Unusual Occurrences in the Desert

Posted on 25/01/2023 by Luke

My breath rises in a twisting vortex of white as I stand at the platform of Matsue Station. The temperature hovers at zero on this early winter morning, and condensation drips from the pipes overhead. The chill in the air is palpable, and I can feel it seeping into my bones.

In Japan, no matter where I travel, I can be certain that I will come across iconic landmarks, picturesque bridges, majestic mountains, and ancient shrines. Today, my journey begins with a visit to the oldest shrine in the country, a place rich in history and tradition.

Izumo-taisha, also known as Izumo Grand Shrine, has a history dating back over 2,000 years. As I pass through a large torii gate the sun comes out, and despite the chill still lingering in the air, it begins to warm up, much to my delight.

The main shrine is located in the city of Izumo in Shimane Prefecture and it is dedicated to the god Okuninushi, who is the god of marriage and prosperity in Japanese mythology. The shrine’s main hall, known as the “Taisha”, is made of cypress wood and is one of the oldest structures in Japan. The shrine is so sacred that it’s said that all the other gods from all the other shrines from all over Japan meet up here every year for the entirety of October to hang out. This month is known across the country as the month without gods.

After wandering the shrine complex for a while, I return to the main road where I find small local shops selling ice cream, fish-shaped waffles, and powdered green tea rice cakes. The atmosphere is peaceful, and I decide to walk the length of the street, taking in the many stores and restaurants. After that, I arrive at the nearest train station. I need to travel three hours now to see a bridge.

The morning chill is now long gone, as I begin my walk to Eshima Ohashi Bridge, the weather is completely different from my cold start, 16 degrees and a clear blue sky greet me. As I reach the bridge I’m taken aback, much like the weather today, this bridge also defies reality, its unusual shape creates an optical illusion, like a twisted mirage, and it makes it seem as though the cars could quite easily fall off the road.

I cross the Eshima Ohashi Bridge over Lake Nakaumi. The bridge took seven years to build, and it is the largest rigid-frame bridge in Japan. It connects Shimane Prefecture to Tottori Prefecture, and as I traverse its frame, the clear sky allows for a great view of Mount Daisen, a dormant stratovolcano. At 1,709 metres tall, it is the highest mountain in this region of Japan.

The mountain is an impressive sight, so I cross into Tottori, walk to the nearest train station, then take a train towards Mount Daisen for a better view, hoping to get a rare shot of it from the streets below. I do just that. The mountain is breathtaking from here, its snow-capped peak resembles Mount Fuji.

Having now visited a mountain, bridge, and shrine, I decide to find out what else Tottori has to offer. It turns out that Tottori is home to the only large desert in Japan. From Tottori Station, I have to walk for a little under six kilometres. Having wasted a lot of my day taking trains around the country, I have two pressing concerns. The first being that my phone battery is almost dead – I took far too many photographs of the bridge and mountain. The second concern is that it will be dark soon, and a desert at night, I imagine, isn’t going to be very photogenic.

As I cross the Fukuro River, one of my concerns is confirmed, as I watch the sun begin to set above Lake Koyama, and darkness begins to engulf the sky. I have to pass through a tunnelled underpass for vehicles, dimly lit and without a footpath.

Eventually, I see a sign for Tottori Sand Dunes, and check my phone to find that I’m at one percent battery. The desert here is home to the largest sand dunes in Japan, stretching for 16 kilometres along the coast of the Japan Sea. The dunes are a unique geological formation, created by sediment being transported by the nearby Sendai River and deposited on the coast over thousands of years. The dunes are constantly changing shape due to the wind and weather. In the summer, there are even camels here to ride.

As I take out my camera to snap a photograph of the desert, my phone turns off. I’m not sure if I even captured the single photograph, and feel I might have made a wasted journey. Further darkness begins to cloud the air, and after walking on sand for a time, the chill from earlier returns, and at some point it begins to snow. I decide it’s probably a good time to head back to where I’m staying tonight in Matsue.

I pass back through the dimly lit underpass and try to retrace my steps back to the station, I look for street signs, but it seems as though they’ve deserted me, all maps and directions to Tottori Station seemingly removed at night, leaving me lost in the dark, and freezing in the snow, and experiencing yet another season on an unpredictable day. I see a man on his bicycle and ask him for directions. He takes out his phone, brings up a map, and tells me to go straight. So I go straight.

