Hell and High Slaughter

Posted on 12/12/2022 by Luke Kinsella

My plan today was a visit to Ukiha Inari Shrine, a remote shrine with a hillside vista over the Chikogu Plains that offer stunning views of red torii gates and the meadows beyond. However, as I finally arrive at Tosu Station to switch trains, I find that my next train, the Yufu 3 Limited Express bound for Beppu, doesn’t depart for another six hours, so in desperate need of a plan, and a sudden change of itinerary, I rush onto a random train bound for Kurume.

Kurume is a small city in Fukuoka Prefecture. I flip a coin to let fate decide my direction, but woefully fail to catch the coin and it lands in the gutter of a drain. Today isn’t going very well and it’s still morning. I choose to go south. It doesn’t take long for my optimism to return though, for in the distance standing tall and proud, a mysterious white statue captures my attention, and essentially my destination decides on itself.

The statue can be seen from far and wide, and as I finally get close enough, it turns out to not be what I first thought, but instead a 62-metre tall statue of Kannon, the Goddess of Mercy. I always enjoy a good Kannon statue, not only does she save the souls of the suffering, but there’s often something rather unexpected to see.

The first thing that’s a little unusual is the 38-metre tall structure next to the Goddess. This replica of India’s Mahabodhi Temple, the Great Awakening Temple, is the first of its kind in Japan, and is based on the story that Buddha sat under a tree in India for seven days to meditate, became awakened, and then the original temple was built to honour that event. Why there is such a replica here in Kurume I have no idea. Also, and it may be a matter of perspective, but the Mahabodhi Temple is 24-metres shorter than Kannon, however, at every angle, the temple seems to tower over the Goddess.

As I approach the ticket office to enter Daihonzan Naritasan Kurume Temple, I inadvertently wake up a young Japanese woman; obviously this place doesn’t get a lot of visitors despite its massive car park that boasts space for 700 vehicles.

I take a seat on a small stone bench for a time, admiring the statue and contemplating, just like Buddha had once done. A statue of Ebisu disturbs my thinking, purely because he’s sitting on a cow next to a big pile of money. Distracted, I walk around the temple grounds, here there are numerous smaller statues depicting twisted souls in anguish.

I notice a shaft in the side of the Kannon statue, and decide to enter. Endless corridors greet me. Random artwork lines the walls, steep steps twist and turn through the statue, there is no elevator, and the climb to the top takes an age. From the top there are tiny windows that offer a nice view of the city below.

After admiring the landscape, I decide it’s probably time to leave now, and as I climb back down to the ground floor, I notice steps leading deeper down into a basement. As I further approach, I hear the creaky voices of evil spirits echoing down the lonely hall. A room here is marked either side by a pillar of skull heads. Inside are some lifeless effigies, but as I approach, I activate a sensor of sorts, and the first model begins to move.

This animatronic demon is sawing a naked man in half; the saw slides back and forth for as long as I watch. The man, despite his obvious injury is still alive, his screams are piercing and chilling, the sound effects of the saw all adding to the macabre scene. An absolute show of horror.

I move through the exhibits. A woman surrounded by spike traps gives me a jump scare as she screams into life. Two children covered in bruises and blood rotate on a platform as a demon with a sinister grin watches on. A man holding a huge boulder is about to smash in the head of a woman whilst a giant towers above. A chained up man is having a red-hot poker stuffed into his mouth.

I decide that this is one of the most harrowing things I’ve seen in my whole life. The passable realism of the statues blending with the authentic yet disturbing sound effects really adds to the eeriness evoked by this imagery. It seems that hidden beneath this innocent looking statue of the Goddess Kannon holding a baby, is a secret haunted house.

I take one last walk through what I learn to be the Hell Museum, before leaving the basement, the statue, and stepping quietly past the ticket gate as to not wake up the sleeping woman.

As I walk away, I look back at the statue, its phallic shape from behind visible for miles and miles, it makes me wonder if it was indeed designed that way, or just a misshaped mishap. I guess I’ll never know.

The Adventures of Tin Toys

Posted on 21/02/2015 by Luke Kinsella

Yesterday, as I was walking around Yokohama, I noticed many interesting things on the numerous maps that adorned the streets. Having visited Yokohama only once before, I decided to stay the night and spend a second day exploring this historic city. While staring at the points of interest on the signs, one thing genuinely excited me: the Tin Toy Museum.

