A Streetcar, Feigned Desire

Posted on 29/03/2015 by Luke

I decide that despite the warm weather today, it would be a nice idea to explore the area around my own neighbourhood on foot, rather than heading further afield by bicycle. Looking at the map outside of my apartment, I notice a few points of interest that I had never previously given much thought. The first is the Toden Arakawa Streetcar, the last remaining streetcar that still operates in Tokyo. I wander five minutes from my home in that direction. As I approach, I follow the sound of silent electricity until I arrive at the tracks.

At the streetcar depot, nobody is waiting to ride. The only sign of life here, other than the movement of old trams, is a superabundance of starving pigeons waiting for their next meal. Opened in 1913, this streetcar somehow survived when all other streetcars were scrapped in Japan some fifty years ago. I consider taking the tram, but because there is no official timetable, I fear that if I do, I will end up in the middle of nowhere, with no way of getting back. Instead, I try to photograph this historic vehicle, but a blur of pigeon rudely interrupts my photography.

My next stop is at the nearby Jokan-ji Temple, a historical site and cultural asset of Arakawa. It becomes apparent as I enter the temple grounds that this temple contains some rather dark history. The temple dates back to 1665, and with such close proximity to the nearby Yoshiwara red-light district, it became known to the locals as the throw-away temple. A place to dispose of unclaimed or discarded deceased prostitutes.

The temple itself looks like any other temple, but beyond the shiny temple walls is a memorial to the unknown dead and a hidden entrance that leads into a vast cemetery.

The 1854 Tokai earthquake claimed many lives, including young women who had been sold by their parents to the Yoshiwara district. These prostitutes were often forced into this trade, considering themselves as living in hell, destined to eventually die and join the other women in a mass grave at Jokan-ji Temple. The deceased women were not granted a proper funeral or burial; instead, they were wrapped in a straw mat and left outside the temple gates for someone else to collect, burn, and add to the pile of death and ash.

I stroll through the cemetery, and it becomes evident where the souls of the twenty-five thousand deceased prostitutes are laid to rest. A small tomb is adorned with artefacts related to prostitution. An inscription above the tomb reads, “Birth is pain, death is Jokan-ji.” Cosmetic products, hair clips, and makeup rest on top, leaving a haunting reminder of death. It is even possible to peer inside the tomb through an overly exposed metal grate, offering no dignity to the departed. Inside, a stacked pile of white urns extends down into oblivion.

I depart from the tomb with mixed feelings. I question why I even visited here; perhaps I should have simply boarded the streetcar and escaped the sense of doom and gloom. Another notable presence is a monument dedicated to the novelist Kafu Nagai, who used these deceased women as a source for his satire. I ponder on the motivations of someone writing about such a macabre subject, only to realise that, in my own way, I am no different as I pen down these words.

I depart from Jokan-ji Temple and start walking toward Minami-Senju, an area my friends have deemed extremely dangerous. As I approach, it appears to be like any other place I’ve visited in Tokyo: a Seven Eleven, a few shrines, a clean park, an old woman feeding a cat, bullet holes, a train station … Bullet holes?

Entsu-ji Temple stands tall, featuring a twelve-metre-tall golden statue of Kannon. What is remarkable about this temple is that it proudly serves as the new location for the Black Gate. Kuromon was previously the gate at the entrance to Akizuki Castle, but after a gunfight during the Battle of Ueno, the gate was damaged, explaining the bullet holes. The gate was moved to this location in 1907. Not one to dwell on death and misery, I leave the temple in a rush and forget to take a photograph of the famous Black Gate.

I head back in the direction of Minowa, and with prostitution on my mind, I take a stroll through the Yoshiwara area. What always strikes me as odd about Yoshiwara is that at one entrance to the legalised brothel district is a police station, and at the other end, there is a shrine that houses a goddess that offers protection to women.

