t help but salivate as I watch more and more of the delicious-looking hotcakes being baked before my eyes.

Eventually, I reach the front of the queue. Excitedly, I hand over ¥300 and purchase a bag of twelve delicious hot kasutera. This sponge cake, made from milk, honey, eggs, sugar, and flour, has quickly become my favourite snack. I’m already considering returning for Tori-no-Ichi part two, if only to indulge in more of this delightful treat.

I head to a shop selling yakisoba, a type of Japanese fried noodle served with vegetables. The stallholder notices my exceptionally blue eyes and offers me a special, larger serving. I find a bench, sit down, and proceed to devour my yakisoba, surrounded by the sights and smells of this bustling market.

On my way home, I continue my walk through the stalls and come across a shop selling ¥400 baked potatoes. Still slightly hungry, I decide to make one final stop. Surprisingly, the stallholder here doesn’t know how to haggle. I ask for one potato, but he insists that I can have four for ¥300 instead—a discount of 25% for four times the potato I initially requested. I can’t argue with his wild logic.

With my free banana, discounted potatoes, and an empty bag of kasutera, I realise that for me, the prosperity promised by this festival has instantly started to pay off.

On the Other Side of the Mountain

Posted on 08/11/2014 by Luke

Today, I am exactly halfway through my trip. To celebrate, I have decided to take a break from city life and booked a night at a Japanese inn, known as a ryokan. It is situated in the middle of the mountains in a place called Nikko, in Tochigi Prefecture. My plan for the next few days is to experience a more traditional side of Japan.

From Asakusa, I pay ¥2390 for an express train taking 140 minutes. At Shimo-imaichi Station, I have to change to a dreaded local train. On the platform, I wear a short-sleeved shirt. A Japanese man says to his friend, “Look at that guy; he must be freezing!” I admit, it is a little cooler than Tokyo, but I only have to wait two minutes at the cold station platform. I eventually get on the local train. It sounds like a roller coaster as it claws its way up the mountainous tracks. The train’s only luxury is its heated seats; they make the whole train smell like the inside of a giant hairdryer. Five minutes later, I arrive at Tobu-Nikko Station.

I head out of the station and onto an old bus; the transport on this trip is getting progressively worse. The place I am staying tonight is at Yumoto Onsen; ninety minutes from Nikko Station and some 185 kilometres north of Tokyo. It’s just gone five, but the sun is no longer visible. The bus crawls through the darkness. A warning says, ‘Hold onto the handrail as the bus will sway from side to side as it makes its ascent.’

The bus eventually arrives at my stop, the last stop. I pay ¥1700. This is also the last bus. I am trapped up here now; no coming back. Outside, it is freezing cold—the coldest I have been since leaving England. Luckily, at the bus stop, I am greeted by warm smiles. A Japanese woman with a sign is waiting for me. We head to her car, and she drives me thirty seconds to the place I will spend the night

Inside the ryokan, she takes me to my room—the biggest room I have stayed in since being in Japan, spacious and warm. It has a massive double futon laid out, and a table of equal size. The woman starts by preparing me a hot cup of green tea before leaving to prepare my dinner. I get dressed into my yukata, carefully ensuring I cross it left over right; crossing it the other way is how the dead are dressed at funerals, and I am not dead. I also make sure to tie the bow behind me; a bow at the front is how prostitutes dress.

At 7 p.m., the woman comes back into my room to serve me dinner.

My food consists of buttered trout, salmon, vegetable tempura with natural salt, radish, simmered sesame tofu, lotus root, miso gratin with cabbage, yuzu pepper salad, grilled eggplant, fried tofu, boiled tofu in a soy milk pot with mushrooms, rice, a selection of vegetables, a selection of pickles, and a couple of things I can’t identify. The entire meal is pescatarian, and all the food is of the highest standard. I don’t usually like tofu, but up here, it is made from the cleanest of mountain water and tastes phenomenal.

After a while, the woman comes back into my room to clear and clean the table before bringing me dessert. In comparison to the huge dinner, my dessert is somewhat anticlimactic.

I help myself to a couple of the complimentary bottles of Autumn edition beer before deciding to take a dip in the hot springs. I book the outdoor onsen for forty-five minutes. Outside, there is not a single sound. The stars are out. Mountains loom in the distance. The contrast of boiling hot water mixing with the cold winter air is wonderful and relaxing. After my time is up, I head indoors to onsen number two.

