O Browser, Where Art Thou?

Posted on 05/08/2014 by Luke

Today, I am leaving Kyoto. However, before I depart, I decide to visit the roof of Kyoto Station, specifically the sky garden known as ‘Happy Terrace.’ It requires ascending nine consecutive escalators to reach the top, where I can admire the breathtaking views of Kyoto for free. As I descend back on the endless escalators towards the train platform, I take a moment to appreciate the roof.

At the platform, a helpful staff member asks if I need any help. I tell him I’m okay and thank him. “Where are you going? Osaka?” he inquires. I nod. He points at the train I’m waiting for, saying, “This one is faster,” seemingly checking off his good deed for the day in his mind. I thank him again and resume waiting for my train. This has happened four times this week in Kyoto—staff members or strangers offering help. I guess I should be more grateful.

At 12 p.m., I board the JR Kyoto Line to Shin-Osaka. The 23-minute train ride costs ¥560. Osaka, the capital of Osaka Prefecture, is Japan’s second-largest metropolitan area. Over one-seventh of the Japanese population lives here, ranking it as the third largest city in Japan by population. I wander around the Osaka area for a while, passing time before I can check into my hotel.

Outside Shin-Osaka Station, I see my first real piece of graffiti:

At 2 p.m., I check in. I’ll be staying in Osaka for three nights. I selected this hotel based on a quote from their website: ‘For warm smiles, fastidious service, and first-class hospitality.’ Interestingly, the hotel also boasts another blatantly inauthentic motto: ‘The happiness of our guests is our happiness.’ The person checking me in hands me a breakfast ticket for a Japanese breakfast tomorrow morning. It’s odd because I don’t recall paying for any breakfast.

I am staying in Shin-Osaka, which Google says is a one-hour walk from Osaka Station. I opt to take the train to Osaka Station and walk back to my hotel, thinking it will be a pleasant way to explore the city. I stayed in Shin-Osaka two years ago, so I am familiar with the area around this station. In Osaka, people walk on the left and stand on the right side of the escalator, unlike almost everywhere else in Japan.

The train ride takes just six minutes with no other stops, and it costs ¥160. Exiting the station, I notice a sign indicating that cycling on the pavement is prohibited. Outside, the temperature is cool, hovering around 25°C, with a gentle rain falling—nothing to worry about, no need for an umbrella. At the foot of the station steps, there’s an outdoor beach volleyball game underway. It’s a Japan Volleyball Association match, likely being filmed, possibly for live television broadcast.

I continue my walk away from the station. To the left, there’s a massive construction site that seems to stretch for several kilometres. On the right, ‘Grand Front Osaka’ stands—a colossal building self-described as a ‘New town in a natural environment.’ Essentially a skyscraper housing numerous shops and restaurants. Adjacent to it, there’s an artificial river that spans the length of the building; it’s not exactly what I’d label a natural environment. However, concrete stepping-stones along the river add a touch of excitement.

I continue my walk through the chaotic Osaka roads. I’m accustomed to cities where streets form a grid-like pattern, always straight and easy to navigate. However, Osaka seems like someone picked it up and gave it a good shake—the city and its streets have turned into a tangled mass of concrete. The roads are chaotic, and the pavements strangely devoid of people. Suddenly, it starts raining hard—nothing to worry about, no need for an umbrella.

Since leaving Osaka Station, I haven’t come across a single convenience store, and I’m in desperate need of buying an umbrella. At this point, a considerable amount of time passes. I spend a good fifteen minutes attempting to reach the bridge that crosses the Yodo River, but inexplicably, an endless train platform obstructs any access. There’s no tunnel beneath it, no bridge over it.

Completely soaked and frustrated, I eventually find the way to the bridge. The rain appears to be intensifying with every step, my shoes now full of water. It takes me another ten minutes to cross the Yodo River. I realise that all I’ve done since this morning is kill time. I have days like this every now and then—nothing happens at all.

