Siliconan the Ovarian

Posted on 21/08/2014 by Luke

The previous three days drifted along to the tune of uneventfulness. I met old friends, went out for dinners, and had drinks. I didn’t even leave Asakusa once. Today, a sign in my hostel says, “Soba party today, come and enjoy Japanese noodles!” There is also a list of local artists that will be here to teach various arts and crafts. Free food and free crafts, excellent.

Outside, it is a blistering 36°C. I take the Tokyo Metro Ginza Line to Ginza. Ginza is a massive shopping district and fashion area. The kind of place you only drive through if you have an Aston Martin or a Bentley. If there is a Tokyo edition of the board game Monopoly, Ginza would be Mayfair. There is an array of well-dressed people, expensive fashion boutiques, and all the high-priced big brand stores.

My first stop in Ginza is the rather difficult-to-find Vanilla Gallery. Hidden away in a basement floor of a rather uninteresting building, it plays host to the Fourth Artificial Otome Expo: a Love Dolls exhibition. I shyly pay my ¥1000 entry fee to a young woman and shuffle through the gallery, trying to avoid eye contact with the other customers and the dolls. The dolls are made of silicone, are hauntingly childlike, and can be customised to the finest detail; every part of a doll can be ‘made to order’. Also in the exhibition is the mould that creates these dolls; a sign says, ‘Crystal craftsmanship to build the doll up to perfection.’

The Vanilla Gallery is small, and the exhibition is in just two little rooms. Orient Industry has been making these luxury Love Dolls for thirty-seven years, or so a video of the production process tells me. They also claim to make the most luxurious and expensive dolls; probably why they chose Ginza to showcase their creations. There is one doll that you can touch, ‘Feel her soft realistic skin,’ a sign says. I pass on the touching. I can only show the photograph of the sign, as there was a strict no-photography policy in place.

I once saw a television interview with a Japanese man who said that he doesn’t want his wife to know about his collection of Love Dolls, so he rents a second apartment just for his dolls. I stay for no longer than five minutes. The life-size, realistic-looking dolls scare me. Their stillness makes me think of the dead.

Next in Ginza, I head to the nearby ‘Hello Kitty Toy Park.’ Here, there are so many toys, games, keyrings, plates, umbrellas—everything you can imagine featuring Hello Kitty. Five floors of toys, two floors of restaurants, a theatre, and a small theme park. I have never seen so many Hello Kitty items in one place. I don’t know which is more embarrassing, going to a Love Doll exhibition or entering a Hello Kitty store. Inside the store, I see a policeman on his break, inspecting the Hello Kitty toys.

Next, I head in the direction of the Police Museum. On the way, I see a huge Yamaha store and decide to play on some very expensive-looking pianos for a while. I also spot the Pachinko Museum. A sign outside says, ‘We can teach you the basics about pachinko.’ It is adults only, but free. I head inside to find that they have forgotten the museum aspect. It’s just a regular pachinko parlour. ‘More enjoy more happy,’ a sign outside tells me as I leave.

The Police Museum doesn’t seem to exist. The building that houses it is under heavy construction and gated off. A shame, I was looking forward to doing something normal today. I see a sign for the nearby Kyobashi Station; lucky for me, I know this station is on the Ginza Line, so I take the train back to Asakusa.

Back at the hostel, I watch the news. A company called Shin-shin Foods has decided to stop its one-hundred-year-long pickle production and has converted its headquarters into a capsule hotel. I learn about a process called muon tomography, cosmic rays that detect radiation. Twenty-nine cats have mysteriously been found dead in Ota Ward; police think it was poison. The usual nonsense. I do some writing before heading out for a Shiatsu massage.

The place I go to was recommended to me by the owner of Cafe Byron Bay and is owned by her friend. When I enter the building, the woman at reception looks shocked to see me. I don’t think the place gets too many overseas visitors. I mention that I know her friend, and the tension in the room instantly fades away. After my thirty-minute massage, the tension in my shoulders also fades away. The man who performed the massage offers me a fifty percent discount, just ¥1500. I actually don’t think this is fair to him; the massage was good. I compromise and tell him to keep the ¥500 change, which he does. So much for not tipping in Japan. He thanks me and gives me a points card; I am nine more massages away from a free one-hour session.