The indoor onsen doesn’t offer a window, so there isn’t much of a view. It is a rather lonely experience. After I get out, I take a shower. It is etiquette in Japan to shower before and after getting into a hot spring bath, so this is actually my fourth shower this evening. I notice weighing scales in the changing room; I haven’t weighed myself since before I came to Japan. After a massive meal and a not-so-massive dessert, I am surprised to discover that I am 7kg lighter than when I arrived in this country.

Back in my room and with kilogrammes to gain, I decide that the perfect way to cool off is with a delicious tub of homemade cream cheese and alcohol-flavoured ice cream. Sulphur from the onsen taints the experience slightly, the smell of rotten eggs lingering in the room.

I sip quietly on complimentary beers with the window wide open, wrapped up in my traditional Japanese clothing. The clean cold air is nothing more than a fresh distraction to the silence that engulfs me. Outside, the only thing I can see is hot smoke billowing from the many hot spring baths and the dark outline of mountains in the distance.

The Amazing Kanda Adventure

Posted on 02/11/2014 by Luke

I exit Kanda station and walk toward the area known as Jinbocho. On the way, I stroll along a street featuring thirty-six sports shops, all lined up next to each other. There is also a small festival taking place here, the 20th Kanda Sports Festival. I continue walking until I see a sign that suggests pluralisation came as an afterthought.

Jinbocho is named after Nagaharu Jinbo, a samurai who used to live here in days gone by. Although they took his name, there is little to no information about him on the Internet. Perhaps I can find something about him in one of the many history books on sale here today.

Book Town is great. One side of the street is exclusively used book shops. Little lanterns line the length of the street, and outside the usual stores, a massive corridor of small bookcases stretches the length of the event. On a typical day of book shopping, you would be spoiled for choice, but today, at the 55th Kanda Used Book Festival, the sheer number of used books in one area surpasses that of anywhere else in the world.

There is a shop specialising in only fashion books, another selling just manga comics, and another selling rare history books; they even have one book for sale for ¥350,000. There is something I find calming about walking the aisles of a bookshop. Nobody is here trying to lure me into their shop, nobody asks me to enter when I am already inside, and nobody inside is speaking. The squeaking sound of my wet shoes is the only thing disturbing the silence.

The bookshops seem to stretch endlessly. I notice some arrows painted on the floor, so I follow them to a small charity-run street festival. Rows of stalls offer various foods. One man sits at a table, seemingly designated for people to leave their used plates and cutlery. I glance at the man, and he just shrugs his shoulders; he doesn’t know why he’s sitting there either.

At the other end of the festival, more bookshops await. I browse a little longer before heading in the direction of Ogawa Square for my fourth street festival of the day. Today’s event is the Kanda Curry Grand Prix, where twenty different shops are all selling ¥500 curry in the hopes of attaining the grand prize. A polling station with an honesty policy is in place; if I wanted, I could continuously vote for the same shop over and over.

Kanda boasts over two hundred curry restaurants, making it the perfect choice of location for this competition. Outside every stall, a tout shouts at me to go buy their food. A woman in a maid outfit gives me a smile and points in the direction of the store she is here to promote. Soaking wet mascots wander around, and there is a stage featuring live music. Three young women are signing autographs for middle-aged men. The enticing smell of curry keeps me at Ogawa Square for half an hour before it is time to go.

I walk back to Akihabara and take the Hibiya Line to Minowa. Every piece of advertising space on the train is for the same company. On Japanese trains, there are usually about thirty to forty adverts in each carriage; however, on this train, all signs exclusively advertise an urban park town. Very strange.

I grab some things from home before cycling over to Asakusa, specifically to Cafe Byron Bay for a Halloween party. At the cafe, I put on makeup in the hope of looking like a zombie. Friends come and go, some with costumes and others without. Free Halloween-themed sweets are on offer, and glowing plastic pumpkins litter the cafe.

At one point, I am asked to fetch a forgotten cake from a local bakery. While waiting at the traffic lights, I notice a little child with her mother also waiting to cross the road. They are looking at me, so I make zombie noises at the child; the child screams and hides behind her mother’s leg. All in the good spirit of Halloween.

Back at the cafe, two French chefs are here to cook for everybody, and they are excellent chefs. Canapés, crêpes, and tuna gratin are the highlights. We are then treated to some live music from a local act and enjoy some delicious cake.

As the party draws to a close, a Japanese friend of mine hands me a signed copy of his book. It is my favourite book of his, albeit the only one I have ever read; the others are written in Japanese. I find it difficult to show feelings of genuine gratitude dressed as a zombie, but I will absolutely treasure his gift.

