Drive My Car

Posted on 19/12/2022 by Luke

Today I’m in Sasebo, Nagasaki Prefecture, and there are mountains everywhere. I walk vaguely in the direction of Sasebo Yonkacho Shotengai, a shopping arcade so big that its kilometre-long length spans across seven different towns. It is actually the longest straight and continuous shopping arcade in Japan. Sasebo Tourist Information states, “The arcade is always crowded with shoppers. Some stores accept US dollars.”

As I begin to wander through the retro shopping arcade, I notice a complete lack of not just shoppers, but shops that are open. Everything here aside from stores like Seven Eleven and Family Mart are all but closed. The arcade boasts over 160 shops, including a multitude of restaurants, souvenir shops, clothing shops, as well as daily goods stores. This morning, however, shuttered down shops with no identity fill the margins of this shopping stretch. The shopping arcade does however offer free wireless Internet, and also offers a nice break from the low winter sun on what is a relatively warm winter morning.

At the other end of the arcade, Mount Yumiharidake hovers on the distant horizon.

As I further approach the mountain, a sign tells me that the summit is 3.4 kilometres away. Having just walked one kilometre through a shopping street with relative ease, I decide that this could be an enjoyable hike to the top. There is said to be an observation deck at the peak which offers some of the best views of Sasebo and its surrounding nature, so off I go.

It seems there are multiple ways up the mountain. The boring option is to hike the entire route by simply following the main road, or as I do, take some of the more interesting routes up steep steps and rocky intervals. As more and more of the paths begin to fracture and split into narrow lanes that scale upwards from the base of the mountain, interwoven homes across narrow streets littered with cats make up the first twenty minutes of the climb.

As I continue on with my ascent, and the route begins to snake more and more, light rain begins to fall. Hot from the day and the steepness of the climb I find the rain to be a welcome refreshment and decide to rest for a moment, allowing the rain to cool me down, and my heart rate to climb back down to a steady crawl.

I stop suddenly when I notice a sign telling me to watch out for snakes, but not just any snakes, mamushi, the most venomous snakes in Japan.

As I watch out for snakes, I pass under low hanging cobwebs that drift between trees across the many muddy paths. I don’t see any other people, and other than the cats, I don’t expect that I ever will. The track spirals around and into a clearing through the woods for a time, before becoming a path again.

A little later, I pass a rather small cave carved into the rocks, I’m not sure if this is part of the climb or not, but it looks ominous, as if some unnamed horror is lurking inside. I take out my phone to capture the cave, before turning on my torch. As I bring the light to the entrance, I hear something inside begin to rustle around, perhaps a snake, and my heart begins to race, its beats increasing and repeating, an octave at a time, like an endlessly rising Bach canon fit for a king.

After taking an alternative route, I eventually reach a road where bamboo stretches off to the side, bamboo so tall that it descends deep below the road, stretching off into a distant obscurity.

Further along the road I see a sign telling me to, “Keep Out!” and below the sign is a huge drop, and I wonder who this sign is even for. Eventually, I see another sign for a car park, 300 metres away, and breathe a sigh of relief in knowing that I’m almost at the top. A third sign explains that gun hunting is prohibited in this area, perhaps the reason for the abundance of snakes.

Finally the mountain path opens up, to reveal a stunning view of the city and landscapes beyond. Its US navy base below with its massive boats. Other mountains bulge up over the horizon, the view somewhat washed white by the falling rain. Over to the west, a large labyrinth of small islands, the Kujukushima Islands, its name meaning 99 islands, but also meaning too many islands to count (there are exactly 208).

A short stroll up some stone steps, and over a small bridge, and I arrive at the Yumiharidake Observation Deck. The deck offers a nice panoramic view from atop this 364-metre tall mountain. I stand for a while, taking in the view.

A sign tells me that I can enjoy the scenery during the day as well as at night, however, I would be more fearful of climbing at night, just because it would make it especially harder to detect the snakes. The night view though is apparently amazing, and really brings out the lights of the city. There is also a free shuttle bus to the top of the mountain at regular intervals throughout the day.

I head over to the bus stop and wait. After about ten minutes, I do finally see another human being, a Japanese man pulls up beside me in his car. “No bus today,” he says. I ask him whether that’s because today is Sunday, however, he just repeats himself and says, “No bus today,” for a second time. I feel a little disappointed but before I can reply, the man points to himself and says, “Drive my car.” I tell him that I can’t drive, but this is of course not what he meant.

I sit in the back, and luckily he drives. The open window offers a refreshing breeze. After a very brief conversation in English about whether or not I know King Charles, our chat abruptly ends, so I take out my book. Men Without Women, a collection of short stories by Haruki Murakami. As we slowly descend, crawling down the mountain path, the free shuttle bus to Sasebo Station overtakes us from behind.

A Wild Frog Chase

Posted on 21/12/2014 by Luke

My morning starts with an unexpected knock at my bedroom door. Upon opening it, I find one of the Japanese men who live in my house standing there with a white carrier bag full of bread. Normally, I would find this unusual – a man at my door, giving me bread at 10 a.m. when I should be sound asleep. However, nothing is usual in my apartment. This same man, two weeks ago, gave me a box of laundry powder for no particular reason. Moreover, he believes I am fluent in Japanese. Not once has he engaged in a conversation with me in English. I simply nod, mutter some of my limited Japanese in his direction, and accept the loaf of bread.

With the thought of the donated bread weighing on my mind, I decide to hop on my bicycle and head to the nearby Arakawa Park, a place I haven’t visited before.

This park seems to have somehow partially escaped the shedding of its leaves. On one side, it is skeletally bare; on the other side, it flourishes with nature. Laundry powder and bread. It is no secret that since being in Japan, I have lost an extreme amount of weight. Week by week, I find myself becoming skinnier, although previously, I didn’t think such a possibility could even exist. Perhaps that offers an explanation for the bread. However, my clothes are in no way dirty and in need of additional laundry powder.