As I wander along with my wet clothes and my thoughts, I start to wonder if I’ll even have anything to write about today. Osaka Day One: Nothing Happens. I can already see the title. It’s 5 p.m. when I finally cross the bridge into Juso. A heavy sigh of relief escapes me as I spot, in the distance, the green and white lights of a Family Mart. A second sigh of relief follows at the sight of some neon. However, the path is somewhat spoiled by a single piece of rubbish on the ground.

I purchase an umbrella from Family Mart along with a single banana. Convenience stores appear scarce in this area, but at least I can buy just one banana. Osaka feels like a different country—people here act differently, there’s more litter on the streets, fewer bicycles around, and the locals also speak differently, using their own special dialect.

Drenched from the rain, I stroll down a street named ‘Happy Street,’ feeling as though the sign mocks me as I pass. After making a few turns, I decide to take a rest on a bus stop bench. I estimate that I’ve been walking for about two hours. Consulting the GPS on my camera, I realise I’m close to Nishinakajimaminamigata Station. It’s just one stop away from Shin-Osaka Station, so not much farther to go.

Near the station, the nightlife scene comes alive. Memories flood back as I navigate the interlocking streets filled with restaurants, bars, and neon signs. I decide to check if a bar I fondly remember, called ‘Meets,’ still exists. Finding it easily, I’m disappointed to see it closed today, or perhaps permanently shut down—I can’t discern which. It’s still early, though. Disheartened, I spot a Seven Eleven and opt to purchase a can of 5% Suntory whisky highball. Seven Eleven is the only convenience store I know that sells the 5% can; the other shops only offer the stronger 7% and 9% cans.

Upon returning to the hotel, intending to write about my day, I find that the two computers available in the hotel lobby are relics of the past. One of the machines operates on the Windows 98 operating system with an outdated Internet Explorer as the default browser, bombarding me with messages to update. It prompts for a password whenever I attempt to do anything. I try to download Google Chrome but face the same password requirement. Attempting to write becomes an exercise in patience as the machine’s slowness causes each typed letter to lag about five seconds before appearing on-screen. Frustrated, I abandon the effort and retreat to my room.

Exhausted, I fall asleep before 8 p.m.

Gion with the Finned

Posted on 03/08/2014 by Luke

Today is my last day in Kyoto. Tomorrow I will go to Osaka for three days, before heading off to Nagoya. I still have one temple I want to see, a temple with a difference. I head through the arcade, the same French song is playing that I’ve heard about four other times this week. I know the song but can’t recall the name. There is a pachinko parlour with a picture of Rowan Atkinson on the advertising board. There is also a strange mascot wandering around the arcade, promoting a festival here this evening.

I start by walking through a district called Gion. Gion is the most famous place in Japan for spotting geisha, although here they use the local term ‘Geiko,’ which translates to mean a ‘person of the arts.’ Gion is filled with numerous traditional old streets lined with even older houses, alongside a mix of theatres and other traditional entertainment.

I head up the mountainside to my last Kyoto temple, Otowa-san Kiyomizu-dera, a UNESCO World Heritage Site and one of the seventeen Historical Monuments of Ancient Kyoto. There are some very interesting things to do here. One of them is walking from one sacred stone to the other with your eyes closed. If you succeed, you will supposedly be lucky in love. Another, which is actually prohibited now, is the chance to jump from a 13-metre-high stage. Surviving would mean your wish would be granted. This tradition dates back to the Edo period, where the survival rate was 85.4%.

The main reason I came here, though, was to experience the ‘womb’ of Daizuigu Bosatsu. This occurs not in the main temple building but in the smaller Tainai-meguri Hall. It costs me ¥100 to enter. I take off my shoes and walk down a few steps, all the while holding onto the handrail made of prayer beads. Beyond the steps, I take a right turn and enter a room of complete darkness.