Back at the hostel, the soba party is just starting. Soba are Japanese noodles made from buckwheat flour. This is actually my favourite type of noodle. There are stalls selling badges made from Instagram photographs. You can send them six of your photographs, and they’ll make them into high-quality badges or magnets. There is also a store where you can rent a kimono or a yukata. The word kimono inventively translates as ‘thing to wear’.

There is, of course, plenty of free food. Plates piled high with ice-cold soba noodles. Tiny plastic bowls are filled with sauce, and a selection of toppings is available. I eat my noodles with spring onion and seaweed. Delicious. There is also free rice wine to drink. When all the free sake has been consumed, I head to the hostel bar for more free drinks. The night crawls along. I eat soba noodles in the lounge and get considerably less sober at the bar. The night ends, and I crawl to my room.

Internet Cafes, Bullet Trains, Irish Bars

Posted on 09/08/2014 by Luke

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.

“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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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’.

Florets Get Ready to Grumble

Posted on 14/07/2014 by Luke

As my bus crawls into Fukuoka, I wonder what is going on. Traffic is at a stand still everywhere. Traffic lights linger on red a lot longer than usual. We pull into my penultimate stop. It is here that the bus driver explains to me in Japanese that it would take too long to drive to Hakata Station (the station I have paid for, albeit at a very reasonable discount). He suggest that I get off here and walk. Effectively, he is kicking me off the bus.

For some reason, the exit to the bus station takes me into the seventh floor of a department store. The sound here is deafening. Everywhere there are young women holding signs and screaming about whatever products they are tying to sell. I eventually find the lift, and get the hell out of here. I can’t quite work out how I went into the seventh floor from what I thought at the time was ground level. Very confusing. I see a sign telling me not to blow up trees. Very confusing.

As I walk out of a Tenjin Station, I have no idea which direction to go. I would normally look at a map but I can’t find one anywhere. Instead, I see the biggest crowd of people I have ever seen on the streets. This might explain the traffic problems. It turns out I’m at a practice run for Tuesday’s Hakata Gion Yamasaka Festival, a seven-hundred-and-fifty-year-old tradition in Fukuoka. Surprisingly, it draws up to a million spectators every year. Lucky me.

There are people here throwing buckets of water over the performers. It is a hot day, so I can understand why. I do, however, begin to get annoyed. I am trying to get to Hakata Station, and I have a very heavy bag on my shoulders. It is frustrating because there are no maps anywhere here. In the end I have to disturb a policeman. “This way, this way,” the policeman says, not pointing in any direction at all.

I have an empty bottle of water but I haven’t seen a single vending machine since getting off at Tenjin. No vending machines means no bins. So I have a heavy bag and a useless empty bottle; and I still can’t see Hakata Station. This is one of the few times in Japan that I am getting really irritated. To make matters worse, every place I go, the road is blocked by hordes of Yamakasa performers.

After forty-four minutes, I finally make it to Hakata Station. I wait what feels like three hours for the traffic lights to change to a pedestrian green, and take a walk through the station. There is a construction site next door that has been heavily decorated with baskets of flowers. A nice idea. After spending two weeks in quaint Beppu, I am now suffering from city shock. In Beppu I longed for crowds and nightlife. In Fukuoka, I want everyone to stop coughing, talking, getting in my way, and let me enjoy some peace and quiet. Please.

From Hakata Station the directions provided by my hostel are perfect. I pay the ¥28,000 for two weeks in a four bed dormitory; not bad. After sorting out hostel stuff, I remember that I haven’t had any food today. I walk back toward Hakata Station, and enter a building full of restaurants. There are more restaurants in this building than the whole of Beppu. I see a sign for a restaurant selling horse meat, which is unfortunate for the horses.