I begin my exploration by walking through the Yamate area. This place is characterised by interlocking stone pathways that bend and crawl at various steep degrees, reminiscent of my hometown with its steep hills and Western-style houses. Despite being a popular spot for tourists, locally known as ‘The Bluff,’ I am surprised to find that most maps in this hilly terrain are in Japanese. Needless to say, I get lost and eventually stumble upon a random Spanish-style house.

There is no charge to enter the house, but upon entry, I am required to remove my shoes. Inside, I find a woman playing the flute, accompanied by another woman on the piano, seemingly without any apparent reason. While I recognise the melody, I struggle to put a name to it. As I wander around, I am afforded the opportunity to explore a genuine Spanish kitchen, complete with old cutlery. It surprises me to learn that the house was built by an American but designed by a British architect, adding a layer of complexity to its Spanish theme that I can’t quite comprehend. The Bluff is dotted with many houses of diverse styles, allowing visitors to freely wander and experience the architecture of different countries. From the balcony window, I catch a glimpse of what locals refer to as the ‘British House’ in the distance.

I make my way into the dining room, anticipating tables and chairs, only to be surprised by the presence of strange artwork that clearly doesn’t belong in this space.

I leave the house, resuming my quest for the Tin Toy Museum. I meander through a cemetery for British soldiers and emerge on the other side. Stumbling upon the oldest wooden Christian church in Japan, I find it of little interest and continue walking for about an hour through maze-like streets. Finally, I locate a map in English. The Tin Toy Museum is on the opposite side of The Bluff, close to the house I visited earlier. I navigate steep hills and winding alleyways, and after another half-hour, I arrive at the museum, half-expecting it to be closed today.

At the entrance, I pay ¥200 and race inside.

As I step inside the Tin Toy Museum, I’m greeted by the sound of The Beatles’ album ‘Help!’ playing from the speakers—an unexpected but delightful touch. The exhibition showcases over three thousand miniature toys produced in Japan between 1890 and 1960. Most of the toys, ranging from cars and rockets to robots, form the extensive personal collection of Teruhisa Kitahara, a man with a passionate affection for all things toy.

A sign next to some rather unsettling clowns reads, “Clown and circus toys are highly comical, perfectly capturing the lively movement of the circus. They are popular for their acrobatic flair.” Inside the museum, there’s a second exhibit called the ‘Mini-Mini Museum.’ Included in the ticket price, this small shoe-box-sized exhibit initially seems like a pointless distraction. However, as I explore, I discover it features even smaller toys than I could have imagined were possible to create.

Back at the main exhibition, I find that JAXA astronaut Naoko Yamazaki has visited here too, and she appears to have forgotten a signed postcard of herself, left amongst Atomic Rockets and Space Ship X-7’s. I feel tempted to buy a remote control alligator for the price of a month’s rent, but I instead opt for a wind-up robot for ¥1242; quite expensive, but full of nostalgia, and I like robots.

I leave the museum and the Yamate area, heading for Yamashita Park. The park, situated on the waterfront, is unfortunately cast in shadow by the massive Hikawa Maru, an ocean liner that blocks the sunshine and seems unnecessarily colossal. Nowadays, it serves as another museum, overshadowing the park inconsiderately. Nevertheless, the reason for my visit to this park was sparked by a sign pointing to another point of interest that intrigued me – the Statue of the Guardian God of Water.

It’s no secret that I enjoy irony, so I find it incredibly amusing that the statue here stands within a construction site, placed in a small pond filled with bricks and completely devoid of any water whatsoever. I can’t imagine the statue is pleased with its surroundings.

My final stop in Yokohama is also within Yamashita Park – the Statue of the Little Girl with Red Shoes On. I didn’t have specific expectations, but the description on the sign proved accurate. The girl represents a children’s song from 1922 called ‘Akai Kutsu,’ written by Ujo Noguchi, translating to mean ‘Red Shoes.’

A young girl with red shoes, was taken away by a foreigner.
She rode on a ship from Yokohama pier, taken away by a foreigner.
I imagine right now she has become blue-eyed, living in that foreigner’s land.
Every time I see red shoes, I think of her.
And every time I meet a foreigner, I think of her.

I’m not too sure what the song is about, and the only explanation offered by the sign is that Yokohama City wants this statue to become a cherished landmark for its countless visitors. Sadly, most visitors seem to just walk along, not giving the statue a second glance.