Eventually, I arrive back at Tottori Station and get the train to Matsue. I’ve completely lost count as to how many trains I’ve taken today, I think it’s twelve. At Matsue Station, there is no sign of any snow. Relieved, I return to my hotel to charge my phone before heading out for some food. On the way, I pass a piano on the street and decide to have a play.

As my fingers grace the keys of the piano, I am enveloped in a symphony of sound. The notes swirl around me like a gentle snowfall. I play on until my hands are numb with cold.

Reflections on a Winter’s Day

Posted on 02/01/2023 by Luke

As I walk along Hikifune Water Park Street, a sense of nostalgia washes over me. It’s been five years since I lived in Katsushika Ward, Tokyo, and revisiting my old neighbourhood brings back a flood of memories. The winter morning air is crisp and chill, and my breath turns to white wisps of fog that swirl and still as I make my way to my first destination.

The street itself is unremarkable. It used to be a train line, but now it has been transformed into a park that stretches from the Arakawa River all the way to Ohanajaya. As I begin to walk its length, I can’t help but enjoy the sense of familiarity.

As I wander down the street, memories of my past come flooding back. On a late night walk home with a friend, we had stopped to rest on one of the park’s benches, halfway through our journey. My friend was convinced he heard the sound of a train echoing down the length of the park. It’s said that at night, a ghost train can be heard thundering down where the old train tracks once were, and I’ve heard similar accounts from others. It’s a story that has stuck with me, and one that has been corroborated by others who have experienced it.

As I continue my leisurely walk, I pass Ohanajaya Station, its name, meaning “Tea and Flowers,” imparting a sense of charm. However, every time I pass by, the song “Govinda” by Kula Shaker runs through my head, as I rhyme its catchy refrain of “Ohana Jaya Jaya.” Eventually, I arrive at the picturesque inner reservoir of Mizumoto Park, my gaze drinking in the peaceful surroundings and the stunning reflection on the water’s surface.

Mizumoto Park is the largest park in Tokyo. Bursting with lush gardens and natural beauty, with a large pond at its centre. The park boasts an aquatic plant garden, a bird sanctuary, a babbling stream field, and three car parks. In early spring the park becomes awash with the gentle pink hue of the cherry blossoms.

I make my way over to one of the ponds and sit upon a bench for a time. I watch as a turtle gracefully swims through the water, its movements causing ripples to spread across the surface. The reflections of the surrounding trees dance and shimmer upon the water, creating a mesmerising visual display. The soothing sounds of chirping insects and rustling leaves add to the peaceful atmosphere, and I am content to sit and take it all in.

As I sit on this bench, surrounded by the tranquil beauty of the pond and the trees, a sense of melancholy envelops me. I reflect, thinking back on the year that has passed, and the ephemeral nature of time. I realise that I don’t have any plans or dreams for the future, and the thought fills me with a sense of sadness. All I know is that for now, I want to keep exploring the hidden corners of Japan and sharing my adventures through my words. But in this moment, the weight of my own insignificance and the impermanence of everything feels almost overwhelming.

As I continue my peaceful walk through the park, I come across a telephone box nestled amongst the flowers. Legend has it that this particular telephone box is also haunted, and that at dusk a ghostly figure can be seen lurking inside. However, as I peer closer, the only ghost I find here is the reflection of Mount Fuji in the glass. It’s a breathtaking sight, and I stand for a moment, mesmerised by the beauty of it all. For some reason, the mountain is not visible to the naked eye here; it exists only in the glass of this haunted phone box.

As I wait for the sun to set and darkness to envelop the park, I am treated to a daily ritual at 5 o’clock. The speakers throughout Katsushika emit a creepy, slowed-down song accompanied by an eerie chime. The song echoes throughout the park, reminding me that the day is coming to a close and it’s time to return home. The pealing bell of the mountain temple beckons me, promising the sight of a bright, round moon shining down and illuminating the sky in twilight, filled with the brightest stars as the birds begin to dream.

Marriage on the Rocks

Posted on 30/12/2022 by Luke

As the dawn breaks, I set out for Himeji, Hyogo Prefecture, my ultimate destination: a resplendent castle, the most visited in all of Japan and a UNESCO World Heritage Site. I had previously visited this castle back in 2012, but the main building was undergoing maintenance work at the time, and I was unable to catch a glimpse of its splendour. Instead, the cladding around the castle featured an image of its future state, once the five-year renovation of its roof and walls was finally complete. Today, I get to finally see the future for myself.