After the party, we head out to another bar for an event known as ‘Trick or Drink!’ I try to stay in character at the bar, bumping into walls, mumbling, and dragging one leg as I walk. Homer Simpson is the disc jockey, and his music choice is better than I would have imagined. My sumo wrestler friend is here too, still taller than me but a lot less drunk than the last time we met.

After getting photographed with a sumo wrestler while dressed in zombie makeup, I decide there isn’t really much else left to do in the world, so I head home to sleep.

I Warm Duck Smoke

Posted on 01/11/2014 by Luke

I wake to the sound of helicopters and sirens, more than one of each. I look out of my apartment window and see a pillar of billowing smoke that seems to be attracting the attention of five helicopters; they circle around the black cloud like flies. An ambulance buzzes by at speed, its sirens adding to the cacophony of early morning racket.

I head outside into the slums, making my way toward Minowa Station. Today, I have the pleasure of buying a Halloween costume, and the only place that offers any sort of choice, I am led to believe, is Tokyu Hands in Shibuya. At Minowa Station, there are seventeen fire engines.

I take the Hibiya Line. Distracted, I miss my stop at Ueno, so I stay on the train until Akihabara Station. I walk ten minutes through the crowd of young women in maid outfits trying to tempt me and head for Suehirocho Station. Here, I take the Ginza Line, Shibuya-bound.

It seems I have been drastically misled. Tokyu Hands has a Halloween range, albeit rather small. I begrudgingly spend ¥4800 on some awful ghoulish nonsense that I will only use once before heading back to the train station, Minowa-bound.

Outside Minowa Station, firefighters are still tackling the huge blaze, the smoke so thick that it chokes me. Helicopters armed with television cameras continue to drone on. Unbelievably, an advertising blimp for the insurance company ‘MetLife’ floats above the disaster, cashing in on some extra television airtime.

At home, I grab my bicycle and cycle toward Kanda. I get as far as Asakusa and run into my good friend and fellow bicycle enthusiast, Khin. He asks me if I’ve had lunch yet. Realising that I am actually quite hungry, I agree to join him, and we head to a gyoza restaurant. I finally get to eat one of my favourite foods, vegetable dumplings—the first time I have had this food since coming to Japan. Delicious.

After the meal, we head over to Senso-ji to get our fortunes. I luck out and receive ‘Good Fortune.’ Khin doesn’t do so well and gets ‘Regular Fortune,’ so he ties it up for the gods to deal with. My fortune says, “It is a good sign to dream of a young horse in spring and a dream of a swift horse will bee [sic] a much better sign.”

Next, we head over to the Edo Shitamachi Traditional Crafts Museum, an excellent little museum discreetly tucked away inside an indoor shopping arcade. Free entry seals the deal, and in we go. Inside, we find ourselves the only visitors. On display are fishing rods, fans, hand-forged cutters, paper lanterns, badminton rackets depicting kabuki characters, Buddhist statues, pottery, leather bags, and paintings. There is also a rack of very straight arrows.

Winter is coming, apparently. To celebrate, a small truck with a little stove on the back is circling around, selling hot sweet potatoes. As it passes by, it plays a little jingle in Japanese known as the baked potato song: ‘Ishiyaki imo, yaki imo, yaki imooooo,’ literally translating as ‘Baked sweet potatoes, sweet potatoes, sweet potatoooooes.’ I chase after the truck but waste time taking a photograph before it turns left and blazes off into the distance.

Khin and I head over to Cafe Byron Bay to meet some friends before heading out as a group of eight to a fish izakaya. Tonight is Dagmar’s last evening in Japan, so we are having a little leaving party for her. At the izakaya, we take off our shoes and sit at a nice table with tatami mat flooring. I am handed an English menu, and it just so happens to be the best menu I have ever seen.

The menu boasts the following delicious highlights:

Dirt Japanese bluefish drying a fish whole firing, ¥380
Wall thickness, taste are plentiful, and grease appears! ¥980
Semigrow and drag knob salad, ¥580
Tatami mat sardine, ¥280
Butter charcoal fire firing of the nettle tree, ¥380

The butter charcoal fire firing of the nettle tree turns out to be mushrooms, and the tatami mat sardine ends up on the floor. We eat plenty, drink plenty, and drink plenty, before going our separate ways, bidding our last goodbyes.

At home, I dream of horses in the spring.

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