I park my bicycle and take a seat on a bench to read my book: Murakami’s ‘Super-Frog Saves Tokyo.’ After consuming the book from start to finish, I take a little wander around the park. I come across a sign that says, ‘Do not feed the cats or pigeons.’ Oddly enough, I’ve seen multiple signs about feeding pigeons, often adorned with amusing text in speech bubbles, such as, ‘Don’t feed me; I can get my own foods.’ However, this is the first time I’ve seen a sign specifically addressing not feeding felines. With perfect timing, a cat appears from nowhere and takes a seat directly in front of the sign.

The ginger cat decides to follow me around the park, meowing at me for food. Cats of this colour seem to have a habit of trailing behind me. I wander amongst the threadbare trees and reach a stone gazebo. Beneath the shelter, the homeless roam – about ten in total, walking around seemingly without purpose, wearing threadbare clothing to match the trees. They resemble characters in the starting area of an online role-playing game: lost, confused, and not knowing where they’re supposed to go. It strikes me that these people, much like the poor cat, actually don’t have anywhere to go.

I leave the park and stop off at a nearby shrine, only to be chased away by two massive guard dogs on leashes. Clearly, this shrine doesn’t welcome tourists. A little further up the road, I realise that as this day becomes more about animals, a better choice of reading material today would have been Agatha Christie’s ‘Cat Among the Pigeons’ because, for a second time in an hour, that’s exactly what I see.

Leaving the stray cats behind, I cycle toward Nippori. One of my favourite things to do to keep myself occupied in Tokyo is cycling on warm days and exploring new areas. Without any real destination, I often pedal along, discovering random things that interest me. Today, the low winter sun provides the heat, and the opportunity to explore is seized.

I cycle through Fabric Town, passing a couple of interesting shops along the way. Highlights include a leather shop called ‘Touch of Fleather,’ a shoe store named ‘And Shoes,’ and a textile shop simply called ‘Tomato.’ After arriving at Nippori Station, I carry my bicycle up some steps and over the tracks. On the other side of the tracks, I am greeted by another bird in the form of a giant stone owl.

The owl describes itself as a ‘Memorial Monument for Takamura Kotaro,’ a famous Japanese poet and sculptor. Why they chose to honour his life with a statue of an owl is beyond me, but it looks nice, so I thought I would include it. The owl sits on Suwadai Street, a peculiar street that is at an elevation higher than the skyscrapers beyond. Additionally, the street boasts fifteen different temples and shrines.

I check the GPS on my camera to make sure that I’m still in Tokyo. Up here, even though I am just twenty minutes from my house, it feels like I am in the middle of the countryside. The nature in this area is simply stunning. I see a few signs with directions to a viewing point. On a clear day, I can witness the spectacle of a Mount Fuji sunset, where the sun and the mountain share the horizon. Unfortunately, I can’t see Mount Fuji — the story of my life. Nevertheless, I do get to witness the setting sun over a distant Tokyo skyline.

I cycle away from the temples, shrines, and stunning views, heading into Yanaka. The area is still uphill and features many old houses surrounded by leafless trees. I end up at a small market along some narrow streets: Yanaka Ginza Street. Conveniently downhill, the opportunity to cruise along, engaging in window shopping, controlling the flow of bicycle wheels with intermittent braking, is an enjoyment in itself. Navigating between the crowds of people, I narrowly miss shoppers who are presumably there to buy things they don’t need to impress people they don’t care about. As I try to remember a quote from Palahniuk’s ‘Fight Club,’ I get distracted and almost crash into a woman carrying a baby. Naturally, the baby starts screaming in fits of hysteria, so naturally, I cycle away as fast as I can.

I continue cycling until I arrive at another new place, Nezu. The streets here are adorned with beautifully crafted old lampposts and festive Christmas lanterns.

Apart from a full-size train carriage parked randomly on the footpath, there isn’t much else to see in Nezu, so I head back toward familiarity. Outside Ueno Park, I study the map, desperately looking for something of interest. Four museums, but all presumably closed today; that’s how these things usually go. Then, something on the sign catches my eye. Perhaps it’s because I read about a character called ‘Frog’ today, or maybe some other intuition takes over, but the moment I spot a tiny dot on the huge map of Ueno Park below a caption saying ‘Fountain of Frog,’ I know that this will be my final destination today.

I search the park, passing dying crops and concrete views. After thirty minutes, the sun has completely set, and the weather has turned cold. Fierce winds chill the air but aren’t strong enough to dissuade my search. I cycle around the park, and each time I spot a map, I stop to double-check the location of the fountain. I often find that the fountain has changed its location from one map to the next, and on other maps, it has disappeared completely. Not one to give up on a personal challenge, I persist in my search for the elusive Fountain of Frog. Eventually, after forty-five minutes of cycling around Ueno Park, I find what I’ve been looking for.

As it turns out, the Fountain of Frog is exactly what it sounds like: a small statue of a frog spitting water into an even smaller fountain. I head home, my mind filled with a sense of disenchantment. It’s a rather disappointing end to the day, but at least I have bread.

The Other Side of the Tracks

Posted on 12/08/2014 by Luke

I said goodbye to Nagoya after spending five days there, realising that I could have used my time better, particularly during three of those days. The travel cost me ¥1950 and took two hours. During the train ride, I managed to read over half of my new book, ‘South of the Border, West of the Sun.’ Interestingly, it was around the time I changed trains at Toyohashi Station that a scene in the book unfolded in Toyohashi itself. I’ve nearly given up trying to attribute too much thought or meaning to these coincidences.