Daizuigu Bosatsu, a female Bodhisattva, possesses the mystical ability to fulfill any human wish. Alone, I navigate through a labyrinth of corridors shrouded in an abyss of blackness so consuming that it swallows all semblance of light. Oddly, it is somewhat peaceful, yet simultaneously horrifying. After an eternity of carefully navigating through the darkness, a distant glimmer pierces through the shadows—a radiant stone. It is at this stone that I make a wish.

Once outside, I continue to wander through this vast temple complex. Here, there’s a natural water spring available for ¥200, but I opt not to drink from it. After sufficient exploration, I decide it’s time to head back; the heat becomes a bit too overwhelming for me. As I descend the mountain, I catch sight of an incredible, bright red shrine: Yasaka Shrine.

My next destination today is along the Takase River, at The Birthplace of the Japanese Motion Pictures Industry. Inabata Katsutaro showcased the first experimental film in Japan. Following his visit to Paris in 1896 to attend the Paris Exposition, he returned to Japan with a cinematograph he acquired from the French inventor Auguste Lumière. In 1897, he screened the film in the garden of the building.

Unfortunately, the building is closed today.

I feel a little hungry and decide that today I’ll try grilled eel for the first time. After wandering for a while, I finally find the place and take a seat in the restaurant. There are probably eight or nine other people eating here. The restaurant plays no music, and there is absolutely no ambiance. Nobody talks either; everyone just sits in silence with their grilled eel, as if waiting for the end of the world.

The menu is a little pricey, so I opt for the small grilled eel on rice with pickles. It arrives with a teapot full of hot green tea. Had I known, I wouldn’t have ordered a beer. The dish, called ‘Unadon,’ is delicious. It’s not what I was expecting; the texture is somewhere between meat and fish, and the soy-based glaze is delicious. Even the rice is good; I savour every grain. In total, it costs me ¥2800, an expensive treat.

I head back to the hostel for a short while to write before heading out again for the Kyoto Tanabata Festival, which starts at 6 p.m.

The festival stretches all along the Kamo River, hosting around one hundred small stalls selling various Japanese snacks, little gifts, and the usual souvenirs. Dubbed the ‘Star Festival,’ it’s said that writing your wish on a special piece of paper here will magically make it come true. One side of the festival is adorned with paper lanterns, while the other side is lined with lanterns made of reflective coloured paper.

At the entrance to the festival, a female performer is essentially doing karaoke, while at the other end, people dance to music on a stage. For no apparent reason, one guy is dressed as a polar bear. As nothing particularly interests me about the festival, I walk its length and then leave.

I head back to the hostel, up to the roof terrace, to read my book.

The evening sky looks like the end of the world.

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.

Let’s Go to Space, Brother!

Posted on 31/07/2014 by Luke

In 1994, Rokuon-ji Temple was designated as a World Cultural Heritage Site. The Golden Pavilion is adorned with gold foil on lacquer, making it a spectacular and breathtaking structure. Gleaming brightly in gold, it peacefully rests on an island in the middle of a lake, encircled by stunning Zen gardens. Even the vending machines here offer disposable cameras, beckoning visitors to capture the Golden Pavilion’s magnificence.

The entry fee is just ¥400, and the ticket, crafted from beautiful paper and adorned with expert calligraphy, adds to the experience. The path meanders through the belfry, past the abbot’s chamber, the pond, the Golden Pavilion, Galaxy Spring, and the Sekka-tei Tea House, all while being enveloped by the mysterious mountains in the background. It’s a wonderful route that takes me about twenty minutes at an unhurried pace. Along the way, small wooden shacks selling souvenirs entice tourists.

After visiting Rokuon-ji Temple, I catch a bus to Kyoto Station. From there, I walk back to Kawaramachi Station, passing by Kyoto Tower on the way, although I opt not to go inside. I’ve had my fill of 360-degree panoramic views this month; it’s enough to last me a lifetime.

As I walk away from Kyoto Tower, I notice some signs. One warns that bicycles parked on Kyoto’s streets will be removed, with a ¥2300 fine upon retrieval. Another indicates that Kyoto is a ‘no smoking’ city, imposing a ¥1000 fine on anyone caught smoking on the streets. A third sign highlights a ¥30,000 fine for littering. I appreciate Kyoto for these regulations, although the frequency of enforcing these fines remains uncertain. At times, it feels as if Japan exists within a vast panopticon.