I decide that there is little else to do in Yokohama; despite having enjoyed two nice sightseeing days, it is time to head back to the reality of Tokyo. I take the train over to Shibuya. As I leave the station, I navigate through crowds of photographers capturing images of what once was and still is – just a crossing. The bright lights of Shibuya act as a neon reminder of what I was expecting Japan to look like before I arrived here nine months ago.

I wander aimlessly for a while through the busy nightlife before feeling overwhelmed by the lights and sounds, eventually making me feel dizzy. After a tiring few days, it’s time for me to go home. I buy some takeaway food for the train, taken away by a foreigner, and head back to Minowa.

Fins Can Only Get Batter

Posted on 31/12/2014 by Luke Kinsella

Today, Christine and I head over to Tsukiji to visit a fish market. Outside the train station, the outer market is crowded with mostly tourists. It is fair to say that along the small streets lining the market, we are literally packed like sardines. Many small food stores sell fish caught fresh this morning, and the smell of fish is pleasant and anything but overpowering. The freshness of the food here can really be noted.

Buckets of huge tuna sit soaked in blood and ice. Live crabs try to escape their fate by crawling from weighing scales, and the hustle and bustle of the market is present at every turn.

We wander the outer market and into what looks like a giant warehouse. This is the wholesale section of the market, and the biggest wholesale fish and seafood market in the world. People carrying huge white polystyrene boxes of frozen fish cruise past on electric bikes. Tuna that costs more than a house is on sale and on display. People are rushing. Market traders are yelling. It is all a bit overwhelming.

We wander the entire length of the wholesale market, which takes about twenty minutes at a hurried pace. At the other side of the market, we wander into a shrine to receive our fortune in the form of a sacred lot. One of the traditional cultures in Japan that you can experience at Japanese shrines and temples. We both pay ¥200 and both receive a ‘Very lucky’ fortune. We wonder if they are all the same.

After Tsukiji, we take the train over to Tokyo Big Sight. Outside Tokyo International Exhibition Centre, there are about one thousand people in cosplay, dressed as their favourite comic book characters.

Men dressed as women pose for photographs for a queue of excited otaku. A guy in a schoolgirl outfit follows us as we enter the main building. Today is Winter Comiket, a comic market event with a focus on independent manga artists. Ninety percent of the people here are men wearing glasses and conform seamlessly to the stereotype of a comic book fan.

Entry is free. Inside the West Halls, there are rows upon rows of small stands, each selling individual comic books. There is no stage. No other entertainment. Only comic books. I can understand the appeal to those who read manga, but for me, the event gives me very little satisfaction. In fact, Christine and I agree that it is all a little too much. The crowds are insane, and oddly, most of the comic books seem to feature covers that can only be described as pornography.

After ten minutes of wandering along endless rows of comics, we decide to leave. On the way out, we bump into Jeff. He is standing around playing with his ‘selfie stick’ with a disappointed look on his face. He only bought the stick today, but already, it has broken; perhaps through overuse, perhaps it was cheaply made.

We leave Tokyo Big Sight and walk across the Dream Bridge and the Teleport Bridge before arriving at Decks, Odaiba. We grab some cheap food at Yoshinoya, one of my favourite chain restaurants because it sells grilled eel with a bottle of beer at an extremely low price. After food, Jeff heads off, and Christine and I explore the area.

We are handed a flyer for the Tokyo Trick Art Museum. It looks interesting enough and is only ¥900, so we decide to take a look.

The flyer says, ‘Do you want to play with Japanese ghosts and monsters? You can take funny photos. Don’t be scared. It is fun.’ The queue is mostly populated by families with children. Perhaps this isn’t for adults at all. Trapped in the queueing system, there is no going back, and eventually, we’re inside and being given a guided group tour of the museum, in Japanese.

We wander through the Edo area and the ninja house. At one point, we have to find a secret door; perhaps the most interesting thing in the museum. We take photographs in various positions, but they all turn out looking poor. We solve optical illusions, look at drawings from different angles, and get eaten by a whale. The best illusion is one of a vampire with a wine glass.

After the Tokyo Trick Art Museum, we head back to Asakusa, to Cafe Byron Bay, to drink wine. We opt for a relatively early night, tired from five days of constant walking around and sightseeing. Tomorrow, an eagerly anticipated trip to Tokyo Disneyland awaits.