I see people queueing for restaurants. The first time I have seen this in years. I eventually settle on a vegetarian restaurant. Vege Style Dining. It turns out this is a pasta and pizza restaurant offering a mix of meat dishes and vegetarian style food. The menu, sadly, is in Japanese. I order a Suntory whisky highball and wait for a waiter. The waiter comes over and asks me in fluent English if I can read Japanese. I tell him I can. I lie. Subsequently, I order a salmon and broccoli pizza.

The highball comes out, and is very strong. I drink it in one go and order a second. My not very vegetarian salmon pizza arrives with the second highball, perfect timing. I didn’t expect so much broccoli, eight huge florets, one on each of the eight slices of pizza. I pay ¥1879 in total. Good value considering two drinks and a huge pile of broccoli.

I see a sign saying Namco. I take the lift (elevator) to the seventh floor of the train station and find an arcade the size of a train station. Here I pay ¥100 for one hundred pachinko balls, I lose. I am surprised to see AKB48 machines. They are next to the smoking area. Getting children addicted to pachinko makes me a little annoyed.

There is a section of the arcade with fourteen Tekken machines. As I take photographs, a staff member tells me I am not allowed to photograph in here. I play another round of ¥1 a ball pachinko, before leaving with my losses.

Heading back to the hostel, I count seven convenience stores. One Seven Eleven, three Lawson Stores, two Family Mart, and one Daily Yamazaki. All on the same road. Where I am standing right now, I can see three Lawson Stores. A panoramic view of signs bright blue. So many convenience stores. If you played the Konbini Hop drinking game here, you would be dead in an a hour. I see a confectionery shop that simply makes me smile:

Back at the hostel it is 8 p.m. It really is nice here, the atmosphere superb. Everyone greets you with a ‘Hello’ when you enter a room, as it should be. I assist a Korean man who has a job interview tomorrow with his English; his pronunciation is good but slightly off. I spend six hours in the common area, engaging in conversations with other guests, the hostel boss, and the numerous cleaning staff who work here for three hours a day in exchange for accommodation—a pretty good deal.

Tomorrow I make plans to meet a friend I know from England, I am quite looking forward to seeing her. She has been in Fukuoka for a few weeks now. The plan is to do karaoke until the early morning, then head to Hakata Gion Yamasaka Festival for exactly one minute to five, the start time for the main event. A very odd time to start a festival.

Drinking Bananas, Las Vegas, Going to Hell, Bananas, Drinking

Posted on 09/07/2014 by Luke

Outside it is 32°C with 0% precipitation. The weather here goes from one extreme to another. The morning fog is long gone. I take a bike to the supermarket to buy a late breakfast. I buy egg sandwiches, yoghurt, a fruit drink made from real bananas, and some grapes. A normal size plastic container of grapes costs ¥1298. I opt for a small box costing me ¥198. it contains 11 grapes.

After breakfast I cycle along the coastline. I see a bright red building called, ‘Las Vegas’, so I decide to check it out. I discover why everywhere in Beppu is deserted. Everyone is here at Las Vegas, the place is packed. The noise of metal balls and the stench of cigarette smoke pours out of the door. Las Vegas is a nine story pachinko parlour. Pachinko is a recreational arcade game where players pay for balls, then fire them through a vertical pinball machine with no flippers. The balls bounce off pins and have a chance of activating in-game prizes that produce more balls.

Gambling in Japan is illegal; although there are controversial plans to legalise it ready for the Tokyo 2020 Summer Olympics. At a pachinko parlour, players can ‘cash in’ their balls for novelty prizes. These prizes can then be taken off the premises and to a nearby ‘exchange centre’, where they are sold to the buyer for cash. The exchange centre then sells the prizes back to the pachinko parlour. This is a loophole in the law that the police know about but turn a blind eye to. Very strange. Beppu has more pachinko machines than people.