Every day, when a prostitute finishes her shift, she will walk past this shrine and bow deeply. I have seen it so many times, due to this shrine being on my route from my home to Asakusa. In fact, I pass this shrine twice a day, and almost always see women here, praying, bowing, and hoping to not share the same fate as those other twenty-five thousand abandoned dead women.

Welcome to the Lunar Industries

Posted on 26/01/2015 by Luke

Another intrusive start to the day in Japan. The ground rattles like teeth on an icy morning, the skyscrapers singing a chorus of concrete scraping together, pulled apart in directions against their will. It’s another earthquake, the strongest one I’ve felt so far. Suddenly, everything stops. Just as I begin to drift away, hoping to return to whatever fleeting memory lingers in my dream-filled head, the shaking resumes. This time, it lasts only a few seconds, but it’s enough to shatter whatever it was in my imagination that I desperately sought to remember.

I head outside to grab a can of Boss Coffee before taking a seat on the steps leading up to my front door. A homeless man, who resides in a cardboard castle outside the entrance to my apartment, stirs in his sleep. He coughs and groans before looking around and noticing me, perhaps awakened by the early morning shaking of the earth. The man speaks broken English and asks me the usual stagnant questions. It turns out he was once in a famous rock band, a drummer. Aged sixty-five but looking perhaps twice that, I can’t help but feel a little sorry for him. Without knowing his circumstances, I decide it would be rude to judge him any further. I want to ask him why he keeps sleeping where I would normally park my bicycle, but I think my English words might be lost on him. He tells me something is happening on Sunday in the arcade that runs close to my house. With its worn-out shops and shutters, it might well be the first activity this area has seen for months.

After becoming fully awake, I can’t help but notice that the moon is still up. Although crescent, the moon’s light casts a shadow, revealing the clear roundness of its form, something I have never noticed before. I begin to wonder if I am still dreaming.

I cycle into Asakusa to find the streets littered with Australian tourists. It seems they have chosen to leave behind the glorious summer weather of their home country for the winter of Japan. Today is Australia Day, a celebration of the first British ships landing on Australian shores. I weave my bicycle between drunk people shouting and fighting on the street. I thought it was the English who didn’t know how to behave. Drunk before lunchtime, not even Mr. Sixty-Five-year-old homeless man can achieve that.

I head across the city for some exploring. Despite spending a lot of time in Asakusa, I’m continually surprised to discover new things every day. Today, I visit what was once a beautiful pond, now home to ghostly apparitions.

Ubagaike Pond is now enveloped in what looks like a construction site. The pond is completely dried up; only the old stone outline that makes up its shape remains. Many years ago, an old woman lived in a house close to the pond. She lived with her beautiful young daughter. The mother would send her daughter out into the streets to lure in gentlemen, hoping that they would spend the night in her daughter’s embrace. The unsuspecting gentlemen would join the daughter, and after lovemaking, when the pair were both sound asleep, the old woman would creep into the room. With a huge piece of stone, the mother would bash the man’s skull in before taking all of his possessions. This weapon was known then as a ‘stone pillow.’ One day, the old woman threw herself into the pond, an act that was out of character and has no bearing on the rest of the story. These days, at night, you can hear the quiet sobs of her daughter, or so the legend goes.

Back in the slums of Tokyo, I sit in my house, editing some writing that I have been working on, my mind rinsed clear by the haunting melody of Clint Mansell’s ‘Moon’ soundtrack. The drifting peace only lasts momentarily, though. At 5 p.m., the familiar sound of music penetrates my window. It seems that, despite the winter and occasional snowflake, ice cream is sold all year round in Japan.

“Aisukuriimu, Aisukuriimu, Aisukuriimayoou.” Typically, the song occupies the space in my head usually reserved for contemplation and creative thinking. Every evening in Japan, I sit suffering in silence, with the ice cream song playing over and over in my mind, like a broken merry-go-round.