I see a sign saying, ‘Now, Life is Living You.’ Beyond the sign lies the entrance to yet another temple: Higashi Honganji Temple. I cross over a moat of water filled with lily pads and approach this marvel. The temple also features a cleansing basin adorned with a water-breathing dragon—seems to be a common sight in Kyoto.

The Goeido Hall stands as the second-largest wooden structure in Kyoto and ranks amongst the world’s largest wooden buildings. Its garden is recognised as a site of National Scenic Beauty. The temple follows the Shinran sect of Buddhism. In 1532, a Nichiren Buddhism sect felt that the Shinran sect was gaining too much influence, leading to the burning down of the temple.

As I continue my walk toward Downtown Kyoto, I recall seeing a sign on the train yesterday, advertising an art exhibition at the Museum of Kyoto. Conveniently, the museum is just a ten-minute walk from my hostel. On the way, I pass by a shop called ‘Eggs and Things,’ where a queue of at least thirty women stands outside, enduring the 33°C Kyoto heat, boiling, much like the eggs. I walk up four seemingly random steps, cross a road, and then descend another set of four random steps. Amidst this confusion, a perplexing sign catches my eye.

At the Museum of Kyoto, I attend the opening of the ‘Space Brothers’ exhibition, which will run from today until September 23rd. Men from the Koyama Astronomical Observatory are currently giving a one-off presentation. The presentation is entirely in Japanese, with a man talking and pointing at a projector with a red laser pen. Television crews are also present, with five large cameras and two microphones on sticks, capturing every image and every word.

Space Brothers is a Japanese manga narrating the tale of two brothers aspiring to become astronauts. This exhibition marks the first large-scale showcase of the author Chuya Koyama’s work. It features over two hundred pieces of original illustrations. Alongside the artwork, there’s a collection of replicas of space uniforms and models of rockets, all loaned from the Japan Aerospace Exploration Agency (JAXA).

There’s an audio guide in Japanese narrated by two voice actors from the anime series. Spread across two floors, the exhibition showcases videos of the moon landing, real satellites displayed in glass boxes, model rockets, a dedicated section about Apo the dog, and genuine meteorites. All this is available for the ticket price of ¥1000. Even the museum restaurant offers a space-themed menu. Additionally, Pocari Sweat has a stand here where you can write a message to be sent to the moon during their upcoming interstellar flight next year.

As I make my way through the gift shop, I find myself tempted to purchase something. Normally, I wouldn’t bother, but this is space stuff. At a price of ¥1296, I buy ‘Space Bread’ and ‘Space Ice Cream’—foods that astronauts actually consume during missions to space or while floating about on the International Space Station. ‘In space, no one can hear you ice scream.’

I take my space snacks back to the hostel. The ice cream feels as light as polystyrene but surprisingly tastes delightful. It’s akin to chomping on soft vanilla ice cream-flavoured chalk that turns to powder with each bite. The texture is peculiar, yet it somehow retains the taste of ice cream. On the other hand, the bread tastes rather plain, like ordinary bread. Surprisingly, it still manages to maintain a fresh taste.

I sit on the roof terrace with my book for a while until suddenly, sirens begin wailing all around—loads of them. Three fire engines, a police car, and an ambulance rush to a building on the same block as the hostel. The 20-storey building appears to have a fire on the twentieth floor. Firefighters swiftly ascend to the roof, and one courageous fireman descends from a rope, abseiling onto the balcony below.

Twenty minutes later, the fire is extinguished, the sirens cease, and the vehicles depart. I linger on the roof a little while longer, engrossed in my book, ‘Dance Dance Dance.’ In the distance, the sky echoes with the rumbling of thunder, seemingly serving as an early warning for the impending rain. The precise moment the thunder halts, raindrops begin to fall. Deciding to set aside my book as I’m getting soaked, I grab a hostel umbrella and make my way for some food. Taking refuge in the arcade, I escape from the rain’s downpour. Through the speakers, a saxophone cover of ‘Yesterday’ by the Beatles fills the space.

