Death Becomes Here

Posted on 04/04/2015 by Luke

Today is warm again, and I have arranged to go on a bicycle tour with three very close friends. We meet up at half-past one and cycle in the direction of Yanaka Cemetery. It might sound a little morbid, heading once again to this huge cemetery, but the reason we have settled on this location is that it is quiet, out of the way, and not packed full of tourists. Today might well be the last day we can view sakura, and I can’t think of a better way to enjoy the flowers than with my friends in an area that is free from the usual crowds.

We decide, for whatever reason, to park our bikes in a zone where abandoned bicycles are collected and locked away. This fenced-off area charges a fine of ¥5000 to people who have left their bicycles illegally parked. After impounding our own bicycles, I worry that something might go wrong, and we too will have to pay the hefty fine when we return here later this afternoon. “Don’t worry about it,” says one of my friends, “we can just pretend that we don’t speak any Japanese, it’s no problem.”

We head through the cemetery, getting very lost in the process. The interesting thing about Yanaka Cemetery is that there are no bodies in the ground. Every grave here features a cremated corpse in an urn. Something about the blend of cherry blossom trees mixed in with the gravestones soothes me in a way that I can’t really describe. I really like this cemetery, and today is perhaps my tenth visit to this area since arriving in Japan.

On the other side of the dead, there are some old houses and a street known as Cherry-blossom Avenue. I noticed a sign here a few months ago that displayed the four seasons of Yanaka Cemetery and various flowers. The section for winter was incomplete, but now, finding the sign, I can see that whoever is in charge here has finally updated the winter information, and it was worth the wait: a snow-protective lifting tool.

The photograph shows nothing resembling winter, and the sign is meant to depict the different flowers of each season (it doesn’t). I’m not certain if a snow-protective lifting tool is a genus of flowering plants or perhaps something more obscure; nevertheless, I am intrigued enough to make plans to return here next winter and investigate this peculiar seasonal tool.

On Cherry-blossom Avenue, it is slightly more crowded than we had anticipated. Dozens of people meander the street, each side adorned with a wall of pink flowers arching over the tunnel-like path, creating an incredible sight. It’s unquestionably worth the visit, offering the most serene view of sakura I have seen so far. We continue our stroll on this lovely spring afternoon, relishing views under the canopy of blossoms.

On the other side of the street, we enter a very large temple. Tennoji Temple boasts a massive statue of Buddha and an ancient well that still functions today. One of my friends appears excessively excited about the well and immediately starts pumping water from the ground below. Apparently, the water has a metallic taste.

We leave the temple and the cherry blossoms behind us, heading down Yanaka Ginza Street. The market is an unusual bustle of crowds and tourists, drawn to the area for flower viewing and now wandering along this ancient street. Although tea houses, locally sourced products, and hand-made items are on sale, none of them capture our interest. In our quest for food, we stumble upon the knowledge that there’s a cat cafe nearby, and given our shared love for cats, we eagerly turn a corner and walk for ten minutes in a vague direction before finding a cafe adorned with cat paraphernalia. “Maybe this is the place?” I am told, with transparent obviousness.

We wander into the deceptively small cafe and take a seat on the floor around a small table. Unlike the other cat cafe I have visited, this one doesn’t require us to pay any additional fee to eat with the cats. It feels more like someone’s living room than an actual cafe. Although the place is slightly pricey, perhaps the extra charge is used to subsidise the cost of cat food, care, and maintenance.

I order a vegetarian curry and wait. My friends, seemingly uninterested in real food, opt for a selection of cakes and sweets. As we sit and talk for a while, I completely forget that I am in the company of cats; perhaps the reason for this is that there is just a single cat here. Only one. Sleeping quietly under a heated table. Eventually, my food arrives, and a second cat appears from seemingly nowhere. Much to my surprise, my food looks nothing like any curry I have had before. Something is very different about it, and it takes me a while to realise exactly what it is.

As I dine on curry and rice shaped like a feline, or perhaps a fox, I begin to wonder if this is okay. Eating food in the shape of a cat, while surrounded by two actual cats, makes me feel very strange indeed. What would a cat think if it saw me eating one of its friends? Perhaps it would get angry, maybe even scratch at me. After finishing my curry, I attempt to pet the awake cat, but it runs away in fear, confirming my suspicions about eating cat-shaped food. The owner informs us that the manager of the cafe is, in fact, the sleeping cat. It makes me wonder if the cat even knows how to operate the antiquated till system (it doesn’t).

We set off in the direction of our bicycles, and along the way, we once again inadvertently stumble upon a temple. This particular temple houses the King of Hell, Enma-raja. The statue, carved from stone, depicts him with his servants sitting on either side. His servants are Shimyo and Shiroku, tasked with delivering the King’s judgment and recording it, respectively.

It is believed that Enma-raja judges the conduct of the living and determines their destination after death. Rumour has it that if you tell a lie in front of the statue, the King of Hell will remove your tongue. Intrigued, I decide to test this out with a paradoxical statement, “You will cut out my tongue.” Nothing happens, indicating that I have told a lie, meaning the statue should cut out my tongue. But if it does, then I can’t have told a lie, and this creates a paradoxical loop. The logical conundrum continues endlessly. Eventually, the statue disintegrates in a quarrel of logic (it doesn’t).

It is quite fitting to find such a statue here, as the area of Yanaka is in the direction of the Ox Tiger, depicted with horns, sharp claws, and an evil demeanour. Because of this, it is considered an unlucky direction, and Yanaka shares the unfortunate possibility that it contains a demon gate—an invisible gate that leads directly to hell, known as a Kimon. Often, temples in Japan face the same direction as this Chinese zodiac symbol. This might explain why there are over thirty temples and shrines here, helping to purify the area and prevent an oni demon from showing up and killing everyone.

With death surrounding us, it is a pleasure to encounter something that brings a wry smile to my face. A man quietly sweeps up the fallen, dead petals of cherry blossom flowers that litter the floor. I watch eagerly as he sweeps. The area he cleans is instantly covered with petals within a minute of him finishing, and I fear for him; his job might be unavailing and endless.

We eventually return to our bicycles, relieved to find them unharmed. However, a man looks confused as we stroll into the compound, unlock our bikes, and race toward the exit. Speaking in Japanese to one of my friends, he seems suspicious about our actions. “Next time, you should kindly ask for permission first,” is all he says. Fortunately, he doesn’t impose any penalties or cause any problems. As we cycle away from the cemetery towards Asakusa, it appears I had nothing to worry about, except perhaps for the sudden sharp pain that starts to shoot through my tongue.