I leave the house after an hour of silent anger toward frozen milk and cream, and cycle as usual in the direction of Asakusa. For no reason, I decide not to cycle through the red-light district (my usual route) but take a different path. It leads me to the sound of live reggae music and a smattering of distant applause seemingly from nowhere. I decide to leave my bicycle and head down a narrow side street to locate the source of the music.

Moments later, I arrive at a small outdoor festival. The grounds of the festival seem to combine a swing park and a school playground.

The festival is here to raise awareness for the area of Fukushima, devastated in 2011 by the Tohoku Earthquake and tsunami. The area continues to struggle, with people living without homes, families not receiving proper support from the government, and rice grown in the area seldom purchased. This festival is described as a ‘Nation’s rallying call for the Fukushima area,’ and in my opinion, it’s a worthy cause.

Inside the swing park, small stalls sell hot food. Inside the school playground, ice is being fashioned into a snow house. Children play within the igloo, while others pose before it for photographs. Reggae music continues to play from the stage, a song about everything being ‘fine fine fine.’ It warms my heart to see this. Something about today has contained a subtle misery — earthquakes and homeless people. A community rallying together to help those in desperate need. Certain people getting drunk without a care in the world, blissfully unaware of the problems faced by others, lost to the oblivion of alcohol.

As I head back to the main road, my mind distracted by ice cream and lost in thoughts of others, I realise that I have completely forgotten where I left my bicycle.

Wheel of Misfortune

Posted on 09/01/2015 by Luke

Today is the day that I finish my pilgrimage. One temple, one shrine, and the final two gods. I start off in the direction of Uguisudani. My previous attempt to find Motomishima Shrine here was marred by the fact that this area is a massive red-light district and couldn’t possibly be the location of a sacred shrine. Once again, as I stumble through alleyways of neon, I see no signs of a god; just prostitutes leaving hotels with presumably married Japanese men.

Eventually, I leave the area to find wireless Internet, stolen as always from a nearby Seven Eleven. I punch the name of the shrine into my GPS and am redirected to the same area I had previously wandered. It is an unusual location for a shrine, an area littered with over seventy love hotels, but somehow I find it sandwiched between Hotel Exe and Hotel Foxy.

Motomishima Shrine is home to Jurojin, the god of longevity. This deity is always accompanied by a wild deer, believed to symbolise long life. It is said that Jurojin shares the same body as another of the Seven Gods of Fortune, Fukurokuju, which, if you ask me, is a rather unfortunate fate.

It is fair to say that to reach this shrine, I had to jump through hoops. Inside, I walk through a hoop to reach the stone steps that lead to the god. Here, I pay my respects with a deep bow before taking my fortune for the last time this month, at a cost of ¥200. With all these fortune readings, it’s a surprise that I have any money left. Not to worry, though—I have a frog in my wallet, so all is well.

“Whoever caught this fortune, please read. Further increases the happiness if familiar, money will come to the body when you strive daily and today. We are been obtained by loss. Performing without effort for others is within the range of possibility, always! Rather than hit the thing with the one person that you are waiting for, poor is a small problem, this time. You do not have to worry only for those who carried out jointly because the immediate profit will go up with your results. If you move a large bowl, results should come out.

“Whatever you do for other people, always take action for things in the future. Make yourself aware. Concentrate at the entrance; are you aware of the limits of their fitness? Also, the energy from long illness in the future will see recovery gradually. Concentration will add enhancement, especially to enhance the energy. No effort should not be in vain. Come back to be sure of the joy of tomorrow.”

Confused as to what all this means, I leave the red-light district and head over to Hoshoji Temple.

Bishamonten stands guard here, carrying a scroll. Traditionally, he is the god of warriors and war, depicted with a spear and dressed in armour. However, the statue here deviates from the expected representation. Unfortunately, it is the only photograph I have of this temple, and I am certain I am in the right place. There are no signs of other statues of gods here, leaving me with no idea about the identity of this scroll-wielding warrior—most likely Shonin or someone else. No English signs, nothing else to guide me.