I opt for Earth food: Kyoto-style Okonomiyaki. Often likened to a pancake or referred to as a Japanese-style pizza, Okonomiyaki is distinct from both. It’s made of batter, cabbage, Okonomiyaki sauce, and shavings of smoked bonito. To complete the dish, small flakes of aonori, a dried seaweed, are sprinkled over the top.

My table features a section in the middle with an iron griddle where the cooked ‘pizza’ is promptly placed. Due to the heat, the fish shavings seem to come alive, moving around on the dish. I squeeze some mayonnaise over the top. While the food tastes good, I’m not particularly fond of the sauce. Nonetheless, the rest of the meal is fantastic. I decide to add a sprinkle of chili powder to give it an extra kick.

Some places serve Okonomiyaki with raw ingredients, allowing you to cook it yourself. It’s a ‘what you like’ dish, where you can request any topping or filling you desire. Not wanting to navigate the ordering process in Japanese, I simply pointed at the word ‘vegetarian’ on the menu. The meal, along with a glass of whisky, totals ¥1010.

I head back to the hostel and, as usual, wrap up the night at the bar.

Cicadas of the Lost Park

Posted on 29/07/2014 by Luke

Today, I wake up at 8 a.m. I go outside and take a short wander. It seems that Kyoto is still sleeping. I return to the hostel to steal a few more hours for myself. By 11 a.m., Kyoto still seems to be asleep; shops are closed, and nothing much is happening. I decide to do some sightseeing. I am fortunate to be staying in Downtown Kyoto; many places are within walking distance, which is very convenient as I am tired of trains. I walk from the hostel in a straight line along the same road for ten minutes, eventually arriving at Kyoto Imperial Palace Park.

The gardens here are quite impressive, featuring Omiya Palace, Sento Palace, multiple shrines, a peach grove, and, of course, the Kyoto Imperial Palace. The peach grove is odd; the peaches are within arm’s reach, so I could steal a few if I wanted to, but I don’t. The most appealing shrine is the Isukushima Shrine; it sits quietly over a lake.

There are signs in some areas of Kyoto Imperial Palace Park that say, “Not to be visited by tourists.” There are little to no other tourists here anyway; perhaps the signs have driven them all away. However, there are hordes of homeless people. Some paths are overgrown, others forgotten many years ago. I see one gardener delicately pollarding the branches of a tree. Just one gardener tending to a park 1.3 kilometres in length.

As for the Kyoto Imperial Palace, it lies behind a moat and a tall wall. The water in the moat has dried up, and the wall is too high to see the Palace beyond. Even if the wall weren’t there, it would be completely shrouded by trees anyway. I quite literally can’t see the Palace for the trees.

There is one thing I do like, and that’s the sound made by the cicadas. These little insects just love to sing, and the trees here are full of them. And there are a lot of trees; ten thousand trees in the Palace Park alone. The noise these insects make sounds alien to me, perhaps robotic, but calming. I spend a full hour wandering the park.

It is another hot day. Well over 30°C, as usual. A woman outside sprays water from a hosepipe around the path leading into her shop. I believe this is to keep the dust down. I cross the Kamo River; much like the Palace moat, it is dried up from the heat, the fish left behind for the birds. As I walk through the shopping arcade, I realise that there are loads of crêperies here; at least eight or nine shops selling pancakes. A sign in one of the pancake shops attempts to forecast the weather:

Back at the hostel, I sit opposite a guy as he flips through a Lonely Planet guidebook. “Where are you going today?” he asks, half for the sake of conversation, half for ideas of places to visit. He waits for me to list off all of the same places as everyone else, but I don’t.
“I’m going to a Kaleidoscope Museum,” I tell him proudly, and his expression fills with puzzlement. He desperately flicks through his guidebook, presumably the ‘Kyoto’ section, but to no avail.
“Hmmph,” he utters, suggesting that if it isn’t in his guidebook, then it doesn’t exist.