Leaving Himeji Station, I stroll along Otemae Street, a kilometre-long street running between the station and the castle. This charming street is lined with shops and restaurants, and the trees are neatly arranged on either side, their branches reaching skyward in a wild, untamed fashion. The empty roads are absent of cars, providing an unobstructed view of Himeji Castle, which rests atop a distant hill like a sentinel of the past.

Himeji Castle has earned itself the nickname “White Heron Castle,” due to its supposed resemblance to a bird taking flight, and because it is strikingly white. For the last 400 years, Himeji Castle has survived bombing during World War II and a multitude of devastating earthquakes and typhoons. It remains one of Japan’s best examples of 17th-century castle architecture.

The castle and its sprawling network of 83 buildings and gardens stretch across a vast expanse of 233 hectares. Even though I have visited before, the sheer size of the castle, along with the impeccably maintained grounds and gardens, is nothing short of breathtaking. It is a veritable kingdom of history and beauty, a realm that leaves one feeling utterly overwhelmed by its grandeur.

I bid farewell to the castle and embark on a journey by train to Osaka. From there, I transfer to a local line train bound for Ise City, Mie Prefecture. My journey is a long and tedious one, with my train halting at each of the 73 stations along the way, incurring a hefty cost and consuming three gruelling hours. At almost every station, the train is met with silence, as not a soul disembarks or boards. It is a complete waste of time. Halfway into my journey, the train is severed in two, and I am moved to the front carriages by the staff. As my truncated train pulls away, the express train bound for Ise City arrives at the platform, leaving me to rue my misfortune and wonder why this was not disclosed to me earlier.

At last, I arrive at Ise Station, where I must transfer to a local line that operates on a limited schedule, running just once an hour. This train will bring me closer to my ultimate destination. Time is of the essence as I have only six minutes to make the switch, but as if to mock my efforts, my ticket gets swallowed up by the ticket machine at the transfer gate. A loud, flashing red notification blares out the ominous words: ‘Ticket jam! Ticket jam!’ It seems that my luck has taken a turn for the worse.

The staff member takes an age going through each and every intricate mechanism within the machine with a pair of tweezers, trying to find my lost ticket. He won’t wave me through because he can’t confirm that I have paid up to this station, I am stuck waiting for what feels like an eternity, and just as time seems to stand still, I miss my connecting train. After about ten minutes, I receive my ticket and the only solace I take is the fact that I got to see the immense inner workings of a Japanese ticket machine.

With no train for the next hour, I opt to walk the roughly eight kilometres to my destination, braving the ghostly chill in the air as I cross the Isuzu River. Eventually, I arrive at a place known by three different names: Futamiokitama Shrine, Meoto-iwa, and the Wedded Rocks. The rocks sit placidly in the water, with the small torii gate perched atop the larger rock like a crown. The gentle waves of Ise Bay add to the serene atmosphere of the scene.

The larger of the two rocks is said to represent the husband, while the smaller rock represents the wife. These two rocks are connected by a massive, thick rope, which, according to Shintoism, symbolises the unity of marriage between the two most important gods in Japanese mythology, Izanagi and Izanami. On a clear day, one can see the majestic Mount Fuji on the distant horizon, its frosted peaks a breathtaking sight above the graceful rocks below. However, my luck continues to abandon me as Mount Fuji is nowhere to be seen today. Perhaps I’ll see it later.

Seemingly unrelated to the story of Meoto-iwa, I also notice that sculptures of frogs are incredibly popular here – in fact, they seem to be absolutely everywhere!

The frogs here are a rarity, believed to have the power to grant specific wishes – particularly those related to returning home or recovering lost items. The Japanese word for ‘return’ or ‘go home’ is ‘kaeru’, which also happens to be the word for ‘frog’. It seems the presence of all these frog statues is simply because of a play on words. If only I had had one at the station with my lost ticket.

After all of my recent travels, I am completely exhausted and decide to take a break in Tokyo to reconnect with some old friends and participate in the New Year’s celebrations. I board a slow local train heading north to Nagoya, before switching to the high-speed bullet train bound for Tokyo.

From the train, the graceful, snow-capped beauty of Mount Fuji greets me.