I arrived at Hamamatsu just before two. I would have arrived a bit earlier if two of my trains hadn’t been running late – not very Japanese-like. It’s unexpectedly warm outside. Sitting on a dull, air-conditioned train is quite deceptive, especially after the frankly terrible weather in Nagoya for the last few days. I immediately noticed the distinct lack of tall buildings here.

I find my hotel on the map, it is probably a five minute walk. I take an unnecessary shortcut through a small shopping arcade. There are no voodoo dolls hanging here, but there might as well be. Every shop is closed or abandoned, and there’s no music playing. “Welcome to Hamamatsu,” I mutter to myself.

I notice that a significant number of signs here are in Portuguese. “Você está aqui,” says the map. Perhaps Hamamatsu has a large Portuguese-speaking population. My suspicions are somewhat confirmed as I pass a Brazilian imported goods store and a small boarded-up Portuguese restaurant.

Opposite the front door of my hotel is a construction site. However, it seems to be a day off because there are no workmen with flashing red sticks. Inside the hotel lobby, there’s a cream grand piano. It serves as a nice centrepiece for the room, but it also appears slightly lonely and seldom used.

I can’t check in for another twenty minutes, so I leave my bag and take a quick walk around the block. Behind the hotel, there are some incredibly old-looking Japanese houses. I can’t quite tell if they’re still inhabited or not; they seem to have weathered quite a bit, as if the Big Bad Wolf has paid them a visit.

On this side of the train tracks, I count two Seven Elevens and one Family Mart. Every now and then, the pavement bears etchings of musical instruments; they look old and worn, as if they were made many years ago.

At 3 p.m., I check in. This is the second hotel in Japan where I’ve stayed without any wireless Internet. I can’t believe it. The building itself resembles more of a block of apartments than a hotel. I decide to rent the hotel’s laptop for both nights at ¥500 per night, which is actually not that bad.

My room provides only the basic amenities, but the hotel does have ¥180 cans of beer on the vending machine floor, although it’s only Kirin Beer. The hotel information seems quite standard, except for one exciting detail: “We offer free curry and rice from 17:00 to 20:00.” Yet, there’s a neat, hand-drawn ink line through this particular piece of information. Not available today, it seems.

The laptop itself loads sluggishly, which is a common issue I’ve encountered in Japan. It’s so old that it doesn’t recognise my camera, preventing me from uploading any photographs. I search for the nearest Internet cafe and after a considerable effort, it finally locates a Popeye Media Cafe. Perfect.

I head toward the Internet cafe, taking the underpass beneath the train tracks. On the other side, I’m greeted by shrubbery and flowers; it’s like entering a different world.

The area here is bustling with shops, restaurants, and people—a lively hub of human life. I navigate using a photograph of the map and the GPS on my camera. In Japan, pedestrian crossings typically emit a loud drone or a repetitive beep-beep, beep-beep, or one of two tunes, all permanently etched into my memory. However, not in Hamamatsu. Here, classical music resonates from the loudspeakers. I cross the road to the tune of Chopin.

After some time, I finally arrive at my destination, thanks to Google. Looking around, I realise I’m in the middle of the woods. Insects buzz loudly and mechanically around me. Surprisingly, there’s not a media cafe in sight.

I walk through the woods for a while and stumble upon a castle. There’s always a castle, it seems.

It’s half past five, yet the castle gate stands wide open, tempting me to wander inside. This is one of the smallest castles I’ve come across—deserted, with only the castle tower and gates standing tall.

Right next door to the castle sits the Hamamatsu Municipal Museum of Art. They’re hosting a special exhibition for the next two weeks: ‘The Genesis of Ultraman 1966-1980.’ How interesting.

To return to the main roads, I need to trek through the Sakusa Woods. Roughly five minutes into the woods, a Suntory Boss vending machine appears, offering either a welcome reward or a disruption to the tranquillity, depending on one’s perspective.

After ten more minutes, I might be lost in the woods. Endless loops of footpaths and stone stairways wind back and forth. Occasionally, I catch glimpses of the city through the trees. However, every turn I take towards it seems to carry me further away.

After twenty minutes, I find myself back at Hamamatsu Castle. From there, I retrace my initial steps and eventually discover an exit. It’s no wonder this small castle has survived for so many years. None of the advancing armies could locate it amidst the tangle of woods.

Abandoning my search for the media cafe, I make my way back to the train station. Along the way, I pass by a massive Yamaha store, the Watanabe Music Company, a shop named Viola, and three guitar shops. There’s an unmistakable musical vibe to this city.

At the station, I make my way towards what appears to be the tallest building in Hamamatsu, known as ‘Act City.’ It turns out to be a vast concert hall, but the next performance isn’t until Friday. I ascend the steps to an area named ‘Chopin Hill’.

Standing proudly atop the steps is a statue of the Polish composer Frédéric Chopin—a 1:1 scale replica of the famous bronze statue crafted by Wacław Szymanowski. Interestingly, the original statue resides in Warsaw, which happens to be Hamamatsu’s sister city.

I stroll to the open terrace and enjoy a splendid view of the train station below. The city appears lively from this side of the tracks, even quite beautiful.

I head to Seven Eleven for some food and decide to sit outside the shop for thirty minutes, making use of their free wireless Internet to upload my photographs.

Just after 7 p.m., I leave the land of the living and return to the side of the train station that contains my hotel. The atmosphere is eerily silent. On my way back to the hotel, I encounter only one other person—a young woman who, amidst the desolation, could easily be mistaken for a ghost.

There is one positive thing though, the pavement this side seems to be fairly new, and very flat. The perfect surface for running on, or for running away from ghosts.

When Haricot Met Celery

Posted on 07/08/2014 by Luke

I wake up at 9 a.m. and head down to the lobby for my Japanese-style breakfast. The food is almost identical to yesterday. The grilled fish of the day is once again salmon. The only change is that my cooked seasonal vegetables today are haricot beans and peppers, mixed in with natto. My side salad includes corn on the cob, celery, and red onion. I gaze out of the window whilst I struggle with my breakfast, a meal I am not used to eating.