With all this good fortune flowing through my veins and having completed the pilgrimage of the Seven Gods of Fortune, one would expect that I’d actually receive some fortune. In reality, the opposite has occurred. Over the last few days, I have felt like a ghost, floating through life, completely devoid of any sense of belonging. Perhaps this is just a phase. A changing of the tides could erase all that I feel at this moment, and hopefully, that will happen. Maybe I should just move a large bowl. Right now, though, I am tired of walking around temples and shrines; it fills me with this strange empty feeling that is difficult to explain.

I wander back to Asakusa and am instantly drawn in by the flashing lights of a strange vending machine.

The machine costs just ¥100 and offers a chance to win excellent prizes. It’s called ‘Pocket Lifter,’ and presumably, it lifts money from my pocket by tricking me into thinking I can win one of the luxury prizes. Hidden behind its polished glass front are some trading cards, two Louis Vuitton purses, and tickets to Hanayashiki Amusement Park—the oldest amusement park in Japan. Despite seeing this park every day in Asakusa, I have yet to make the visit. However, Hanayashiki might have to wait a little while longer, as I am still somewhat traumatised by my recent visit to Tokyo Disneyland

The machine says, ‘One-two-three-four-GET!’ Winning is as easy as counting. One of the Louis Vuitton purses can be won and sold for ¥8000 at a nearby shop, conveniently listed next to the prize—a gambling loophole once again exposed. Above the prizes, a wheel with bright flashing lights beckons, ‘Let’s Challenge!!’ How could I possibly resist? Keenly, I insert a ¥100 coin. ‘Thank you,’ the machine says as it swallows my money. The wheel spins and lands on the number one. The prize shelf moves up a fraction of an inch, then nothing happens. For a limited time only, I can get three tries for my money. I repeat the button-pressing process twice, and disappointment reoccurs twice more. No prizes, no amusement, no amusement park—just more bad fortune. Thanks, pilgrimage.

Eye Patches and Boxing Matches

Posted on 27/10/2014 by Luke

Today, I woke up to find that my apartment is shaking. Not due to an earthquake, but because of music. The A-Round festival is still ongoing, and the indoor shopping arcade near my house is hosting a live performance by ‘Ego-Wrappin”, a renowned Japanese jazz band. I suppose I better go and take a look.

Today, the arcade is free from the usual sleeping homeless individuals; they have all been replaced by small market stalls selling drinks and snacks. A stage has been erected at one end of the street, and a live band is performing. This market is usually dead, but today it has been transformed by music.

Ego-Wrappin’ originated in Osaka, and interestingly, one of the members grew up in this area. The band currently performing live on stage might be Ego-Wrappin’, but I can’t be entirely sure. Strangely, most of the members are wearing eye patches.

Some people in the crowd are wearing fancy dress costumes; Mario and Luigi are here, hanging out with some witches. A staff member comes over to me to practice his English. When I ask him the name of the band performing, he has no idea. “I’m just a staff member,” he explains. Meanwhile, three men are performing live graffiti on one of the shutter doors, and the sweet smell of toxic paint fumes fills the arcade.

Deciding to take a stroll through the market, I randomly bump into Gomez from yesterday. He is sitting and enjoying some of the cheap food from one of the small stalls, so I join him. I ask him about the area, and he tells me that horses used to walk the main street. He also mentions a very famous horse meat restaurant not far from here. A Japanese man sitting at the same table joins in our conversation about the local sights. He starts talking about the nearby red-light district, saying, “They take major credit cards; you should go.” He confides, “I want to go, but I’m an elementary school teacher, so if people find out, then my career will be over.”

The teacher eventually leaves, and Gomez goes on to explain that this shopping arcade is based on a famous character from a Japanese manga series, ‘Ashita no Joe’. One of the other main characters is an alcoholic ex-boxer called Danpei Tange. In the manga, his character wears an eye patch; at least this explains why the band is wearing them. In the story, this area is known as the slums of Tokyo; brilliant, I find out that I live in the slums. A statue of the main character, Joe, stands guard at the entrance to the arcade.