I walk halfway across the city, only to find that the Kaleidoscope Museum of Kyoto is closed on a Monday. “I’ll be back,” I say to the locked door with a shake of my head.

One thing I like about Kyoto is that on street corners, there are nice little plaques in English offering insightful history about the area—a nice touch. Feeling a little hungry, I decide to swing by a local cafe at the organic market. I pay ¥940 for a soybean croquette, a cheese croquette, and a beer. The food and drink aren’t particularly photogenic, so I skip taking a photograph.

While I’m here at Nishiki Market, I decide to sample some of the local foods. With over a hundred shops and restaurants, they sell seasonal foods and Kyoto specialties like Japanese sweets, pickles, dried seafood, and sushi. I buy three different traditional Japanese snacks and take them back to the hostel.

On the left, I have Gobo Tamari Zuke, or pickled burdock root; marinated in sugar and soy sauce. I wish I had bought this in Okayama to go with the dandelion. In the middle, there’s some sort of matcha snack. It’s basically Turkish Delight coated in a fine green tea-flavoured powder, instead of the usual icing sugar. On the right, there’s a Japanese traditional cake with soybeans, said to have been made for approximately 150 years using the same traditional manufacturing method. According to the packaging, ‘One piece of one piece is the cracker which I baked carefully.’ The cake costs ¥400 and is my favourite of the three.

After trying my snacks and finishing my book, I head out for dinner.

I spot a gyoza restaurant, a food I am yet to try in Japan. Gyoza is a type of Japanese dumpling, usually filled with meat. This restaurant has an English menu outside, stating that one of the fillings they offer is shrimp. I order the shrimp gyoza along with a beer and a side of spiced cucumber. The cucumber dish arrives whilst I wait for my dumplings; the spices provide a good balance to what would normally be a dull snack. Three pieces of shrimp gyoza show up, although I was expecting at least five. After I finish my first three, a plate of ten fried dumplings is placed in front of me.

As I bite into the first of ten, I realise it is pork. The staff doesn’t speak English, but I manage to convey the message. My plate of pork gyoza is taken away, and I’m told it will take eight minutes for the shrimp. While I wait, I order a second beer. Eventually, I am handed a set of shrimp gyoza, albeit only five pieces instead of ten. Apparently, shrimp is twice as expensive as pork.

As I eat, I mishandle my chopsticks. One of the dumplings falls and lands in the saucer of soy sauce; the sauce splashes up and hits me in my left eye. It stings, and I spend the rest of my meal with tears rolling down one side of my face. After finishing my meal, I offer to pay for the wasted pork gyoza, unsure if it was my mistake or theirs. Admittedly, the restaurant is rather cheap. We compromise, and I pay a total of ¥1570 for eight pieces of shrimp gyoza and two pints of Asahi Beer.

I head back to the hostel’s bar and notice a guy reading ‘Women’ by Charles Bukowski. I share that I’m not a fan of Bukowski, only to find out that the guy is from Surrey. I end up spending the rest of the evening in the bar, discussing literature and politics.

Grandiose Encounters of the Third Class

Posted on 28/07/2014 by Luke

I went without any Internet connection for a few days, so I couldn’t post anything. Here’s a summary of the last three days:

Friday – Fukuoka

Today, I met a German guy named Klaus. It’s his first day in Japan after spending a month in South Korea. He wants to stay here tomorrow night as well, but there are no available rooms in the hostel. I cancel my reservation for tomorrow night, and he takes my room. I wanted to start traveling early tomorrow anyway, as I have a fourteen-hour train journey to endure.

Klaus and I take a stroll around Hakata Station. I show him the sights, starting with the roof terrace. We then wander through the enormous indoor shopping complex, exploring various random gifts. I spot some excellent souvenir ideas. Later, we head for food—a classic dish of mixed vegetable and prawn tempura on rice, accompanied by a pint of Kirin Beer. Kirin isn’t my first choice for Japanese beer, but I don’t complain.