Under the Spreading Cherry Blossom Tree

Posted on 02/04/2015 by Luke

As the heat of 23°C sweeps across Tokyo, it brings with it a sea of pink and white flowers. Spreading in every direction are sakura, flowers that only bloom for about a week of the year and are so delicately dependent on weather conditions that they could easily vanish in an instant. The problem with cherry blossoms is that they take a while to reach full bloom, and in previous years, 100% hasn’t quite been reached. This year I am fortunate, and the weather has been excellent. Today, the flowers are at their full potential and will stay like this for a few days or until it rains. If it rains, the flowers will wash away, sharing the same fate as a ludicrously named spider in a nursery rhyme.

I head toward the Sumida River, passing rows of flowers that line the river on both sides. The same river, but this week, offering an entirely different setting.

I cross the river and head into Sumida Park. I have arranged to meet my friends for a traditional event known as hanami. I wander the park, passing large groups of people drinking alcohol as they sit shoeless on bright blue tarpaulin. As I traverse the verdant gardens, after a full thirty minutes, I arrive at the location of the first-ever cherry blossom viewing party of the Imperial Court. Just over the hill behind this historic location, sit my friends, drinking whisky at noon.

As I gaze at cherry blossoms and observe the other people here enjoying their little picnics of alcohol and snacks, I realise that a man from Pizza Hut is delivering a hot pizza to one of the groups at the bottom of the hill. I find it astonishing; firstly, how could the delivery man ever find the group that ordered, and secondly, if this were in England, the company would never deliver to a crowded park. They would insist on a postal address, and if that couldn’t be provided, they would simply refuse.

We sit under a cherry blossom tree, mostly in quiet contemplation. The point of hanami is to enjoy the flowers, the alcohol, and the company of others. As I stare at the flowers, I recall a story about horses. In the past, many Buddhists would ask to be buried with sakura, so to shake the branches and release a snowfall of flowers, horses would be tied around a cherry blossom tree. This is actually the reason that raw horse meat in Japan is known as sakura.

Sakura also has a third meaning, a stooge. Many years ago, people would be allowed to view kabuki shows for free, in exchange for over-the-top laughter and applause. These stooges would sit in the audience to encourage the paying members watching the show to participate in applause. It is said that the applause blooms very quickly, spreads, then fades away, much like the flowers. Our party eventually fades away too, just like the flowers, and I take my leave and walk toward Asakusa, to look at some cucumbers.

Within the grounds of Sogenji Temple sit a pair of perfectly preserved kappa. Child of the river and an imaginary animal said to help local people with float control, or so the confusing sign states. It is said that a kappa has a bowl on its head, always full to the brim with water. If the bowl becomes empty, then the kappa sadly dies. Apparently, eating cucumbers rehydrates the kappa, keeping it alive, which might explain the cucumbers. I bow at the kappa statues, hoping to see them bow back, thus spilling their bowls and killing them in the process, but nothing happens. Just a statue covered in cucumber, staring blankly at me. A man cutting the lawn tells me that there are limbs from an actual kappa inside the temple; however, I am not allowed to see them, and am given no explanation as to why not. It makes me wonder why he even mentioned it in the first place. Regardless, I leave the temple with a free cucumber under each arm.

I turn back to cherry blossom viewing once more and head to the overly crowded Ueno Park.

The park has one of the best spots to view flowers in Tokyo, with endless rows of blossoming trees spreading from the middle of the park all the way to the Fountain of Frog. There isn’t much else to do here though; I have seen flowers already and am perhaps losing interest slightly. I instead wander away from the park, in search of something interesting.

Eventually, I stumble into Toeizan Kan’ei-ji Endon-in, a temple that features many graves of famous perished people, including that of a priest named Ryoozenji. The priest had a revelation in a dream, and upon waking, he invented a powerful medicine named Kintaien. This medicine cured every illness in the world, and he sold it at a drugstore that was owned by his nephew. All of the profits from this super drug, Ryoozenji spent on a library in the grounds of this very temple. I find it a little odd. If I had invented a drug that cured every illness in the world, I would have thought my profits would have stretched a lot further than a simple library. Still, the story of Ryoozenji isn’t the strangest thing at Toeizan Kan’ei-ji Endon-in.

Next to the copper bell sits a large stone surrounded by plants. I take a closer look and discover that this rock is a tomb that contains the souls of insects. Specifically, insects that were sketched by a lord in the Edo Period. This type of monument is known as a Mushizuka and was built to console the spirits of various insects that were both drawn and used for science.

I leave the temple and return to Ueno Park. Most of the people in the park are gathered for hanami, but there is one area where the crowd seems to be oblivious to the beauty all around them, engaged in a protest of sorts. A man stands with a book and a microphone, shouting loudly and with anger, as fifty elderly Japanese men sit and watch in awe, nodding in agreement. I am not sure what the man is so angry about, perhaps the flowers, but regardless, he does his protest next to a sign that ironically says, “No protesting, no gathering, no advertising, and no politics.”

I leave the park with a head full of cucumbers. As I wander down flower-covered roads, I turn onto Kappabashi Street, in the hope that I might meet an actual kappa. Obviously, nothing transpires, so my float control dilemma will have to wait until another day.

The Time Traveler’s Strife

Posted on 01/04/2015 by Luke

Today, I decide to explore the Asakusa area once again. Recently, I engaged in a conversation with friends about Denbou-in Gardens, the secret gardens I visited, hidden in the grounds of Senso-ji Temple. Intrigued to discover more about this area and its hidden gems, I then heard a mention of the interestingly named Drawing Light Temple. Obviously, I wanted to find out more. In the blazing sunshine, I head to Asakusa once again and search for the temple.

It takes me about thirty minutes to wander through the huge complex of temples and shrines that make up the Senso-ji compound before I eventually find a rather obscure-looking tunnel with overhanging plants and nondescript flowers. Oddly, I have never seen this tunnel before, so for the second time in just over a fortnight, I have stumbled upon a new place in Tokyo, a city I have lived in for eight months now. Hidden beyond the foliage, on the other side of the tunnel, sits the impressive Drawing Light Temple.