After breakfast, I take the subway from Shin-Osaka Station to Namba Station. Getting off the train, I head toward the famous Namba Grand Kagetsu Theatre, hoping to catch some manzai comedy. Osaka actually produces most of the comedians in Japan. Manzai is a type of stand-up comedy where two comedians perform a routine together. Even if in Japanese, good manzai can be very funny to watch because a big part of the show is the timings and actions on stage. Sadly, there is no performance happening at the moment.

I check my map and decide to head to a place called ‘Americamura.’ I wonder what I will find there.

Shops here sell American clothing, some entirely dedicated to selling baseball hats or soccer jerseys. Mixed in with this madness are shops selling skate, punk, and retro clothing. I enter a bookshop that sells herbal teas, skateboards, and, of course, books.

All of the big brands have their own ‘flagship’ stores here. Mixed in with the clothing are some really cheap-looking bars selling inexpensive drinks. Surprisingly, all the tourists and shoppers here are Japanese; there isn’t an American in sight. I’m not quite sure how this place came to be. After a few blocks, I see a Tokyu Hands; the store marks for me where America ends and Japan begins again.

I decide to take a break from the heat and head to the fifth floor using the Tokyu Hands elevator. The shop describes itself as a ‘Creative Life Store’, offering a vast array of products. On this floor, they have party supplies, a variety of items, magician supplies, and bicycles. A song from the film ‘Frozen’ is playing, the Japanese version. I check out some of the cool gadgets, then glance at the prices of bicycles; they’re quite expensive here.

If you’re not particularly interested in shopping, today probably isn’t for you—or for me. I head into the Shin-sai-bashi shopping arcade. This is one of Osaka’s oldest and busiest shopping areas, stretching for approximately 600 metres. Everything you ever wanted is in this arcade.

There is a shop that only sells ‘Hello Kitty’ goods, and another named ‘Pancakes, Teas, Coffee, and Happy.’ I’ve noticed that in Osaka, the word happy is used an awful lot. SoftBank, a Japanese telecommunications company, has its own robot. It moves around and engages in a conversation with me about their new products. His name is Pepper.

Also in the shopping arcade are the usual clothes shops, restaurants, and souvenir shops. I head into my second bookshop of the day, Junkudo. I’m searching for two specific books. I find one of them, ‘Pinball 1973,’ but it’s only available in the Japanese version. I’m trying to get hold of the English version printed for Japanese people to practice their English skills.

As I leave the bookshop, I’m taken slightly aback by a sign. At the bottom of the escalator, there’s an advertisement for ‘Meets,’ the bar I mentioned a few days ago. It displays a price list along with some other Japanese text. I take a photograph and add it to my folder of coincidences. Back in the arcade, that same song from the film ‘Frozen’ is playing.

Next, I visit a place called Dotonbori. The pavement here is littered with small restaurants and pachinko parlours. Each restaurant is stacked high, adorned with brightly coloured signage that becomes illuminated in the evenings. It’s the sort of street that I imagine looks just like a scene from Blade Runner at dusk, especially when it’s raining.

On the other side of Namba Station are shops selling manga and anime in an area known as Den Den Town. I spot two or three shops exclusively dedicated to selling Magic: The Gathering playing cards. Other shops offer model figurines and electronics. It reminds me of Akihabara, but on a much smaller scale. Girls dressed as maids stand on street corners, attempting to lure people into the many maid cafes.

I waste a quick ¥500 in a Sega video game arcade before heading back to the train station. At the station, I have to walk through even more shops to reach the platform. I take the Koya Line just one stop to Shin-imamiya Station. I decide to check out a place called Spa World, but it seems luck isn’t on my side as there’s a fence around it, and it appears to be closed for construction.

Instead, I head toward a tower in the distance. To reach the tower, I have to walk down yet another shopping street.

Unlike the other shopping streets, this one boasts a 103.3-metre-tall tower right in the middle—Tsutenkaku Tower, meaning ‘Tower reaching heaven.’ I also admire the Carnival Cutouts; one depicts what seems to be a sumo wrestler devouring a skewer of meat or wielding a rolling pin. It’s a bit ambiguous, but my guess would be a skewer, considering that’s all the restaurants in this area seem to be selling.

I choose a completely empty restaurant, taking a seat wherever I want, and order a Suntory whisky highball with lemon. With the number of times I’ve mentioned their whisky and coffee, I should probably get some commission money from Suntory. I opt for three salmon skewers and three white fish skewers. While I wait, I snack on the complimentary fresh lettuce and sip my highball.

The white fish turns out to be haddock, while the salmon is fresh, served with a light tartare sauce dressing. The skewered meat is already prepared on the counter; all the chef needs to do is cover each fish with flour, egg, and breadcrumbs before deep frying each stick in oil. This restaurant has all sorts of crazy ideas, but the ones that stand out are cheesecake skewers, ice cream skewers, and banana skewers. I’d eat fried fish on sticks every day if it weren’t for the fact that it would probably kill me. At ¥1050, not bad with a drink.

I head back out into the scorching sunshine. At the end of the shopping street is a zoo, complete with a Snow White Clock Tower. The time is now ten to three in the afternoon, so I decide to wait and see if anything happens on the hour. My life is that exciting. Sure enough, at three, everything starts moving, singing, and dancing, and then Snow White emerges from the clock. Not to be missed—the Tennoji Zoo.

At Tennoji Station, I board what I believe is the Osaka Loop Line. As it turns out, it isn’t. After three stops, everyone disembarks. I find myself disoriented; there are no signs indicating my location. I board the train across the platform, which indicates it’s the Rapid Service bound for Nara. Fortunately, it stops back at Tennoji Station. Returning to where I started, I board the Osaka Loop Line to Osaka. From there, I transfer trains to Shin-Osaka, before deciding that six trains in a day are plenty.