Afterward, we head over to Tenjin Station because Klaus is really keen on seeing the giant cardboard train. I don’t mind showing him around as I have nothing else planned in Fukuoka. Klaus is quite funny, and his English is good, so I don’t have to speak slowly or anything. We enter the building where I thought the cardboard train was, but we can’t seem to find it. Unfortunately, I deleted the photograph, so I can’t prove to him that it was real. He starts doubting its existence altogether, and I begin to question it myself, still feeling a bit off-kilter from yesterday. We hesitate to ask anyone else about the train because it might sound absurd. “Excuse me, miss, could you point us in the direction of the giant cardboard stream locomotive, please?”

After an hour of searching, we eventually find it in a completely different building from the one I had sworn it was in.

Next, we head to an izakaya by the river. It’s the first time I’ve visited an outdoor izakaya of this style. We choose the most welcoming one. “Please, you are welcome,” the owner says with an honest smile. This place serves skewers of meat and noodle soup. Klaus and I do what Germans and Britons do best: drink.

We meet a couple of Japanese people: two guys, one of whom had visited Berlin last year, so he and Klaus engage in conversation. Two girls, one of whom had spent six months studying English in Leeds, so she and I chat. As the night progresses, Klaus teaches me about South Korea, and I share my knowledge about Japan with him. We drink, joke, and before we know it, the night disappears.

Saturday – Okayama

I board my third and final train for the day at Shimionoseki Station, taking the JR Sanyo Line. The train is old, with uncomfortable seats, no toilet, and no vending machine. I wish I had more than one bottle of water. The train announcements are exclusively in Japanese. Am I even on the right train? How would I even know?

This ‘local’ train makes an astonishing 83 stops, taking a total of eight hours. Finally, at 9 p.m., I arrive in Okayama. I decided to break up my travel to Kyoto with a nice stopover in a pleasant-looking business hotel. I enjoy staying in a hotel once a month; it offers a refreshing change from the noise of a dormitory room. By using my Seishun 18 ticket, I save myself the ¥16,060 that the bullet train would have cost me. In exchange, I sacrifice 569 minutes of my life.

As I step off the train, the speakers are bellowing out the tune, ‘I’ve Been Working on the Railroad’. In fact, they play the tune every time a train pulls up here. You might go insane if you were a member of the station staff. Leaving the station, I realise just how exhausted I am from doing absolutely nothing but sitting on trains. It wears me out.

There is a really lovely fountain just outside the entrance. I believe it’s shaped to look like a dandelion.

One thing I notice immediately about Okayama is the maps—they are everywhere, massive, and in English. My hotel is on the same road as the station, about halfway between here and Okayama Castle. I grab a well-deserved can of Suntory whisky highball for the walk.

The main road through Okayama is wide, with trams drifting through the middle of the lanes. Neatly pollarded trees, lit up by lamps, line both sides of the pavement, adding to the city’s charm. Finding my hotel, I notice it’s slightly more upmarket than I’m used to. The room is of average size, with a laid-out yukata on the bed and all the usual hotel amenities. Unfortunately, my view isn’t of the castle but of the train station. Oddly, the hotel exists in a time before the World Wide Web and does not offer Internet access.

After settling into the hotel, I decide to take a walk. I head into the park, passing a group of people exercising to music from a stereo in the street. The park is pitch black, but I can vaguely make out a lake in the middle. In the distance, I see the castle, illuminated by bright green lights.

Similar to the park, the castle exterior is pitch black, earning it the nickname ‘Crow Castle’. After visiting the castle, I step out of the park and into the light. Following the neon signs, I navigate interlocking side streets filled with restaurants. People stand outside, attempting to usher customers into their establishments. As I walk around with an empty can of highball, a trick I discovered, I notice that nobody wants someone with an open can of drink in their restaurant. Consequently, I am almost completely ignored by the touts.