Built in 1609, this temple houses the goddess of protection from drawing light images. Fortunately, an English sign serves to remove any confusion and informs me that, “The Goddess in this temple protects against photography, portraits, and reflections.” Ironically, photography is allowed here. As I read the signboards about the history of this place, it becomes instantly apparent that if this temple was built in 1609, as the sign states, then it precedes the very first photograph, making it impossible for the goddess that resides here to know what she would be protecting against. It reminds me of the Flying God Temple, where people go to pray before they fly on an aircraft. The god there existed before aircraft were even invented. Even the story about the origin of Senso-ji, concerning the golden statue of Kannon fished from a lake, is riddled with confusion; the statue is no longer housed in Senso-ji Temple, and has never actually been seen by anyone who can prove it existed in the first place.

The inconsistencies and inaccuracies in religious narratives make me increasingly sceptical. Considering the possibility that religious stories and certain deities might be nothing more than fabrications is a notion I had never entertained before, but it now begins to take shape in my mind. What if it’s all untrue? I ponder this for a moment, and then, quite unexpectedly, I spot a magical cow.

“Look closely,” says a sign next to the cow. I stare at the cow, not really sure what I am supposed to be seeing. Everything here looks perfectly normal – just a statue of a cow. Below the sign, there is a description in Japanese, which later translates to read, “As a way to protect the stolen soul, in the cow, your image will be hidden from the drawing of light.” I take a photograph of the cow, and oddly, my image isn’t present. Very strange. I take seven more photographs from various angles, yet each time, the scenery behind me is visible, but my own reflection is mysteriously erased.

Why a cow has been chosen to symbolise the absence of reflection is beyond me, but some sort of wizardry is at hand here – a trick of light, perhaps. Continuing my exploration of this hidden temple, I discover that it holds the origin of the story that a photograph can steal your soul. It was said that when this temple was built before photographs were invented, the thought of an image of a person being taken was a direct link to the spiritual world. This history has also spread to the rest of the Senso-ji area, where no mirrors can be seen at any of the temples or shrines. It makes me wonder if the Edo Period in Japan was populated by time travellers, building temples everywhere that predict future inventions.

As I leave the Drawing Light Temple, I continue my exploration of the nearby area and discover another display of inconsistent historical information.

The Stone Lantern of Rokujizo was built in either 1146, 1150, or 1368, and already I find that there are too many contradictions. The sign even states that the details are unknown. Yet, the lantern itself features topography that wasn’t used until 1834. So somehow, the lantern features Japanese text that was first used 688 years, 684 years, or 466 years after it was originally built. My suspicions surrounding the history behind Senso-ji Temple are once again confirmed here.

I continue my tour and find a monument to Kume no Heinai. He was a samurai in the Edo Period and a master of sword fighting. Over the years, he killed many people before eventually turning to a life of virtue. Heinai began to live in Kongo-in Temple, inside Senso-ji Temple, and devoted himself to Zen Buddhism. He held religious services in honour of the souls of the people he killed. One day, he ordered his followers to carve his figure in stone and bury it in a busy district of Asakusa, so that forever, people would step on him—presumably what he thought he deserved after years of killing. Oddly, Heinai was in good health the day the statue was ordered to be built; however, the next day, he died suddenly, as if his fate was already known.

My final stop is the peculiarly named, Bell of Time.

This innocent looking bell housed in a wooden structure, to the untrained eye, wouldn’t be significant. To my overactive imagination, this confirms my earlier suspicions that religion, or at least the area around Senso-ji Temple, was built by time travellers, and this bell was their time machine. Obviously, time travellers building temples sounds ridiculous, although the evidence is definitely here. If this isn’t the case though, then perhaps instead, religion is being used to make money here; exploiting the beliefs of innocent people, and making this area more attractive to tourists. It does seem from my brief attempt at investigating the area, that most of the information I have discovered is based entirely on lies.

A Streetcar, Feigned Desire

Posted on 29/03/2015 by Luke

I decide that despite the warm weather today, it would be a nice idea to explore the area around my own neighbourhood on foot, rather than heading further afield by bicycle. Looking at the map outside of my apartment, I notice a few points of interest that I had never previously given much thought. The first is the Toden Arakawa Streetcar, the last remaining streetcar that still operates in Tokyo. I wander five minutes from my home in that direction. As I approach, I follow the sound of silent electricity until I arrive at the tracks.

At the streetcar depot, nobody is waiting to ride. The only sign of life here, other than the movement of old trams, is a superabundance of starving pigeons waiting for their next meal. Opened in 1913, this streetcar somehow survived when all other streetcars were scrapped in Japan some fifty years ago. I consider taking the tram, but because there is no official timetable, I fear that if I do, I will end up in the middle of nowhere, with no way of getting back. Instead, I try to photograph this historic vehicle, but a blur of pigeon rudely interrupts my photography.

My next stop is at the nearby Jokan-ji Temple, a historical site and cultural asset of Arakawa. It becomes apparent as I enter the temple grounds that this temple contains some rather dark history. The temple dates back to 1665, and with such close proximity to the nearby Yoshiwara red-light district, it became known to the locals as the throw-away temple. A place to dispose of unclaimed or discarded deceased prostitutes.

The temple itself looks like any other temple, but beyond the shiny temple walls is a memorial to the unknown dead and a hidden entrance that leads into a vast cemetery.

The 1854 Tokai earthquake claimed many lives, including young women who had been sold by their parents to the Yoshiwara district. These prostitutes were often forced into this trade, considering themselves as living in hell, destined to eventually die and join the other women in a mass grave at Jokan-ji Temple. The deceased women were not granted a proper funeral or burial; instead, they were wrapped in a straw mat and left outside the temple gates for someone else to collect, burn, and add to the pile of death and ash.

I stroll through the cemetery, and it becomes evident where the souls of the twenty-five thousand deceased prostitutes are laid to rest. A small tomb is adorned with artefacts related to prostitution. An inscription above the tomb reads, “Birth is pain, death is Jokan-ji.” Cosmetic products, hair clips, and makeup rest on top, leaving a haunting reminder of death. It is even possible to peer inside the tomb through an overly exposed metal grate, offering no dignity to the departed. Inside, a stacked pile of white urns extends down into oblivion.

I depart from the tomb with mixed feelings. I question why I even visited here; perhaps I should have simply boarded the streetcar and escaped the sense of doom and gloom. Another notable presence is a monument dedicated to the novelist Kafu Nagai, who used these deceased women as a source for his satire. I ponder on the motivations of someone writing about such a macabre subject, only to realise that, in my own way, I am no different as I pen down these words.