I stay and watch the music for a while; it isn’t too bad, but it really isn’t my style either. Besides, I have things to do in Shibuya. So, I decide to leave the festival and head to the train station.

In Shibuya, I head over to the housing office to pay my rent for next month. As I leave, a well-dressed young man stops me and says he wants to ask me a few questions. “Do you live in Tokyo?” he inquires. “We are looking for people for a fashion shoot, and I think you would be perfect,” he explains.
“Me?!” I respond, quite surprised. I provide him with my details: waist size, shoe size, height, and contact information before letting him take my photograph a few times.
“I will be in touch,” he tells me. I thank him, still confused, and head back to the station.

At the station, more live music is happening, and once again, the music is jazz.

Today is the Shibuya Art Festival, and there are many different events taking place throughout the day. I decide to have a little walk around Shibuya, hoping to spot some of the other artistic events happening in the area. After wandering for about twenty minutes, the only thing I see is an anti-nuclear protest march. I decide to call it a day and head back to Minowa.

On the train ride home, I sit and daydream about becoming a fashion model.

Round, Round, Get Around, I Get Around

Posted on 26/10/2014 by Luke

This weekend, a local event known as ‘A-Round,’ short for Asakusa Around, is taking place. Sixty-nine different stalls, cafes, and galleries have signed up for the event. I am fortunate enough to have been invited along for a small walking tour, hosted by my friend, local resident, and Japan expert, Gomez. We meet up at noon, and a group of five, including me, sets off on foot to explore some of the rich Asakusa history and to get a feel for some old Japanese culture.

We wander the backstreets tucked away behind Senso-ji Temple, an area slightly out of the way and not commonly visited by tourists. Gomez takes us to his favourite karaoke bar, saying, “This bar stays open until 7 a.m. I often visit here.” We walk through an area that used to be heavily populated by geisha many years ago and is now home to the geisha headquarters. Gomez tells us, “If you hang around this area at night, you might even see a real geisha!”

Our first real stop of the tour is a small leather shop. Outside, snake skins, sea lion furs, crocodile leather, and boxes of leather scraps are hanging for sale at very low costs. Like the other participating stores, this shop has a blue banner outside with the words ‘A-Round.’ All stores taking part display this sign and are each having an open day of sorts—a nice way to increase trade and boost tourism.

Inside, we are welcomed humbly, allowed to take photographs, and even given the opportunity to try a few things hands-on. Hanging from the ceiling of the shop is a huge black leather crocodile skin. The shopkeeper tells us that it’s the largest single piece of leather in Japan, measuring seven metres long. The store even breeds their own crocodiles specifically for leather production.

The next stop is a cafe called ‘Ameshin.’ The shop has been open for a little over a year and is run by artist and craftsman Shinri Tezuka. The cafe is all about candy, with candy-flavoured drinks served, and the spacious room nicely decorated with candy shaped like animals.

It turns out that the owner makes these sweet fish himself and has recently gained popularity by showcasing his craftsmanship at an aquarium in Nihonbashi. Today, just for us, he will make a fish from scratch.

He starts by rolling a ball of soft hot candy in the palms of his hands, forming it into a rough outline of a kingyo (goldfish). Next, using only his hands and a pair of scissors, Tezuka trims the candy to shape the fin. As he models the sweet, his strong concentration makes him look like he’s in a trancelike state.

This traditional Japanese process is done at some speed. After just a few minutes, the outer part of the candy has started to harden, and soon it will be impossible to shape it any further. Tezuka finishes the kingyo by painting it with a natural pigment before adding eyes to finish. “It is a beautiful kingyo made from candy. It shines as though it is alive,” he remarks.

Next, we head down a street that once was a small stream, now completely dried up. The stream used to flow from the Sumida River, running along the area behind Senso-ji Temple and beyond, toward the Yoshiwara red-light district. Gomez tells us, “Many sailors would tell their wives that they were going by boat to the temple to pray; instead, they would continue down this stream and into Yoshiwara.”

