Tag Archives: neon

Willow Trees All The Way Down

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Today, after almost nineteen weeks of living in mixed dormitories, I’ve finally moved out of hostel accommodation and into an apartment in Minowa, still within Taito Ward. The weather is clear and warm, prompting me to embark on a little exploration. Just a three-minute walk from my new place, I spot a shiny silver plaque near a Shell petrol station and decide to investigate. In the corner of the forecourt, I’m greeted by the sight of a massive weeping willow tree.

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The plaque informs me that the tree is named ‘Mikaeri Yanagi,’ translating to ‘looking-back willow tree.’ Its name stems from marking the entrance to Yoshiwara, a licensed red-light district that was relocated to this area in 1657. Legend has it that as people departed Yoshiwara, they would cast a sorrowful glance back at this tree, feeling painful reluctant to leave. Intrigued, I decide to take a little stroll.

Even under the bright daylight, numerous establishments have men in business suits, sporting earpieces, stationed outside, while the neon signs blaze at their brightest. As I stroll along, a grinning man asks, “Sex?” I politely shake my head and continue walking. The road is lined with smaller willow trees. After approximately ten minutes, I realise I’m in a familiar area—it’s the same road where my hostel used to be. It’s rather pleasing to discover that my new apartment is just a ten-minute walk from central Asakusa.

Deciding to make the most of my time, I hop on a train from Tawaramachi Station and make my way to Tokyo Big Sight. A friend has invited me to see his exhibition there today. However, upon arrival, I discover that the event operates on an ‘invite-only’ basis, with attendees exchanging forms for passes. Unfortunately, the only invite I received was verbal.

I decide to approach the information desk regardless and ask, “Can I see the exhibition, please?”
The young receptionist queries, “Do you have an invitation card?”
“Nope,” I reply.
“Well, you need an invitation card to enter,” she explains.
Pausing for a moment, I reach into my wallet and retrieve the business card of the friend who invited me, coincidentally the president of one of the exhibiting companies. Handing her the business card, I truthfully assert, “My friend invited me.”
She scrutinises the card for a while before saying, “Please fill out this form.” With a smile, I hand her the completed form, and in return, she hands me a laminated pass. I’m granted entry to the exhibition, completely free of charge. The power of business cards.

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The exhibition is divided into two main sections. The first part highlights the advantages of health foods, particularly emphasising raw and organic foods, health supplements, enriched agricultural processes, health-beneficial rice cultivation methods, and natural seasonings aimed at enhancing taste.

On the other hand, the second part of the show delves into science and technology. This section showcases breakthrough technologies focused on food quality, packaging reduction methods, food safety and hygiene innovations, allergen test kits, and germ-preventive clothing.

Needless to say, everything is in Japanese, and I’m finding it quite challenging to understand what’s happening. The attendees seem to be either exhibitors or buyers, and they’re all dressed in suits. It’s evident that everyone here has a business card, except for me.

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After swinging by my friend’s stand, I briefly consider checking out the other three halls at Tokyo Big Sight. There’s an exhibition on packaging material today, but I have a feeling it might be a tad dull – almost like this post! So, I opt to skip it and make my way back to the train station instead.

After a relaxing break at home, dusk falls, and I venture out again in search of some liveliness. Exploring a new neighbourhood calls for a trusty companion—a can of Suntory whisky highball. Nearby stands a renowned tempura restaurant, crafted from wood and steeped in history. Established in the late 1800s, it’s among the oldest in the area, evidenced by the crowd outside patiently queueing, all with hearty appetites for tempura.

I stroll for about five minutes to reach the nearby Minowa Station. The area exudes a certain liveliness that could potentially make it my new go-to spot, but unfortunately, it seems to lack bars entirely. Among the occasional izakaya, what stands out are the abundance of hair salons, more per capita than any other place I’ve visited. Continuing my wandering, I somehow find myself back amidst the neon-lit streets of Yoshiwara. The traffic lights, like the moon this evening, an appropriate red.

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I swing by Seven Eleven for some food before heading home to eat. After eating, I’m completely at a loss about what to do with my rubbish. Hostels usually have just one bin for bottles and cans and another for everything else. However, my new place has seven different bins, all labelled in Japanese. I take some time to translate each one. One bin indicates it’s for ‘a leaf’, which is perfect timing as I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to dispose of my collection of leaves. Another bin, specifically for cans, confusingly instructs me to, ‘Crush the bottle as much as you can.’ Eventually, I divide the remains of my lunch into separate piles before throwing them into the appropriate bins.

I watch the usual array of Japanese television—a sports event, a sensational news report predicting the biggest typhoon hitting Tokyo this weekend, and even a game show involving pigeons. Eventually, feeling a bit bored with TV, I decide to order fifty personalised business cards. Before calling it a night, I capture a photograph of the red moon and then head to bed.

Internet Cafes, Bullet Trains, Irish Bars

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Grilled fish of the day is salmon for the third day in a row. After breakfast, I return to my room and return my room to a state that looks exactly as it did before I arrived, a hotel habit of mine. After that, I check out and head to Popeye Media Cafe to write things up.

The Internet cafe doesn’t only provide Internet access. The following items are offered at no cost (¥0): bath towel, body soap, shampoo, conditioner, hair dryer, hair iron, toothbrush, skin toner, shaving equipment (razor and shaving foam), drinks from three vending machines (offering ‘over 50 kinds of drinks!’), mobile phone charging, two plugs per person (‘you can plug in a device!’), wireless Internet, showers, and a sunbed. All of these amenities are complimentary.