I depart from Jokan-ji Temple and start walking toward Minami-Senju, an area my friends have deemed extremely dangerous. As I approach, it appears to be like any other place I’ve visited in Tokyo: a Seven Eleven, a few shrines, a clean park, an old woman feeding a cat, bullet holes, a train station … Bullet holes?

Entsu-ji Temple stands tall, featuring a twelve-metre-tall golden statue of Kannon. What is remarkable about this temple is that it proudly serves as the new location for the Black Gate. Kuromon was previously the gate at the entrance to Akizuki Castle, but after a gunfight during the Battle of Ueno, the gate was damaged, explaining the bullet holes. The gate was moved to this location in 1907. Not one to dwell on death and misery, I leave the temple in a rush and forget to take a photograph of the famous Black Gate.

I head back in the direction of Minowa, and with prostitution on my mind, I take a stroll through the Yoshiwara area. What always strikes me as odd about Yoshiwara is that at one entrance to the legalised brothel district is a police station, and at the other end, there is a shrine that houses a goddess that offers protection to women.

Every day, when a prostitute finishes her shift, she will walk past this shrine and bow deeply. I have seen it so many times, due to this shrine being on my route from my home to Asakusa. In fact, I pass this shrine twice a day, and almost always see women here, praying, bowing, and hoping to not share the same fate as those other twenty-five thousand abandoned dead women.

AnimeJapan 2015

Posted on 26/03/2015 by Luke

Today is AnimeJapan 2015, the largest convention for animation in Japan. This year, one hundred and twenty thousand cartoon enthusiasts are expected to visit the event. Luckily, a friend of mine has saved me the effort of having to pay and has managed to get me a free ticket; a saving of ¥2000. Three giant stages, 132 exhibits from the large anime companies, plus a mix of lesser-known stands hosted by various Japanese universities.

It is unsurprising really, but each of the individual exhibits heavily features women dressed in cosplay, otherwise known as booth babes. These often attractive young women are here to lure in men. Almost entirely female, controversial promotional models are often considered to be sexually objectifying to women, and it is a practice that has since been stopped in all other countries. In Japan, however, this style of promotion is still considered to be okay, and at AnimeJapan, these women are everywhere.

I wander through the exhibition halls and make a stop at the Hi-Animation stage to witness some virtual reality. The people here, who have been queueing for three hours, are trying out the latest product from Sony, the HMZ-T3W; a direct competitor to Oculus Rift. This wireless headset allows participants to watch a live concert performed by characters from Cinderella Girls, a simulation-based game where the player takes on the role of a music producer. Sony offers the live concert in full surround sound, with total immersion, and three-dimensional imagery. Despite this being AnimeJapan, it seems that video games are the most popular attraction today.

The next stand is another video game, Girl Friend Beta. Originally a dating-based smartphone game, it is now being adapted into an animated television series. Rather than showcase the game or show previews for the series, a special dance-based game has been set up here, and a huge crowd has been drawn in to watch as two women dressed in school uniform demonstrate the game on a giant video screen.

I skip the chance to get on stage and play the game and instead continue my mindless wandering. At some stands, original drawings can be viewed, at others, previews and trailers are displayed showing new releases for the anime season which is due to start next month. At almost every area, a chance to interact by playing video games is on offer. The event seems to heavily feature interactive content, to give visitors a more hands-on feel. Perhaps this approach is a clever way to make people more interested, or perhaps, a lot of places are short of ideas to keep people engaged.

Despite the flashing lights, multiple television screens, video games, cosplaying girls, and promotional models, it would be a fair assessment to say that unlike other events I have been to at Tokyo Big Sight, AnimeJapan is most definitely the loudest. I have walked around for only twenty minutes, but already feel myself getting a headache. What certainly doesn’t help matters is the multiple people pushing promotional flyers into my face as I walk, or the men that have no concept of distance and will happily shout through a megaphone whilst it is inches away from my ears.

I take a look at the charity auction. Anime originals and various signed products can be bid on here, and all the money will be used for charities pertaining to earthquakes and disasters. ¥14,000,000 was raised from the auction last year, and a similar amount is expected to be raised again today. The winning bidders will cross over to another dimension, or so the sign misleadingly states. What it really means though, is that the winning persons will be illustrated and added as side characters in various popular anime.

I check out some of the more amateur booths and those run by the various universities. These stalls are a lot smaller than the mainstream booths and often feature an array of original frame drawings to browse through. Hand-drawn and excellent. One such stall is the Yoyogi Animation School, the largest school for animation in Japan, and perhaps the best. Here, a presentation is being watched by five people. Standing guard is a man dressed as a giant blue chicken.

My overall impression of this event differs from my expectations. Surprisingly, there are a lot more women here than I expected, thanks to a rise in animation depicting male characters performing sports. The most popular of such shows is a new cycling anime featuring men and bicycles. Productions of other popular animation depicting sport include those with themes based around Mahjong, golf, figure skating, and fishing.

I wander around, passing queues that seemingly lead to nowhere, demonstration booths where I can watch people create plastic figures, paint, and draw original frames by hand. I see cakes in the theme of characters, sake depicting anime characters, all sold out, and various other shops selling toys and figurines. On one of the stages, a loud announcement is made, much to the delight of the thousands of spectators. An eerie ripple of clapping fills the halls for a brief moment, before stopping suddenly, as if someone was messing around with an applause switch.

After exploring the exhibition at great length, I discover that there really isn’t a lot here that excites me. Having never really bothered watching anime, I suppose it would obviously be hard for me to enjoy the event. For the thousands of fanatics here though, they all seem quite happy to queue for hours to speak to a voice actress for thirty seconds, or spend huge amounts of money on a signed frame from their favourite show. For me, these things don’t really interest me, and I become disappointed through no fault of the event.

As I push through hordes of excited zombies, flitting from booth to booth like bees to flowers, I decide that enough is enough. On my way out, my headache intensifies, and I realise that AnimeJapan might have been a bit too much for me. Bright lights and loud megaphones, each booth with huge flashing screens blaring out trailers and noise. Far too much noise.

It appears I am not the only one suffering, though. The exit is blocked by passed-out people and sleeping otaku, drained from a long day of all things anime. I actually have to step over people to reach the outside of the venue. I breathe a final sigh of relief when clean, fresh air returns to my lungs before heading for the train and getting as far away from Tokyo Big Sight as possible.