Lucky Number Seven Gods of Fortune

Posted on 05/01/2015 by Luke

Today, I attempt to go on a pilgrimage. Seven different gods, seven different temples, and no idea where to start. I head into Asakusa for a traditional Japanese breakfast and find that a Japanese New Year’s ritual is taking place outside my favourite izakaya. “Happy Merry Christmas after year,” the owner says to me, flashing his trademark ten-yen smile.

The ritual is mochi making. Mochi is sticky rice that is boiled, and when it is hit with a wooden mallet, it becomes soft. These rice cakes end up more like dumplings and are consumed during January. Some sort of stew is cooking in a big pot beside the mochi, but I have no idea if it’s relevant to the ritual or not.

After watching a man hit rice with a mallet for far too long, I decide to visit the first temple: Shingen-ji Temple in Iriya. This temple has two names; ‘Iriya no Kishibojin’ is the other name used, which just adds to my confusion. Inside the temple, I can hear the sound of monks chanting. Two young Japanese women dressed in kimonos pose for photographs. I wander to the temple, throw in some loose change, and pray.

The temple not only houses one of the seven gods but also Kishimojin, a goddess of children. Her story goes that she was once an evil goddess, snatching children and then eating them. One day, Gautama Buddha kidnapped the youngest son of this goddess, and it was only after experiencing the sorrow of losing a child that she became good. Now, she is worshipped as the guardian of childbirth and child-growing. However, she remains a criminal in my mind; all the children that she previously devoured have somehow been forgotten with her forgiveness.

Next to the temple sits Fukurokuju, the god of happiness, wealth, and longevity—the first of the seven gods that I am here to visit on this pilgrimage.

My second stop is Eishinji Temple, which enshrines Daikokuten, another of the seven gods of fortune. Daikokuten is considered to bring the belief of commercial prosperity. At the entrance, children play with spinning tops and badminton rackets. This temple gives me the opportunity to get my fortune for ¥200, and with me currently on a roll of good fortune from these things, I decide to participate once again.

The fortune I receive is huge. It contains three separate pieces of paper and one golden plastic frog.

“Average luck: Leading to the road of happiness will bless you if you have your own eyes open to the gods. Keeping the person in harm dear in my heart, will ensure that no harm is done, and the world will fit into the flame. With love, be aggressive. Take time to contemplate. The person you are waiting for will come, but will be very late. Don’t be impatient with your law suit. Contemplate. The lost article will be found and returned by someone with kindness. Be honest with money. If you are planning a trip, wait.”

As for the little golden frog, it should be placed in my wallet to ensure that money always comes back. There is also a mention of rakes and ovals, but I can’t understand what this means. Additionally, the fortune tells of magical eggplants, but again, I have no idea. “This lucky charm grants wishes and brings happiness. Please keep it always in your purse.”

At the temple exit, I study the slightly confusing map and head to temple number three.

Following the map, I end up at Onoterusaki Shrine. Although this shrine doesn’t house one of the seven lucky gods, I continue to explore it regardless. A monk on a balcony is hitting drums in a timely rhythm, and something about its calmness draws me inside. The shrine features a man-made imitation in the image of Mount Fuji.

Apparently, many Japanese people once believed that there was a god that lived inside the mountain; therefore, Mount Fuji became a place of worship for many religious groups. This particular Mount Fuji is called Fujizuka of Shitaya-Sakamoto and looks like a big pile of rocks. On July 1st every year, to celebrate the start of the climbing season of the actual Mount Fuji, this miniature mountain is open for the public to climb.

Onoterusaki Shrine is also dedicated to Ono-no-Takamura, a scholar of Chinese classics in the early years of the Heian period.

Scattered around the shrine are these unusual white arrows. I discover that these arrows are known as hamaya. The name is derived from a once dangerously popular game for children involving archery and target practice. Nowadays, these arrows, which translate to mean ‘Demon-breaking arrows,’ are a popular means to dispel evil spirits at the beginning of the New Year.

I leave the shrine and go in search of the third of the seven temples on the pilgrimage course. Temples with multiple names, maps that have no sense of scale, and a cold day of wandering around unfamiliar places. I end up in Uguisudani, an area that should contain one of the seven gods, but for me, the only things in and around the train station are love hotels.

I’ve been walking a lot this last week. Tired and slightly cold, I give up for the day. I head back to Minowa to rest my legs and tumble into a deep sleep.