We head to the studio of the famous Japanese bag maker Kichizo Yoshida. Founded in 1935, the company is known for big brand names like ‘Porter.’ I learn that Yoshida died twenty years ago, yet he continued to make bags right up until the day he died. Today, his legacy lives on, and the birthplace of his bags has been transformed into a modern-looking gallery, juxtaposed by the original tools and machinery he used when he first started out. We meet his sister, who is taking care of business. She lets us take some photographs and gives us a chance to do some stitching. “Heart and soul into every stitch,” she says.

Next, Gomez wants to show us two very different places. The first one is a shrine full of cats.

Most shrines in Japan represent something, perhaps a different god or some superstition. This one, however, represents the harmony of marriage through the medium of felines. Maneki Neko (fortune cats) are famous across the world, but they originated right here in Taito Ward, at Imado Shrine.

The shrine is family-run, and many generations ago, they made a living from crafting fox statues from the rich clay of the Sumida River. The family also had a pet cat. One day, seeking a change from the usual foxes, they decided to make clay cats modelled in the shape of their pet. These cats are what are known today as fortune cats and are seen outside many restaurants and some small businesses, often signifying a successful future.

The cat with the black spot, I am told, is male. Nowadays, people visit this shrine to hope for prosperity in marriage. Couples visit before they are wed, buy a circular piece of wood with two fortune cats engraved on one side, write a message on the back, and attach it to a tree.

After getting married, the couples return and attach a second wooden plate to the original to seal the marriage and receive good fortune. There are so many trees and so many wooden messages hanging here that I can only assume every man and woman in Tokyo has visited this shrine and is subsequently now married.

After the shrine, we visit Matsuchiyama Shoten, a fourteen-hundred-year-old Buddhist temple that sits at the top of a large hill. The temple is so high up that it even boasts its own cable car to help people reach the top. The hill famously appeared overnight, as if by magic. Then, a huge golden dragon appeared from heaven and landed on the hill. This event is somehow connected to a certain root vegetable: the radish.

Usually, at a temple, a small donation of coins is gratefully accepted. However, here they only accept donations of radishes. The people inside the temple are worshiping radishes. You can even buy radishes at a small stall near the entrance for ¥500 each, just in case you left yours in the supermarket. I discover that the radish is a symbol of health, family harmony, and heavenly golden dragons.

Next, we wander back into Asakusa to Hatch, a small coffee shop with four floors of empty gallery space above and a lovely rooftop terrace. The gallery was supposed to be filled with paintings, but the owner got drunk and forgot to prepare. Instead of buying a coffee and admiring the artwork, we leave slightly disappointed.

Our final stop of the tour is by the Sumida River, in a large exhibition space close to the Azuma Bridge. Inside, there are many small stands, each selling different leather products. The shop that interests me the most sells leather artwork. The designer tells us that one piece of work takes three months to complete. All hand-etched using a soldering iron, he sits, burning detail into leather.

The piece above depicts the Sanja Matsuri, an annual festival held in Asakusa. His art comes with a pricey ¥300,000 tag. He’ll be waiting until the cows come home to get that kind of money …

The artist tells us he wants to spread the joy of Japan to the rest of the world. He is selling some lovely leather iPhone cases for ¥12,000; the detail is delightful, and they would make an excellent souvenir. He takes a photograph of our group, clearly humbled that we took the time to talk to him. After that, the tour concludes, and we each go our separate ways.

On my way home, I head through the area that we had walked through earlier today. A geisha in full makeup darts past me; her wooden shoes clanking on the hard pavement. I am stunned. This is actually the first time I have ever seen a practicing geisha freely wandering around. Other times I have seen them, they have been part of an event or exhibition. It appears that Gomez was right about this area.