Paint and Gunpowder

Posted on 29/12/2014 by Luke Kinsella

The four of us from last night absorb a new person into our group, a guy called Josh. We head out on foot toward Ueno Park. Today, the National Museum of Western Art is having a free admission day, and despite being in Japan, we consider it worth a look. We stroll inside and are asked to show our tickets. “Free admission day,” I tell the lady.
“You still need to get a ticket,” she informs me. We head out of the museum and to the ticket office. We ask for five tickets, and hand over no money before heading back inside and handing over the tickets to the lady. A rather trivial exercise.

The Museum of Western Art is the primary institution of its kind in Japan, emphasising paintings with a few sculptures thrown in for good measure. The museum is adorned with an abundance of macabre Baroque works, where death and torture seem to be popular themes. Amidst the horror, notable pieces include ‘The Last Supper’ painted by Marten de Vos, Vincent van Gogh’s ‘Roses’, and a rather disappointing collection of Claude Monet paintings. Not one to truly appreciate art, I find that Monet’s work looks terrible up close, especially ‘Water Lilies’, which, in my opinion, looks plain awful.

My favourite piece on display is Pablo Picasso’s ‘Couple’. Abstract expressionism has always been a preference of mine; I’ll take this over a bowl of fruit or a basket of flowers any day. Picasso painted this incredible piece at eighty-eight years old.

We leave the museum and take a Yamanote Line train from Ueno to Ikebukuro. Outside the station, we need to head east. Josh turns out to be well-prepared, pulling out an actual compass and casually guiding us in the direction of east. This earns him the nickname ‘Compass Josh’ for the rest of the day, and he seems to take to the idea quite fondly.

The reason we are here is to visit a shop run by a company that has faced criticism for its practices, including accusations of contributing to infant mortality in underdeveloped countries due to its reluctance to spend extra profit on proper labelling for its baby milk formula. The shop sells a specific type of confectionery that is hugely popular in Japan. This two-fingered chocolate-covered wafer bar confection is available in many remarkable flavours, such as wasabi, strawberry cheesecake, and sakura.

While the others queue for their chocolate, I wander around outside and admire the street art.

We head to a small coffee shop before making our way back to the train station. On the platform, two men are fighting. One guy stands up and walks away, his face dripping with blood, his eyes bruised. This is the first time I witness violence like this in Japan, and it comes as a bit of a shock.

I head home for a while to prepare for a performance this evening before meeting the others in Odaiba. Compass Josh’s partner, Jessica, has joined us, expanding our group to six. We explore the giant statue of Gundam before settling in the food court of Diver City, enjoying overpriced wine in undersized glasses. Outside Diver City, an extraordinary bus stop catches my eye, begging to be photographed.

Tonight in Odaiba, a special fireworks display is scheduled for 7 p.m. We wander around the area, with the evening darkness stolen by extravagant illuminations. There’s a feeling of forgotten Christmas lights here, and decorations that will likely remain year-round. Trees glisten, Tokyo Tower in the distance shines orange, and the Rainbow Bridge is bathed in a spectrum of light from red to violet.

We position ourselves on the balcony of the Decks building, a vast shopping mall offering a spectacular view of Tokyo Bay. At exactly seven o’clock, fireworks shoot into the sky, creating a dazzling display that lasts for ten minutes. Below us, boats are illuminated in various colours, their reflections shimmering on the water alongside the radiant Rainbow Bridge. Tokyo Tower continues to shine in the distance. The backdrop consists of a sea of lights from office buildings, adding to the immersive experience. In the foreground, the glow from the massive firework display warms the air, completing the enchanting scene.

After the fireworks, we take the train back to Asakusa, passing by the Fuji TV building as it displays bright flashing text: ‘What a cool we are!’

Back in Asakusa, we part ways. I head to Cafe Byron Bay for a bonenkai, a ‘forget the year’ party widely celebrated here. The tap-dancing balloon artist, whom I first saw performing on the streets of Asakusa during my first week in Japan, is here to entertain. A belly dancer is also putting on a show. I perform with trumpet and guitar. Food is free and all-you-can-eat. Everyone gets very drunk. After the entertainment, we each give a speech about the year we’ve had and what we hope to achieve in 2015. My resolution and absolute aim are to publish a science-fiction novel.

After the end-of-year party, I head out with seven Japanese friends for a second night in a row of karaoke.

I Warm Duck Smoke

Posted on 01/11/2014 by Luke Kinsella

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The menu boasts the following delicious highlights:

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

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

At home, I dream of horses in the spring.

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