Tokyo and the Emperor of the Night

Posted on 28/12/2014 by Luke

Christine and I meet up at 10 a.m., catching the Tokyo Metro Ginza Line to Shibuya. Today is once again warm, and all traces of Christmas Day are gone. There are no longer decorations outside shops, and the music of the festive season has been replaced by Taylor Swift, Oasis, and, of course, AKB48. Inside Shibuya Station, we spot another random horse.

We head outside and into the scramble of people as we cross Shibuya Crossing. My opinion of the crossing remains unchanged; it’s just a road. Many tourists are gathered here, taking photographs of people walking along the intersection. This once again demonstrates the power of the guidebook — a simple mention of any place, and tourists flock there.

We wander through the chaos of Shibuya, passing bright lights and television screens practically shouting at us to buy things. However, there isn’t the usual post-Christmas shopping frenzy going on here; this is just a normal day in Shibuya. We decide to explore a building shaped like a castle, which turns out to be the Disney Store. The place is filled with stuffed toys and Italian puppets.

With nothing worth buying and a planned trip to Tokyo Disneyland later this week, we leave the Disney Store empty-handed. Next, we walk to Harajuku Station and take a stroll down the trendy Takeshita Street, full of teen fashion and crêperies, before heading over to Meiji Shrine. While waiting to cross the road, I notice the monk who tried to scam me almost six months ago is still here, attempting to lure in tourists. I simply laugh at him and shake my head as he tries to hand me his gold Siddhārtha Gautama card

We wander into Meiji Shrine, a serene Shinto shrine dedicated to the spirit of Emperor Meiji. As we stroll along the path, absorbing the tranquil atmosphere, a friendly Japanese person notices us and begins to wave, their warm greeting adding a touch of local hospitality to our visit.
“Hello, welcome to Japan,” he says enthusiastically. “Are you American?”
“No, from England.”
“Ah, England! Where in England?”
“Close to Manchester,” I tell him, avoiding the need to explain the location of my unknown town.
“Ah, Manchester United,” he says, “Soccer.” He makes a kicking gesture, emphasising that soccer means football. The man modestly plays down my remarks about his English ability before going on his merry way.

We pass through wooden torii gates and by massive barrels of donated sake before heading to the main shrine.

The cleansing ritual has become second nature to me now, and Christine manages it perfectly, despite having only done it once before. We wander around looking for a place to get our fortunes, hoping to rectify the ‘Bad Fortune’ from yesterday, but it doesn’t appear that this service is offered here.

We wander the length of the shrine and exit on the other side, finding ourselves amidst the vibrant carnival that is Shinjuku. We stroll through Shinjuku Park Tower, the building that houses the Park Hyatt Hotel, famous not only in its own right but also well-known for its feature in the movie Lost in Translation.

We head to the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building, only to be unexpectedly attacked by a masked assailant inside.

The oni, a demon in Japanese folklore known as a ‘Blue Devil,’ surprisingly works for the Japanese Government. Guiding us, he directs to the lift, and we swiftly ascend to the 45th floor of the building.

From the panoramic observation deck, I can see Mount Fuji in the distance. Its snowy white peak blends seamlessly into the clouds, and if you didn’t know where the mountain sits on the horizon, you would never know it was there. Huge office buildings sprawl in every direction, making Tokyo look endless from this height.

I check out the tacky souvenirs and discover that my name in Japanese kanji can mean ‘Lapis Wings Eternal.’ However, given the multiple meanings kanji can have, I opt for a more impactful name. From the available possibilities, I decide that my name actually means ‘Nine Immortal Dragons.’

We leave the government building and make our way to Shinjuku Station. After queueing at the ticket office for about ten minutes, we hand over the tickets from our Narita Express debacle yesterday. We successfully manage to get ¥3800 of our ¥6780 refunded, a welcome bonus. With a sense of triumph, we decide that the Japan Railway Company will be covering the cost of our tempura lunch.

We wander through Shinjuku for a while before deciding to head back to Asakusa. I consider buying a coffee but can’t decide whether I want black coffee, black coffee, or black coffee.

Back in Asakusa, we meet up with some of the other people staying in the hostel, Jeff and Ajitan. The four of us head out for a quick drink at Nui before taking a taxi over to Ryogoku. We find ourselves at a bar called ‘Popeye,’ a delightful place boasting seventy-four different craft beers on tap. Following the bar, we return to Asakusa for some affordable Chinese food before ending the night with karaoke and all-around merriment.

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