Back at the hotel, I read for a while before sorting through my photographs of the day. I stare at the sign I saw in the bookshop, advertising that same bar. I decide to head out and see if it is open tonight. I walk ten minutes to the bar and am pleased to see its shutters up.

I first visited Meets when I was in Osaka in July 2012. The bar is L-shaped and has a total of seven seats. That night two years ago remains my favourite nightlife experience in Japan. Despite its small size, there were two members of staff working there: a man and a young woman who bore a striking resemblance to Jennifer Aniston. I spent the whole evening talking to her. However, she didn’t speak a word of English, so we conversed in turns using her smartphone translation application. She would speak in Japanese, I would read the text, and then reply in English, and so on.

Anyway, back to today. Only one member of staff is working, a Japanese man called Ken. He’s the same guy who was working that night two years ago. I order a Suntory whisky highball and take a seat. I’m the only customer; a baseball game is playing on the television. At 8:50 p.m., Ken switches the television channel from baseball to the ending credits of a random show whose name I might never know. On-screen for no longer than three seconds appears Micaela Braithwaite, the woman I greeted in Fukuoka. I can’t snap a photograph fast enough.

The bar I saw advertised in a bookshop today, and he changes the channel at that exact moment. Ten seconds later, the credits stop and the adverts begin. What are the chances? Sometimes, it feels like I’m living inside my own memories. “I’ve worked here for three years now,” Ken tells me, chipping in with small talk.

Next, a girl named Mana enters the scene. She is from Taito, the same ward in Tokyo as Asakusa; we are practically neighbours, though a million miles away from home. We drink. Ken writes all of our names in kanji, while I write them in hiragana and katakana. We continue drinking. Mana and I talk about Asakusa, although our conversation is limited to basic English and basic Japanese. Unfortunately, there’s never a smartphone translation application around when you need one.

At 10 p.m., I finish my final highball, bid goodbye to Mana, and say farewell to Ken. My bill comes to ¥2500 for four singles and a double. “See you in two years,” I tell Ken, jokingly.

After Meets, I attempt to find some food; I haven’t eaten anything since the fish on sticks. The area around Nishinakajimaminamigata Station is littered with touts, neon lights, and shady massage parlours. I’ve been craving curry for perhaps a week. The first restaurant, simply named ‘Indian Restaurant,’ displays ‘Last Orders at 11:30 p.m.’ As I approach, the Japanese chef who’s taking in the sign informs me that they are closed.

The second restaurant is owned by a Nepalese family and is open. Inside, I order a bottle of ‘Nepal Ice,’ having never tried it before; do as the Nepalese do, and all that. The beer boldly claims to be the ‘coolest beer.’ It’s pale with a slight bitterness, just like me.

I order the classic vegetable curry, egg rice, and garlic naan. The Nepalese waiter speaks English but habitually addresses me in Japanese. “Poppadom,” he says as he hands me a spicy poppadom.
“Arigatou gozaimasu,” I reply in Japanese, out of habit. The poppadom is a little stale but spicy; it will do. Hopefully, it isn’t a taste of things to come. The muskiness is slightly drowned out by the spice, and the spice itself is drowned out by the Nepal Ice.

My food arrives, and I order a second bottle of beer. The spice level is almost perfect—perhaps it could be a tiny bit hotter, but I don’t mind much. I pay ¥2350 for two drinks and a really good curry.

Withdrawal & I

Posted on 02/08/2014 by Luke

Today, I have a rough plan: a day trip to Nara with a stop in Uji. Last night, I arranged to meet my friend Slavek at noon. He’s planning on going to Nara anyway, so we decide to travel together. However, I wake up at 11 a.m. with a hangover; I shouldn’t have stayed up until 4 a.m. drinking whisky and teaching people magic tricks.

Slavek and I walk to Kyoto Station. I’m pleased to find that he is a fellow fast walker, and his pace matches mine perfectly. It takes us ten minutes at a brisk stride. On the way, I stop off at Seven Eleven to withdraw a ¥10,000 note. Seven Eleven cash machines are the only ones that accept my card in Japan, and the minimum withdrawal here is ten thousand yen. We pay ¥240 and head to Uji by train. Slavek is a very clever guy with great English skills, a keen eye for both nutrition and politics, and he’s an avid Haruki Murakami reader. We have decent conversations. In Uji, we’re off to see the temple that is depicted on every ten-yen coin.

I’m fond of Japanese coins. The 100% aluminium ¥1 coin floats on water and sticks to any part of your face without falling off. The copper ¥10 coin brought us to Uji to see the temple. The ¥500 coin is the most valuable everyday coin globally, and it’s also the most interesting. When tilted at a certain angle, you can spot the kanji for ‘five-hundred-yen’ hidden in the grooved lines. Additionally, the word ‘Japan’ is discreetly engraved in 0.2mm across the coin’s face.

Amidst my blathering about coinage, we end up missing the stop for Uji. Getting off the train, we cross the platform and board another train bound for Kyoto Station. It’s an easy mistake, one forgiven by the Japanese train ticketing system. Finally arriving at Uji Station, we head to Byodoin Temple, the one featured on the ten-yen coin.

Byodoin is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, marking another off my list. It’s one of the few remaining examples of Heian temple architecture in Japan, dating back to its original construction in 998 AD. Surprisingly, it doesn’t seem to attract many tourists; in fact, most of the visitors I see here are Japanese. The temple features Japan’s most beautiful Pure Land Gardens among the few that remain, alongside a small museum, both covered by the entry fee.