I decide to dine at a small family-run restaurant. Surprisingly, they have Basashi (raw horse meat) curry on the menu, alongside natto curry. Opting for a fish curry, I’m asked by the owner, ‘Medium heat, medium curry, okay?’ I request it to be hot. He brings out the familiar chart with the five chili symbols. His chart looks like this:

One: For children.
Two: Mild curry.
Three: Extremely hot!
Four: Daredevil!
Five:

Five is left blank, presumably because no one orders a five. I ask for a three. ‘Three!!!’ he exclaims. His response makes me start laughing. When my curry arrives, the smell is enticing, and the heat level is just right. It costs ¥1019, including a small can of Kirin Beer. It’s a good meal, albeit with a substandard beer.

Sunday – Kyoto

After traveling for four hours on trains, I finally arrive in Kyoto. I switch to the subway line headed to Kawaramachi Station, and surprisingly, the subway train happens to be the nicest I’ve ridden all week. Remembering my station name won’t be an issue either. During my month in Tokyo, my local station was Tawaramachi Station—here, just a letter’s difference. Leaving the station, I walk directly into a massive shopping arcade that sprawls out in every direction.

I pass by a huge market where everything is produced and sourced locally. There are numerous vegan and organic restaurants here as well—my kind of place. Additionally, within the arcade, there are random temples dotted about. Seishinin Temple is sandwiched between a small shop selling calligraphy on wooden blocks and a shop selling human caricatures.

It is only 2 p.m. and I have one hour before I can officially check-in. I find the hostel and fill out all the necessary paperwork and pay. The hostel offers to look after my bags for an hour. As I hand over my one bag, the staff member gives me a bewildered look. “That’s it?!” He asks me with surprise in his voice.
“Yep, that’s it,” I tell him.
“Not very heavy,” he says, struggling to grasp the concept of my luggage.
“I like to travel light,” I offer as an explanation. His expression retains a sense of disbelief.

I have an hour to kill, so I decide to find some lunch. I head to a small restaurant across the road that offers natural organic food. Like most restaurants here, it has an English menu, probably due to the sheer volume of tourists. They offer free wireless Internet, and Björk’s music is coming out of the speakers. I order a salmon, mushroom, and cheese omelette over rice, served with a big salad, along with a green tea latte. Although the food doesn’t look too pretty, it tastes and smells amazing. The meal costs ¥1944. No complaints here—good food, good music, free Internet.

Kyoto was formerly the imperial capital of Japan for over a thousand years. Now, it serves as the capital of Kyoto Prefecture. It’s often referred to as the ‘City of Ten Thousand Shrines.’ I’m not certain if it actually has ten thousand shrines, but it wouldn’t surprise me one bit if it did. I’ve counted eleven already today, and they were all within the indoor shopping arcade.

I return to the hostel to retrieve my room key. The hostel is modern, featuring five floors and a roof terrace. I decide to explore the public areas. The lounge is adorned with small wooden boxes housing growing plants, adding a touch of nature. A huge glass bay window floods the dining area with natural light. The outdoor roof terrace is neatly arranged, complete with beer and cup noodle vending machines. It seems someone in the hostel has organised a weekly late-night running group, with a clear emphasis on ‘going for a beer afterwards.’ I have a feeling I’m going to enjoy my one-week stay here.

The hostel also features a library, and unlike Fukuoka and Beppu, it has a lift. While I’m writing up my weekend, a Japanese guy who works here comes over and introduces himself. He seems quite a character and turns out to be one of the barmen at the hostel’s bar, which is located in the basement and stays open until midnight every evening. They also offer ¥400 beer on tap. Tonight, the hostel is hosting a monthly party, which is fantastic—another stroke of lucky timing. At the party, I discover that the other barman is my friend Shonosuke. I had no idea he was here. Brilliant!

Bike to the Fuchsia

Posted on 19/07/2014 by Luke

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I see a random square:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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