They also have a ¥360 hot food vending machine, but that seems to be the only thing you need to pay for, other than time. The cafe also offers a library of comic books, better known as manga. The amount of manga on offer is insane, with bookshelves spread endlessly in every direction. Where there isn’t a private booth with a computer, there is a bookshelf. The cafe boasts an impressive 179 computers.

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“I paid ¥980 for five hours, the day rate. I’ve actually been here twice before. Those times, I foolishly came during the evening and paid ¥805 for two hours and ¥1330 for three hours.

Today, I am assigned booth twenty-two. My computer runs Windows XP, and Google Chrome has already been downloaded. Next to my monitor is a menu for Domino’s Pizza. If I want, I can select a pizza from the menu, and the front desk will order it for me, handle the payment upon its arrival, and deliver it to my desk. The pizza will be added to my ‘check’ and paid for at the end.

I lounge in my reclining chair and write for five hours, all the while sipping on my free drinks. Today, I’m heading to Nagoya and can’t check into my hotel until 2 p.m. Might as well kill time by writing, that’s what I say.

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I like it here; dingy, comfortable chair, feels good. I can see how people can end up spending a whole night here. People actually do just that. Because of the free amenities on offer and the availability of private booths to rent for a special ‘all night’ rate, people actually sleep here. It works out cheaper than a hotel, and you can read all the comic books you desire.

When I’m done, I settle my bill and leave. Outside, the sun is far too bright, especially after sitting in the dark for five hours. At 3 p.m., I take the bullet train to Nagoya. It costs ¥6760 for a 52-minute journey. It’s twice as expensive as the local trains, but they take three times as long, and I can’t deal with that. I reserve a window seat to make use of the ‘free’ plug socket. I realise that this might well be my last ride on the bullet train for a while. It’s quite saddening, actually; the bullet train really is a treat.

I arrive in Nagoya at 4:02 p.m., precisely as stated on my ticket—efficient as always.

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The station exits out into the heart of the city, and a beautiful city it is. Thunder sounds in the distance, threatening rain, with a few flashes of lightning in the sky, but I only have to walk for five minutes. It starts to rain ever so slightly just as I arrive at my hotel. The lift doors open as I approach, “Welcome in,” they say in a robotic female voice.

In my room, I find that I am given loads of free stuff: a comb, toothbrush, toothpaste, slippers to keep, a shower cap, razor, bottled water, cotton buds, tea, coffee, and my own individual wireless network. It feels like I am back at the Internet cafe. The complimentary toothbrush says, “Thank you for using me. Please relax slowly.”

Outside, Nagoya feels right, especially after Osaka and its indecipherable road layouts. Sometimes a place grabs you, giving an instant good feeling; Nagoya has just that. Some might think Nagoya is like everywhere else—tall buildings, concrete, and neon. They would be right. But something about the place, about my initial impression, draws me into the neon of the night.

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I walk around for a good few hours. One of the things I enjoy about visiting a new place is thoroughly exploring the backstreets and restaurants—reconnoitering. I notice small rectangular holes cut into a wall, just the right size for a hand. On the other side of the hole is an anonymous person: a hand wrapped in a white glove, a small tray for exchanging objects or money. Worthless pachinko parlour prizes are discreetly swapped here for cash, with no one seeing anyone else’s face.

It’s 8 p.m. but feels like eleven. I step into an ‘Irish’ bar where American punk is playing, and ‘J Sports 2’ is showing a Japanese baseball game. Quite the Irish experience, indeed. I order half a Guinness and a Glenlivet 12 on the rocks; they each cost ¥600. The Guinness tastes poor at best, far from the standard I am used to from the pubs back home.

I am asked to pay up front, which is unusual here.

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The music changes to the Libertines. I can’t complain. I consider the instructions on my receipt, ‘enjoy and enjoy and get dead drunk.’ After finishing my drinks, I stand up to leave. As I do, one of the barmen stops me. “It’s our eight-year anniversary. Please choose a colour,” he says.
“Okay …” I ponder the question for a moment. “Green,” I reply. The barman reaches into a box under the desk and pulls out a bright green t-shirt.
“This is free for you,” he tells me as he hands me the t-shirt. Amazing, even more free stuff. I thank him and leave.

Nagoya, the capital of Aichi Prefecture, is distinctly a business-centric hub. Everywhere I look, there are men in white shirts, black trousers, and black shoes—salarymen abound. The horizon is engulfed by a mix of black, white, and neon. Notably, Nagoya’s GDP accounts for 1% of the global economy. Toyota, too, began its journey here, in a town called Toyota, within a city, also named Toyota. It might seem like a kind gesture that the car manufacturer adopted the town’s name, but in reality, the city was initially called Koromo, only changing its name to Toyota in 1959. The town followed suit, renaming itself Toyota. Capitalism in Japan—a fascinating phenomenon.

With the Domino’s Pizza menu from earlier today lingering in my mind, I opt for another unconventional yet healthy choice for a traditional Japanese meal: Italian food. The menu is entirely in Japanese, but the waiter promptly prints off a fresh, crisp, English menu for me. I decide on a tuna pizza, which arrives with a lovely bowl of minestrone soup.

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As far as pizza goes, this is probably one of the greasiest I’ve ever had. But it’s good. Very good. I pay what seems like a lot and sneak a couple of the ‘free’ complimentary pieces of nutty caramel flapjack—very Italian. The bill comes to ¥2667, and I receive a delightful ¥333 in change.

Back at the hotel I fall asleep watching ‘Back to the Future’.