The museum has won four architecture awards. Inside, it houses 52 wooden Bodhisattvas, the temple bell, the south-end Phoenix, and other historically noteworthy items. Additionally, the temple bell here is recognised as a national treasure. I discover that the golden phoenix here is the same one depicted on the rear side of the ¥10,000 note. More money musings. After exploring the museum, we hop onto a packed train filled with tourists heading to Nara:

We arrive in Nara just after 3 p.m. It’s a warm afternoon, thankfully quite cloudy. Heading to Todaiji Temple, we pass a lovely pond with turtles swimming around. We also visit a few smaller temples and a five-storey pagoda. Kohfukuji Temple, part of the Historic Monuments of Ancient Nara, is sadly closed for reconstruction. Surprisingly, it closed in October 2010 and won’t be ready until 2018. Eight years to reconstruct a temple. Just nuts.

And then there are the deer. Sika Deer roam freely through the town, with an estimated 1,200 of them in Nara. You can purchase deer snacks and feed them to these creatures. I’ve been told that the deer bow when you feed them. We witness a herd waiting patiently at a red crossing light, only crossing when the light turns green. They’re remarkably tame.

Todaiji Temple is the second-largest wooden structure on the planet. It was built during the Nara period on the instruction of Emperor Shomu. We pay our ¥600 entry fee and stroll through the gardens toward the temple. On the temple grounds, there used to be two 100-metre-tall pagodas, but they were destroyed during an earthquake. In 751 AD, these pagodas would have been the second tallest structures in the world, after the Egyptian Pyramids.

Some interesting facts about the temple: Emperor Shomu issued a law in Japan stating that the people should directly participate in the creation of new Buddhist temples across the country. Thanks to this law, 2,600,000 people were involved in the construction of the Great Buddha Hall and the statue inside.

Another interesting fact: the Great Buddha Hall is 1/3 smaller than the original, as it burnt down in 1180 AD and again in 1567 AD. That’s what you get when you build it entirely out of wood. I’ve noticed that nearly every temple I’ve visited in Kyoto has suffered the same fate of burning down and being rebuilt. Inside the hall stands the statue of the Vairocana Buddha, also known as the ‘Buddha that shines throughout the world like a sun.’

This is the world’s largest bronze image of the Buddha, towering at 14.98 metres. The construction of this Buddha nearly bankrupted the Japanese economy at the time, as it consumed all of the available bronze in the country. Sadly, behind the statue, there are many small gift shops that seem out of place and frankly spoil the ambiance of the scene.

It’s just after 5 p.m., so Slavek and I decide to grab some food in Nara. We end up eating far too much sushi, spending a total of ¥6436 at the restaurant. Later, we hop on the express train back to Kyoto, mistakenly using our tickets intended for the local train. During the journey, the conductor asks us to pay an additional ¥510 as a surplus charge for the express train. The express train takes about twenty minutes, half the time of the local train. Finally, we walk back to the hostel from Kyoto Station.

In the hostel bar, I enjoy ¥500 glasses of Suntory whisky highball. It’s not until my third drink that I inquire about the price of a double, as the standard highball is a bit weak for my taste. “It’s ¥500,” explains Daiki, the barman. So, after being here for five nights, I discover that a double whisky and soda costs the same as a single. If this holds true in all Japanese bars, I’m in luck. I also order some bar snacks—¥100 for mixed nuts. Daiki places a small bowl on a tiny set of scales, pouring nuts into the bowl until they reach the specified weight. Just nuts.

Prelude to a Quiche

Posted on 30/07/2014 by Luke

The Kaleidoscope Museum is a unique establishment with a fascinating twist. It proudly exhibits fifty distinct kaleidoscopes, chosen from an expanding collection of approximately 150 pieces. Among these are exceptionally valuable kaleidoscopes crafted by renowned artists from various corners of the world. I discovered that the term ‘kaleidoscope’ originates from Greek roots: ‘kalos‘ meaning ‘beautiful’, ‘eidos‘ meaning ‘form’, and ‘scopes‘ meaning ‘to look at’—a beautiful amalgamation that translates to ‘to look at beautiful forms’.

At the museum, visitors can freely pick up and use kaleidoscopes, ranging from finely crafted ones to those ingeniously made from plastic drink bottles. Among the assortment, my favourite piece doubles as a music box, serenading me with a tune while the images twirl before my eyes. Additionally, there’s a quaint shop within the premises offering kaleidoscopes, kits, and keychains. It’s a fantastic way to kick-start the day. Unfortunately, photography isn’t permitted, and I find myself constantly shadowed by a staff member. However, I manage to sneak a photograph of the inside of a kaleidoscope when she isn’t looking.

After leaving the museum, I walk for fifteen minutes, crossing the river to reach Yoboji Temple. I feel it’s only fair that my first temple is a Nichiren Buddhist one—the school of Buddhism I am familiar with. The Temple was built in 1548. It’s actually a rebuilding of two temples that previously occupied the area but had been burnt to the ground two years before.

In 1536, the warrior-monks of Mount Hiei attacked the city, burning down all 21 of the Nichiren Buddhist head temples in Kyoto, along with the entire southern half of the city and a substantial portion of the northern half. This event is known as the Tenmon Persecution. The temple itself is rather quaint.

Not far from Yoboji Temple, I stumble upon a Paper and Printing Item Shop. The gallery is tiny, and a woman sits at the desk, watching my every move. I’m tempted to pull out my camera and capture a photograph of one of the ornamental fans or origami animals, but to avoid any hassle, I decide against it.

I choose to visit a shrine next. The road I stroll along is lined with various temples, shrines, plenty of walking routes, maps, and bus stops. You can literally shrine-hop by taking the bus if you’re feeling lazy. However, I prefer to walk, and I’m not inclined to see more than one temple and shrine a day. It can be a bit overwhelming to take in too much at once. I ascend about fifty concrete steps to reach Awata-jinga Shrine. Before entering, I participate in the purification ritual.