The Fashion of the Crystal Wax

Posted on 21/03/2015 by Luke

I am in Shinjuku to meet a friend. I instantly regret choosing to meet her at the West Exit of the busiest train station in the world. After ten minutes of searching, we eventually find each other before heading outside to take a free shuttle bus bound for Shinjuku Park Tower. Inside this building are many high-priced restaurants, financial institutes, and the Park Hyatt Hotel; perhaps the most expensive night’s sleep in Japan. We are not here for any of that nonsense though, as in the basement of this building, we have exclusive invitations to an event hosted by French cosmetic giant, L’Oréal.

In the basement, our cards are checked, our identities confirmed, our Quick Response Codes are scanned, our identities are reconfirmed, before we are finally allowed to pass through the first checkpoint. At the second checkpoint, we are searched, our coats and bags are taken, and we are asked to place the possessions we intend to take into the event into a clear plastic bag. For a moment, I get confused and think I am at the airport.

The reason we are here is for a Family Sale; a place to go to buy very cheap products from big-name brands. I am a little confused as to the motivation for such an event, as today, only L’Oréal and affiliated products are on sale, each with ridiculous discounts of up to ninety percent. In the past, whenever I have visited a sale offering such high discounted prices, usually only a select few products hold the high percentage of reduction, but here at the L’Oréal Family Sale, every product is perhaps seventy to ninety percent off. Price down!

We enter the main room, somewhat smaller than I was expecting; a room populated entirely by women. No free samples are on offer, much to my dismay. Somehow, I find myself sucked in by the offers, and take some wax that has been knocked down from ¥3400 to a crazy ¥700; I don’t even use wax. I find it somewhat ironic that one of the most expensive buildings in Tokyo is the venue for discounted goods. I ask to photograph the room, but am told that strictly no photography is allowed. It makes me wonder if L’Oréal is here to promote their company brand or to just offer the rich an exclusive ‘invitation-only’ way to buy cosmetics and save large amounts of money, thus making them richer. With a lack of photography, I instead take a nice photograph from the inside of Shinjuku Park Tower.

As I leave with my wax and head to the cashier, I am told that I can only pay with a credit card. I always thought Japan was very much a cash society, where plastic is seldom used, so this strikes me as odd. I don’t even own a credit card. Luckily, my friend assists me and away we go, back through the checkpoints and out into the chaos of Shinjuku.

Back in Asakusa, we go our separate ways. I decide to head over to Senso-ji Temple to see my first-ever performance of kabuki. Kabuki is a style of theatre that combines music, dance, elaborate costumes, and elaborate masks. Today the show is performed by children, in a style known as Ogano Kabuki. This style boasts two hundred years of tradition, and these days it is the children of Saitama that keep the tradition alive. It is nice to see young people taking an interest in this art form, despite living in a country where the young are obsessed with video games, animated movies, and comic books.

The event starts with an announcer speaking in Japanese for ten minutes before two girls dressed as geisha take to the stage and talk for a further ten minutes. The curtains close, and the announcer speaks about foxes and cherry blossoms; another ten minutes pass, and the introduction is over. All the while, rude people push and shove through the crowds to take a closer look. A rude woman stands on my foot and offers no apology. Eventually, the show starts with a parade of costume-wearing kids.

Traditional music plays, characters kneel down, and dialogue is exchanged with very little movement for what seems like forever. The costumes are fantastic, mesmerising, the music is beautiful, and the characters’ words are almost poetic. If I didn’t know in advance that these were child performers, I would have mistaken the show for a professional production. Despite the professionalism, I get a little bored. The language used isn’t only Japanese, but old Japanese that perhaps nobody has used for hundreds of years. I decide after forty minutes to go and do something else.

Also in Asakusa today, a fashion and art show known as The Asakusa Collection is taking place, so I take to the Sumida River and enter the Riverside Gallery.

Inside the Riverside Gallery, my photograph is hijacked by a wizard wearing high-visibility clothing. I have no idea who he is or what he wants, but after ignoring him for a while, he disappears to ruin the photographs of others. The Asakusa Collection is a free fashion festival that apparently embodies amazing crazy and chaos culture in Tokyo. The show also has a heavy emphasis on innovative fashion without a distinction between Western and Japanese Styles. Amongst the fashion, there is a nice mix of local artists from this area, all hoping to showcase, promote, and sell their work.

Forty-two artists are here, and a mix of photographs, illustrations, ceramics, dolls, bags, jewellery, traditional clothing, accessories, and sheep-shaped flower pots are on display. I stop off to watch a bit of live painting before heading out in search of my favourite artists.

Seeing local works of art is always a treat for me, and I would love to feature the works of each of the forty-two artists here, but I don’t really have time for that. The first display I thoroughly enjoy is the work of Kanbayashi Yukikazu. He creates collage and three-dimensional landscape paintings using a mixture of sand and plaster, finished with oil. His work depicts scenes in Japan, from Mount Fuji to Senso-ji Temple, and was once presented at The Museum of Modern Art in his hometown of Kamakura.

The second artist I enjoy is Ayumi Ogawa. Her work is called ‘Diary,’ and it is contemporary artwork based on calendars and real notebooks. Sadly for Ayumi, the link to her Facebook page reveals absolutely no information about the inspiration or message behind her pieces, yet I am somehow drawn to her abstract modern style.

At home, I realise that I have spent a lot of time writing in great length about topics that are probably of no interest to anyone else; a theme that might continue into my next post, which will be exclusively about anime.

Show My Gear, the Policeman Said

Posted on 16/03/2015 by Luke

I am standing in Seven Eleven, queueing up to buy my morning coffee. The man two before me in the queue smiles and nods as our glances cross. I don’t recognise him, yet he keeps his eyes fixed on mine, quietly staring. Eventually, he points to his eyes and says, “Your eyes are blue.” He seems to be in a state of amazement, “Europa?” he asks.
I decide not to correct him, despite me not being from one of the moons of Jupiter. “Yes,” I say, “England.”
He pauses for thought for a time before asking, “Are you happy?” His question catches me off guard, and I have to give it a certain degree of thought. Perhaps I look a little miserable because I am standing in Seven Eleven at 9 a.m. I eventually reply with a yes. “Good, you should be happy, have a nice day.” With that, he pays for his can of beer and leaves the store.