Leaving Las Vegas I see a sign for Kannawa, the area where six of the eight Hell themed hot springs are. Having only visited Crocodile Hell, I decide to take the thirty minute uphill bicycle ride, instantly regretting it the moment my foot hits the pedal. At Kannawa I find a sign that says, “Put your good memories of Kannawa into a haiku. The selection is held four times a year; on each season, spring, summer, autumn and winter. A stone monument will be erected for the very best haiku of the year.” I scribble down a haiku and place it into the box:

Steam, one with the clouds,
my mind, drifts like the stream,
into the ocean.

I head to Kamado Jigoku, or Oven Hell. I pay my ¥400 entry fee. Inside, there is a statue of a great red demon standing on an enormous cooking pot. A long time ago they would cook using the 100°C steam. This is what the statue represents.

Also at Oven Hell there are many different stoves heating very old metal kettles. There is also a pond that, “Changes colour a couple of times a year.” There are loads of pools of bubbling mud. If you blow something that burns and smokes into the mud, it causes the amount of steam to intensify. This is demonstrated by a staff member with an unnecessary megaphone and a cigarette. After touring the many pools I am given the opportunity to eat an egg boiled in the steam of Oven Hell.

After Oven Hell I head for Umi Jigoku, Sea Hell. An explosion from a volcano 1,200 years ago created a pond of boiling water. For some unexplained reason, the pond is cobalt blue. This place shouldn’t really be described as a Hell. The area is full of natural beauty. There are no gimmicks here. No eggs here. No crocodiles. Just wildlife and scenery.

Sea Hell is massive. In random ponds float tropical water lilies, bananas grow inside a building labelled, “Hell emitting gas use greenhouse,” and random waterfalls and hot springs are surrounded by nature. Inside the gift shop the air conditioning is so cold. I stay here pretending to look at tacky souvenirs, while I secretly cool off from the heat of a hot summer’s day.

I decide to save the other five Hells for a rainy day. I quite enjoyed cycling here, but I enjoy the downhill cycling a lot more. On the way back to the hostel I see a sign for Beppu City Traditional Bamboo Crafts Centre. I take what I think is the correct road, but somehow end up at a baseball stadium. There are people outside hitting drums, and baseball players in full kit chanting. A very interesting warm up exercise indeed. I don’t find the museum.

Back at the hostel, Yojiro is on reception, meaning the music is good. ‘Round Here’ by Counting Crows blasts from the stereo. I work out that I have cycled 23.2 kilometres today. After a few hours relaxing and talking to other guests at the hostel, I head out to do my laundry. While I wait I buy a can of Suntory whisky highball from Seven Eleven. The staff member asks me to put my hand in a box and pull out a token. I have no idea why. I speculate that it’s because I used exact change for once. My ticket doesn’t win me anything.

I switch my laundry from washer to dryer then walk around the middle of Beppu; on the way I count four random cats. The cats here look healthy and lurk around the backstreets of Beppu at night. The lampposts are once again playing the Beatles, ‘Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds’. Back at the launderette, someone has taken out my dry laundry and folded it neatly and placed it into a basket. Thanks!

I head back out to an international bar called where the owner was the person that recommended the festival in Oita a few days ago. I chat to random people, mostly students from the nearby Asia Pacific University. They are Japanese but speak very good English. It’s actually a pretty nice bar, although quite small; and it does get a little smoky after a while. In Japan it is still okay to smoke in buildings, much to my displeasure. At some point in the night Yojiro randomly shows up at the bar and buys me a drink. Thanks Yojiro!

The night washes over me and eventually it is time to go. I leave the bar at around 3 a.m. In the distance Beppu Tower is illuminated with signs advertising Asahi. More beer is the last thing I need right now. Back at the hostel a Spanish guy is preparing to watch Brazil thrash Germany in the World Cup. I consider staying to watch the match, but instead I choose sleep.

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Tag Archives: Pachinko

Siliconan the Ovarian

Internet Cafes, Bullet Trains, Irish Bars

Florets Get Ready to Grumble

Drinking Bananas, Las Vegas, Going to Hell, Bananas, Drinking