This tradition of cleansing is observed before entering a sacred space. The basin here features a water-breathing dragon, which also serves as the source of water for the ritual. I must admit, this is one of the most exquisite purification basins I’ve encountered at a Shinto shrine. I start by washing my left hand, then my right hand, and finally, my mouth.

Awata-jinga Shrine dates back to 794 AD and specialises in preventing illness. However, inside the shrine, someone is noisily using an electric saw, which disrupts the serenity of the moment for me. Nevertheless, the shrine itself is visually stunning. I descend the fifty or so steps and continue along a road lined with traditional Japanese-style houses.

Downtown Kyoto bustles with tourists, drawn here to explore the shrines, temples, museums, galleries, restaurants, and the renowned souvenir shops the city offers. I spot three cat cafes and a lone dog cafe among the bustling streets. Purchasing a can of cold coffee from a vending machine, I encounter one of those machines that promises a prize if it lands on triple sevens. Miraculously, it does! I win any drink of my choice, and naturally, I opt for a second can of Coffee Boss Rainbow Blend.

It’s mid-afternoon, and feeling a bit peckish, I opt for a light bite to eat. Given the scorching 35°C temperature, I choose to stay in the cool shade of the shopping arcade. A sign catches my eye, indicating a vegan and organic cafe nearby. As I step inside, I’m greeted with a chorus of “Hello” from the other patrons. Taking a seat, I order a set meal featuring a vegan quiche.

My food promptly arrives—a serving of vegan quiche, accompanied by a delightful salad dressed in a delicious vinaigrette, a ramekin of squash, chickpeas, and peppers. Alongside it comes a bowl of leek, cabbage, and mushroom soup, complemented by glasses of cold water and cold green tea. The entire meal comes to ¥918. If I weren’t already full, I’d happily indulge in another slice of quiche—it was that delicious.

Outside the cafe, a guy on a bicycle whizzes past, blaring an air horn from the spot where a bell would typically be. The shopping arcade strictly prohibits vehicles, including bicycles. A bit further along, I encounter a television crew filming people and asking them why they enjoy eating crêpes. While tempted to participate, I realise I’m not particularly fond of eating crêpes.

Back at the hostel, I settle on the roof with a can of Suntory whisky highball, delving into my fifth Haruki Murakami novel since arriving here sixty-two days ago. The air has cooled, and the refreshing breeze is a welcome relief. Japan has been grappling with a severe heatwave for the past week, and it seems it will persist right through until the weekend.

I read until 8 p.m. before heading to a nearby music shop for a free gig. A stage has been set up next to the ukuleles. The band performing is a two-piece folk band. Their sound is somewhat average. Nonetheless, it’s pleasant to experience some live music, even though the venue is rather unusual.

“My night winds down at the hostel bar, talking to random people with their random ideas.

Rice and Shime

Posted on 18/07/2014 by Luke

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Paella and Rioja happen.

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

The reflection of Lawson blue bounces off the glass beyond.

Sentient Pigs, Birthday Cake, Neon Electric Girl

Posted on 17/07/2014 by Luke

Today is different. For some reason I don’t feel like myself, I cannot explain how I feel. I just don’t feel right. I decide to sell my second camera, a Nikon. Never used. My Samsung camera literally taking all of the action.

I take a bicycle. Thirty minutes later, I arrive at Reisen Park. I step into the ‘We buy and sell any camera’ shop and place my bulky Nikon on the desk. I hand the man all the wires, still locked inside opaque plastic. ‘Charger?’ he asks. Oh, I forgot the charger.

One hour later, I return to Reisen Park with the charger, and the sale concludes. In the park opposite, a stage appears to be taken down. I stop by a bookshop and use some of my camera money to purchase a book; there are so many books I need to read. I spend ¥1160 on the one I choose, ‘Kafka on the Shore’.

Outside the rain drops like scattered gunfire, but you probably don’t care about the weather. I decide to grab an early lunch from the second floor of Hakata Station. I deliberately go via one of the shortest escalators in the World. Just for fun.

Most restaurants in Japan display plastic models of their dishes outside. These models are crafted so meticulously that mistaking them for real food is easy if you didn’t know any better. The attention to detail is incredible. Taking a chance, I enter a restaurant that lacks these plastic models, leaving me clueless about what’s on the menu.

It is one of those restaurants where Japanese is the only language spoken, which is fine by me. I order a set meal of tuna on seaweed with rice, accompanied by something resembling coleslaw but with a different taste, miso soup, a spicy horseradish green condiment (the name escapes my memory), and a delicious red bean cake for dessert. Overall, it’s a nice meal.

After I leave, a woman chases me out of the restaurant with my forgotten umbrella.

I return the bicycle to the hostel, just as the rain stops. I sit on the roof terrace and read eighty-six pages of Kafka on the Shore.

After reading, I take a stroll around at dusk. I walk toward Tenjin. I take a photograph of the city from the river, and then walk back. I was going to fill up space by talking about wasting electricity with all this neon, I will instead waste words telling you that Fukuoka is the sixth biggest city in Japan.

I realise on my walk back that I haven’t been on a train or bus for three days. Maybe I haven’t done anything but read for two. A Chinook passes over me. Ironically, I am on my way to meet a helicopter pilot.

At the bar, the manager pours me a free glass of ice cold rice wine. The helicopter pilot is with his wife. I talk to him for ten minutes, before sitting at the bar with my book. Not to disturb him as his food arrives. The helicopter pilot is Japanese, I met him last night in the same bar. His English is average. He told me to come back again today, “Not a problem,” I told him. “The bar is five minutes from my hostel.”

I sit at the bar for a while, eyeing the skewers of meat atop the glass counter. Eventually, the helicopter pilot’s daughter arrives. She’s studying English at university, and for the next two hours, we converse in English. Her eyes are a deep-set brown, strikingly profound. Her black hair has an unusual texture, reminiscent of straw to the touch.