I cycle over to Asakusa, to Senso-ji Temple. To mark the four-year anniversary of the Great East Japan Earthquake, the temple has opened up its secret garden and gallery to the public. ¥300 to enter, and all the proceeds will be donated to support the ongoing recovery. A sign at the entrance says, “There, it is an old beautiful Japanese garden made 400 years ago, it can take a walk.”

I have often seen these gardens on the maps around the temple, and even tried to find them once or twice, but to no avail. Now it is clear to me why; they were a secret. I start queueing just before they open at 10 a.m. Waiting in line once again, but with nobody asking me about being from Jupiter, I stay calm. Eventually, the doors open, and I pay my ¥300 entry fee.

It isn’t just the gardens that are open to the public for the next two months, but also a gallery of artwork depicting samurai and legends. Good quality artwork; dated. No photography is allowed inside the gallery, but for anyone in Tokyo right now or in the coming months, I urge you to visit. It is for a great cause, and the artwork is stunning. After wandering around inside for a time, I head out into the gardens, where my breath is stolen away by the beauty.

Why these gardens are normally closed is beyond me. Prior to the earthquake, the gardens were visited exclusively by noblemen. One thousand square metres of garden, made by an eminent gardener in the early 17th century, sit behind hidden walls. A small building known as Denbou-in stands in the garden, a place where priests from the temple would train in Buddhist discipline. It also became a lodging place for the many nobles that came here to visit. I wander around the circuit, following the route of the signs, and take great care with the multiple signs instructing me to, “Please stop walking, drink in the garden!”

After enjoying the scenery, I head, as usual, to Cafe Byron Bay. Today, I am taking part in a television show starring Yoshio Kojima, a comedian I previously met back in August.

The show features a second comedian, Udai Iwasaki. Very little information can be found about this man. Apparently, he won an award in 2013 for being the funniest man in Japan. He is in a comedy group known as Kamomental, which translates to mean Duck Metal, and his blood type is AB. When researching Yoshio Kojima, I am not at all surprised to find a mention of his blood type, a slight obsession in Japan similar to horoscopes. For the record, his blood type is O.

The show is in English and is a tour of Yoshio Kojima’s favourite neighbourhood, Asakusa. “This coffee is very comfortable,” he says, sipping on his latte. Everyone gets interviewed about where they are from or why they came to Japan before Yoshio Kojima treats us to his famous catchphrase, performed again in English. After that, the show ends. I get a chance to talk to the comedians a little after the shooting. Both of them have excellent English ability and are both very nice people.

The show will air on CS TV Asahi on either May 10th or 24th, but the television people haven’t decided yet. Overall, the shooting was good fun, but I am not sure how much of myself will be included in the final cut.

I leave the cafe and start walking toward my house. As part of my application process to stay in Japan a little longer, I have to get my photograph taken. I find a photo booth that offers the size of photograph that I require, and after inserting my ¥900, I discover that the booth speaks two languages, Japanese and American. Call me naïve, but I didn’t know that there was a language called American. Regardless, a nice man speaks to me in English after I select this option, photographs are snapped, and finally, I am given the chance to modify my photographs. With summer just a few months away, I opt for the sun tan option. “Your photograph will be ready in nineteen seconds,” says the voice in English. Very precise.

As I near my house, two policemen surround me, and in broken English, they ask me for my identification, look at every card in my wallet, search my pockets, write things down, look at me with suspicion, then they apologise, get back on their one-speed bicycles, and disappear; presumably to harass somebody else. A part of me questions their selection process, and for whatever reason, I become adamant that it has something to do with me being from Europa.

Murder on the Tsukuba Express

Posted on 14/03/2015 by Luke

Today, the weather is very warm, so I decide to take a train to Ibaraki Prefecture, to a little place called Tsukuba. At Tsukuba Station, I take a ¥720 bus that crawls for thirty minutes toward Tsukuba Mountain. Eventually, I get off the bus. The only tourists here are old Japanese women who have made the journey to this mountain to look at flowers.

The first thing that strikes me as I stroll off the bus is the view. The day is relatively clear, and the distance is a sea of fields and countryside that seemingly spread forever before eventually blending into the whiteness of bright, sunlit clouds. One of the reasons I am here today, like the old women, is to look at flowers—flowers of beautiful pink and white. The other reason is that this steep mountain is steeped in history.

In March 1864, an army was raised on this very mountain, led by a samurai named Fujita Koshiro. The army, known as Tsukubazei, opposed plans to close Yokohama Port and exclude foreign ships from entering Japan. Even the law to stop foreigners from entering Japan was considered barbaric; it was called the ‘Order to Expel Barbarians’.

The twenty-three-year-old leader led his army of samurai and farmers in what became a war against Emperor Komei. The battle was lost, and the entire army was beheaded. This event contributed to the ending of the Edo Period and the start of the Meiji Restoration.

Still considered a terrorist, a statue of Fujita Koshiro stands proudly at the entrance to Tsukuba Shrine, a shrine said to house the god and goddess that protect from evil and illness. The shrine has been a place of worship for over 3000 years. I continue my walk through the mountain paths, passing a random telephone box with a huge statue of a frog on its roof, Omido Temple with its massive bell, the cable car service that isn’t running today (as usual), and a statue seemingly standing guard in a small car park.

The statue is of a man carrying a cup of medicine. Using my amateur translation skills, the medicine is made from gamagairu, a giant frog said to live in this area; hence the telephone box. The medicine is taken from the ear of the frog and is said to have magical healing properties. That’s right, magical.

People in England or America will be familiar with the expression ‘snake oil,’ a term used to describe health products that don’t actually work; a swindle of sorts. In Japan, a similar expression exists, and that is frog oil. Salesmen use a special sword that contains fake blood in its tip, pretend to cut their arm revealing a huge gash, then proceed to rub the frog oil on their skin. The wound disappears in an instant, and fools buy.

I continue my stroll and head in the direction of Mount Tsukuba Plum Blossom Gardens. These gardens are free to enter and feature over 1000 trees. Thirty kinds of flowers blossom in this area, and mixed in with the flowers are the famous rocks of Tsukuba. Rocks, I might add, that are for sale.

I lug my rock up the mountain path and realise that I should have probably bought it on the way down. The flowers in the mountain are beautiful to see. Red plum is in full bloom this time of year, and white plum is apparently in half bloom. I walk through sweet plum groves and fresh-smelling flowers before arriving at Lookout Point Arumaya, a small mountain hut that looks as though it was stolen from a children’s fairy tale.