I agree to meet her tomorrow over a bowl of Paella. She leaves. I pay for six Suntory whisky highballs and her orange juice, ¥2345. A nice clean number.

As I wander back via a Lawson Stores, I see these odd workers:

I see them everywhere, actually. They stand on roads, at entrances to car parks, and next to building sites. They wave on traffic and pedestrians with their red lightsabers. Sometimes there will be three or four, all standing on the quietest street next to a cement mixer or ladder. A very strange job.

Back at the hostel I have a craving for salt and vinegar crisps; another thing that I cannot find here. I sit in the lounge with a can of Suntory whisky highball, and talk with the Koreans. There is a Korean woman who is both the same age as me, and two years younger. East Asian age reckoning.

It becomes one of the Koreans birthday; an amazing cake duly arrives, bang on midnight.

One of the Korean guys is studying philosophy, and his sister is incredibly intelligent. We talk about philosophy, another thing I really miss doing. He quite likes my discussion on M-theory. We also talk a lot about sentient pigs.

The intelligent Korean girl tells me that my eyes look lonely.

Much Beppu About Nothing

Posted on 13/07/2014 by Luke

I haven’t really done any touristy things during my last two days in Beppu. Instead, I have listened to far too much Blind Pilot and filled the rest of my days reading Haruki Murakami. In the evenings I have visited bars. On Friday night I got to the semi-finals of a Table Tennis tournament, only to be beaten by Yojiro. Today I will write about general things in Japan.

Vending machines. There are far too many Coca Cola vending machines for my liking. One is too many if I am completely honest. As a non-consumer of this particular brand of misery (reasons: child labour, worker rights, pollution, murder), I often find myself cycling around looking for a machine with the Suntory Boss brand. The best vending machines offer Coffee Boss Rainbow Blend, and if I am really lucky, Boss Ice Creamy Latte.

Vending machine coffee in the summer is mostly cold. I have always enjoyed cold coffee anyway. In the winter, the machine changes and the can of coffee is hot. In the vending machine above, Coffee Boss Rainbow Blend is on a Price Down!

In Japan, there are far too many silly notices and signs in English; most have terrible grammar and bad spelling. Presumably these signs are mistranslated when they are put through Yahoo! BableFish. Google is surprisingly unpopular amongst the Japanese people. For news, emails, and searches, almost everyone here uses Yahoo! Here is an example of a bad sign:

I like umbrellas.

Yesterday I met a vegetarian couple. They decided before coming to Japan that being a vegetarian here would be ‘too difficult’, so they have chosen to eat meat while they are here. I don’t quite understand this logic. Admittedly, vegetarianism is somewhat uncommon here. I find that simply learning to explain that you don’t eat certain foods will get you by. I have even seen people with printouts in Japanese explaining their dietary requirements. There are ways, and there are also plenty of amazing vegetarian dishes here too.

I think I have mentioned it before, but the streets here are littered with cats. Here are some cats:

There are a lot of things I miss about England. Eating cheese. Crust on my sandwiches. Coleslaw. Sometimes I really wish I could sit playing the guitar for a few hours, but I don’t have a guitar here, maybe I can rent one. I also mentioned the stars before. Never visible. So strange. Maybe it is just because of the weather. When I finally see the stars I will probably write a huge post about it.

I went for a late-night walk in the ocean last night. The ocean here appears clear or blue, depending on the time of day. Sitting on the beach at midnight with a few beers, followed by a walk in the warm ocean — even at midnight, the air here stays warm. Even during heavy rain, the air remains warm. I’m uncertain about the winter; time will tell.

Here is the ocean in the day time. Very blue:

Walking around at night with a beer and not breaking the law is also amazing. Convenience stores are everywhere, so if you cant find any nightlife, you can buy a beer from Seven Eleven, finish it by the time you get to Family Mart, buy a beer, finish it by the time you get to Lawson Stores, et cætera. Basically if you walked to every 24-hour convenience store in one area buying one beer at a time, you would get nicely drunk. I count eight stores within ten minute walking distance from my hostel.

I enjoy the lampposts and traffic lights playing happy tunes. I like being in Japan and being from England. When most Japanese people ask me where I am from, their attitude changes when I say England. It is as though I have uttered some code word that makes people more friendly. “Ah, from England! You know Sherlock Holmes?” The other night a Japanese salaryman bought me a drink in a bar, he said it was because he, “Likes England so much.”

Random things are placed on the streets here. This is inside Beppu shopping arcade. Spot the Carnival Cutouts:

There are things I don’t like. I dislike being tall. The number of times I’ve smashed my head into the top of a doorframe surprises me; I’m amazed I haven’t suffered a mild traumatic brain injury. Although, maybe I have. I often forget the occasional English word. While talking to someone, I might suddenly draw a blank on a word I should know. It’s like there’s a void in my head where the word used to reside. At other times, I unconsciously substitute a Japanese word for an English one without even realising.

I hate inconsideration, but who doesn’t. I am in a four bedroom dormitory room trying to sleep. Someone comes in, sits down on his bed and starts to eat from a bento box (a lunchbox style Japanese meal; commonly with sections for rice, pickled or cooked vegetables, and a type of meat or fish). He is eating chicken, but I don’t eat chicken. Now, my room smells of chicken, and amidst this olfactory assault, all I can hear is him chomping loudly on his food. The hostel has a dining area and a lounge area, so please avoid eating chicken in the dormitory room. Additionally, some people insist on loudly packing their suitcase for about an hour at 7 o’clock in the morning. It shouldn’t take that long and can be done the night before.

I went to the supermarket to photograph a bento box, but they had completely sold out. So instead, here is a photograph of some strawberry and cream sandwiches:

Anyway, I have a bus to catch. Next stop: Fukuoka.

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