I stand, gazing in the direction of Mount Fuji, 155.6 km away and visible on a clear day. Today is such a day, but for whatever reason, the mountain remains invisible, as always; forever shrouded by the white layer of clouds that blend into the distant horizon.

I stand in quiet contemplation in the small hut at the top of the mountain, admiring the beauty of the flowers and the endless nature. Staring out into the distance, I begin to wonder where it all went wrong. Before the thought connects, a Japanese man taps me on the shoulder, disturbing my moment.
“We made it from bamboo and straw, squashed real hard.”
“I’m sorry?” I say, confused.
“We made it from bamboo and straw, squashed real hard,” he repeats.
“I heard you, but what are you talking about?”
“The walls, here,” he points at the walls of the hut, “We made it from bamboo and straw.”
“A bit of a fire hazard,” I tell him, but he doesn’t understand. The man remains fated to repeat his set phrase, the only phrase he knows in English. Time to go, I decide.

As I walk back down the mountain, I recall a story that a friend once told me.

Many years ago in Japan, people were very poor. Many families lived in one house, grandparents, parents, and children together. When times became tough, and the families couldn’t afford to feed the young children, a sacrifice was made. Children were the priority, so what happened was that the parents would carry their grandparents to Tsukuba Mountain, abandon them, and go home to their children. The grandparents would starve to death on the mountain, so that the family could continue to feed the children. A sad tale of Tsukuba Mountain, and the many poor old people that perished in its lonely grip.

At the bottom of the mountain, most stores are closed. The men are sleeping from a hard day of selling snacks and frog oil; the only shop still selling anything is the Tsukuba Rock Shop.

There are so many more sights to see on this 877-metre-tall mountain. The place is littered with things to do. Unfortunately, I wasted far too much of my limited time in the mountain hut and end up running back, rock in hand, toward the bus stop. I make the last bus with seconds to spare and head back toward Tsukuba Station.

On the Tsukuba Express train home, I read ‘The Hanging Stranger’ by Philip K. Dick and realise that this information has no relevance here, and perhaps never will.

The Northern Wind, the Sun and Me

Posted on 09/03/2015 by Luke

Spring is coming, and the weather has gotten nice and warm. I head over to Asakusa, to my usual haunt for breakfast. As I leave, I hold the door open for five ravenous tourists. It turns out they are the American rock band Incubus, here in Tokyo for their current tour of Asia. With very little interest in Incubus’s music, I pass up on the opportunity to be obsequious and instead take a train over to Shinjuku.

Today, I am visiting Takarazuka University of Art and Design to see an exhibition related to video games. After four years of study, the final projects of each student are showcased inside the university, providing visitors and potential new students with a glimpse of what the campus has to offer. I head straight for the 8th-floor office area and persuade my friend to give me a guided tour. Our first stop: a look at the Unreal Engine 4.

The game here, actually created by one of the teachers, is a simple platformer set on what appears to be a distant planet. The controls offer only movement and jumping, and while the game is somewhat basic, its main purpose is to showcase the graphics and textures that can be created with this engine. I enjoy jumping around for a while, admiring the water and landscape, before accidentally hitting a button on the controller that causes the game to stop working.

Next, we enter a room filled with iPads where we can try out actual games made by the students. Some of these delights include ‘Dancing Brain,’ ‘Fruits Panic!,’ and my favourite title, ‘Fable Sour Face.’ Apparently based on a novel, ‘Fable Sour Face’ was challenging to create as the student had to do it all alone—from scratch to the finished product. This tactical espionage operations adventure looks to me like a Doom/Quake clone. The tagline reads, ‘You get a lot of looks and can you tear it off.’

I pick up the iPad to play, press the start button, but I am instantly greeted by an error message. For the second time today, I’ve managed to break something.

We continue to explore the various games—some very basic, others quite advanced. Interestingly, the video games room also features a collection of beautifully illustrated tarot cards based on German folktales, including the Pied Piper of Hamelin and the story of Rapunzel.

It makes me wonder, if anyone can simply make a set of tarot cards by themselves, how can they possibly be guided by a spiritual force during tarot readings? I start to think about things too much, pondering what might give the cards their mystical power, their divinatory aspect. Realising that I am being overly sceptical, I decide to instead check out the next room for more video games.

Kowloon’s Gate, a hugely popular adventure game released for the PlayStation in 1997, developed a massive cult following under the banner of the company ‘Zeque.’ Interestingly, one of the designers of the game is now a teacher at this university. He utilises the game to showcase the incredible power of the Oculus Rift.

This is my first time trying Oculus, and it’s an absolutely delightful experience. Strangely, when wearing the headset, it truly feels like I am living in another world — in this case, the world of Kowloon, Hong Kong. The Oculus Rift allows me to see everything through the eyes of the protagonist. Massive headphones block out all other sounds, except that of the game, enabling me to become fully immersed. Motion sensors determine where the character is looking. I sit for about five minutes, moving my head around, in awe of the apparent realism I am experiencing. After leaving Kowloon, my head feels a little dizzy, as if I am suffering from serious motion sickness. I bid goodbye to my friend as he returns to work and leave the university.

With a head full of pixels and my thoughts lost to video games, I head over to the only place that makes any sense: Akihabara. I make a stop at Planet Sega, taking the lift to the third floor, where I play some arcade-style video games. After twenty minutes of playing BlazBlue and not doing so well, I need to use the restroom. Above the urinal is a very strange computer screen displaying a different kind of video game.

The game is oddly titled ‘The Northern Wind, the Sun and Me’ and features a young woman presenting the weather. The urinal is fitted with a target and sensor, and the harder I urinate, the stronger the wind blows. The aim of the game is to make the wind so strong that the skirt of the young lady gets high enough to reveal her underwear. It makes me wonder what the ladies’ restroom offers for entertainment. Unfortunately, the video game arcade is populated entirely by men, so I have nobody to ask. Somewhat confused about what I have just experienced, I decide that I have had enough video games for one day and need to go home.

International Food and Beverage Exhibition

Posted on 06/03/2015 by Luke

Today, I am at Makuhari Messe Convention Centre for Foodex Japan. In its 40th year, the event stands as the biggest trade show for food and beverage in Asia, featuring three thousand exhibitors from seventy-nine different countries. I received a private invitation, allowing me to hand over a business card at the entrance and receive my journalist pass, thus saving me the ¥5000 public entry fee. The first challenge I encounter at the event is their strict no-photography policy. They even threaten ejection from the event for anyone caught taking photographs, sneaking in animals, or attending solely for free food and drink.

Naturally, I adhere strictly to the rules, refraining from releasing any concealed animals into the exhibition halls or taking sneaky snaps of the event from a balcony above. And, of course, my primary purpose for attending is certainly not to indulge in the free samples of food and drink offered by the three thousand exhibitors. Today, all food and drink are complimentary, with stallholders actively encouraging me to sample their offerings.

I start with cheese. I seldom eat cheese in Japan, so when given the opportunity to be an official judge in a packaging and taste competition, I seize the chance. The competition involves comparing thirty-one cheeses from Japan. Just as I’m about to get serious about my judging responsibilities, the comedian in charge reminds me to take it seriously before asking me to select a wooden stick from a box. “Careful for electric shocks,” the man says, “this is high technology, like a supercomputer.” So much for taking things too seriously.

The cheese I have randomly selected is a Brazilian cream cheese made in Japan. I assess the packaging (somewhat basic) and evaluate the unique selling point of the product (non-existent). Next, I can choose any two other cheeses to rate in comparison. I opt for two cheeses that I’m eager to try. Following the rating, a taste test ensues, providing me with the opportunity to score the flavour and determine the likelihood of a future purchase. Interestingly, the cheese I selected, which appears to be the most expensive among the thirty-one, turns out to be the worst cheese I have ever tried.

After savouring the cheese, I crave a drink, prompting me to head for a cup of tea.

Unfortunately, the Yogi Tea stand offers their sample in the form of a tea bag. No hot water here. I have a chat with Sada-Anand Khalsa, a self proclaimed Yogi Tea Ambassador. His beard is better than mine, and his tea is apparently very wonderful. As I talk to him, he appears distracted, distant, and looks like he is about to fall off his stool. He’s probably had a few too many cups of his bedtime organic tea product, no doubt.

I continue exploring the red-carpeted route, treating myself to devil fruits and açaí berry smoothies. In Pakistan, I’m given the chance to try six-billion-year-old sea salt, and in Egypt, I indulge in some tasty salted peanuts. Upon reaching Japan, I find myself surrounded by microphones and cameras, as I become the subject of a television show—quite ironic, considering the event’s no photography or recording equipment policy. During the interview, I’m asked to sample Japanese food to capture my authentic reaction. However, they choose edamame, a dish I consume almost weekly, making it challenging for me to convey a genuine response to the familiar taste of beans.

After the interview, I head to England to enjoy a scone. However, I notice that the stalls here are manned by individuals with uninviting expressions and disappointed faces. Unlike everywhere else I’ve stopped, where warm smiles and polite conversation welcomed me, it’s a different experience in England. Disheartened, I make the decision to leave and never return. Instead, I choose to visit the friendly land of Scotland for some delectable scallops. Later, I make my way to the welcoming Wales to enjoy a sample of a beer I’m already familiar with—Dark Side of the Moose.

In Austria, I take a moment to chat with a friendly man about beer. The Flying Brewery proves to be wonderful and charming. After expressing a clear interest in sampling copious amounts of their free alcohol, the amiable man turns to his colleague and exclaims, “He wants to try them all!” This marks perhaps the turning point in my day, leading me into the delightful world of free alcohol. The beers here are fantastic, and I relish each and every one. The brewery even gifts me a set of twelve coasters and poses for a photograph. While a part of me considers that the journalist pass around my neck might have influenced their hospitality, another part of me believes that they are genuinely kind and passionate about their craft.

With an ever-increasing thirst for beer, I head over to the only place that can satisfy my taste: Belgium. After wandering around in beer heaven for about an hour and sampling familiar delights such as Stella Artois and Hoegaarden, I move on to some of my favourite drinks—Delirium Tremens, Kriek, and Chimay.
“One more glass, sir?” says the man at the Chimay stand.
“Why, thank you, sir,” I reply, feeling very humbled and slightly drunk.

I continue to explore, observing snakes in bottles of miscellaneous liquid and engaging with companies solely present at the event to secure a Japanese distributor. After a bit of stumbling, I find myself in Mexico, enticed by amusingly shaped bottles of expensive tequila.

AsomBroso is a luxury tequila from Tequila, Mexico, and one bottle costs around ¥7000. After sampling a small glass, I strike up a conversation with the friendly man manning the booth. A simple mention of the word ‘journalist’ earns me a second glass and an invitation to take a photograph of his display. The tequila is, in fact, the best I have ever tasted—good quality stuff.

In Finland, I chat with a nice lady about the health benefits of bilberry. In Indonesia, I indulge in fresh tuna sashimi. Thailand offers me samples of multiple hot sauces served with various delicious canapés. However, my favourite dish of the day comes from Malaysia—shrimp noodles in a spicy sauce broth that comes with a strong warning: ‘Extremely hot, eat carefully and very slowly.’ As I wander through multiple stores offering sweets, dried fruits, organic chocolate, and health products, I somehow take a wrong turn and end up in Australia. Unfortunately, there’s no attention from the yawning people here, no free samples, only misery.

Finally, I explore what China has to offer. I am surprised by the contrast between China and Australia; the politeness expressed by the people here at such a late time in the day, and the complete lack of yawning and misery is a big surprise to me. Everyone wants to speak to me, everyone is friendly, and of course, everyone wants me to try their products. One store I particularly enjoyed was Shantou Sweet House Foodstuff.

This Chinese confectioner offers many interestingly named products, such as Brain Licker, Nipple Lipstick Tooth Candy, and Plastic Fruity Sour Sour Stick. “Wait here for a moment,” says the stallholder, following our long conversation about sugar. He returns with a huge bag of sweets, including strawberry-flavoured popping candy that comes with two free stickers.

Leaving China, it feels like I’ve just been on a six-hour tour around the whole world. I exit the event and take the free shuttle bus over to Kaihin-Makuhari Station. For some reason, a woman in the train station hands me a free sample of a doughnut. Free samples are the last thing I can enjoy right now; food is the very last thing on my mind.

Back at home, as I empty out my full pockets of the many free gifts and brochures, it reminds me of a lost childhood memory of Halloween. I still have an awful lot more food to eat, but I can’t really complain. I enjoyed the event, the food, the beverages, on what has been quite a wonderful day in Chiba.

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