After a few short minutes, I hear the sound of more wooden shoes on concrete and find that a second geisha is walking down the street. She moves elegantly but very fast, and although I take quite a few photographs, for some reason, they all turn out looking like a blur. Seconds after spotting her, she has floated away like an incredible ghost.

Bridges and Balloons

Posted on 24/10/2014 by Luke

Today, I head into Asakusa, to the tax-free discount shop, Don Quixote. My plan is to finally buy my own bicycle. After browsing for a while, I decide to buy one of the faster ‘red’ coloured bikes. The woman in the shop calls for an English speaker, and within five minutes, all paperwork including the bicycle registration is completed for me. I pay ¥14,324 and become the proud owner of a bright red bicycle.

I cycle over the Sumida River toward Ryogoku. There is a row of parked bicycles, each with a bright purple sticker featuring today’s date. I want to park too, but for some reason, I can’t find any attendant or any machines. I try a bicycle parking lot, but oddly, the machine doesn’t want to accept my coins. No matter how many combinations I try or how much I hammer the buttons on the machine, a Japanese voice just continually thanks me. Instead, I decide to park inconspicuously by some balloons.

Ryogoku is renowned as ‘Sumo Town’ and hosts the Edo Tokyo Museum. Here, a large sumo stadium stands tall, alongside shops specifically selling clothes for ‘larger’ individuals, and it’s common to spot many sumo wrestlers in full costume casually strolling around. I even pass by one sumo wrestler riding a bicycle, the man’s weight making the handlebars visibly strain and threaten to buckle.

The sumo stadium isn’t open, so I head into the adjacent Old Yasuda Garden. Free entry is a bonus. Originally built in 1688, the gardens have endured numerous changes. They were destroyed by an earthquake, completely remodelled, and marred by pollution from the Sumida River. They reopened in 1971, and the pond has now been designed to resemble the Japanese kanji character ‘kokoro’, meaning heart, mind, or spirit. Although I don’t see the resemblance. Ryogoku Sumo Hall sits idly in the distance, beyond a small red bridge.

I wander through the garden for a while, relishing the escape from the bustling city, before hurrying back to retrieve my bicycle. I’m worried it might get removed, and if it does, a ¥5000 retrieval fee is required, almost half the cost of the bike itself.

I check out a nearby map and notice there’s a Fireworks Museum nearby, so I head in that direction. With fate as malleable as clay, the Firework Museum is closed today—typical. I check another map and find a Stationery Museum. Crossing the bridge back over the Sumida River, I discover that all trace of the Stationery Museum has been erased. My lucky day.

I continue cycling around, passing an amusingly named cafe called ‘Nob Coffee’ and a similarly amusingly named clothes shop called ‘Very International’ before spotting the most premature Christmas decorations I have ever seen.

I found it somewhat crazy when Halloween decorations started popping up everywhere by the end of September, in every shop, bar, and restaurant. However, these Christmas decorations take early celebrations to another extreme. I remind myself that it’s still the middle of October before darting off toward another sign. I’m attempting to find something else to do today—a day that, so far, holds no real plans, meaning, or motivations.

The ‘Kokucho Time Bell’ is marked as a place of interest, about ten minutes away from my current location. Sounds interesting enough!

The bell sits unusually in the middle of a children’s play park, positioned in front of a Nichiren Buddhist temple. There’s a famous Senryu—a three-line poem with seventeen syllables—about the bell that claims, ‘The bell of Kokucho reaches as far as Nagasaki.’ Considering Nagasaki is in Kyushu, over one thousand kilometres away, I highly doubt the accuracy of the poem.

After searching intensely for places of interest, I cycle back in the direction of Asakusa. Along the way, I cross a bridge and notice a plaque with some English writing. Intrigued, I double back to check out the text:

“The Yanagibashi Bridge was first built in 1698, the present bridge was erected in 1929. There are several explanations for the origin of the name, yanagi (meaning willow) bridge. One explanation is that willow trees stood at the base of the bridge. In the 19th century this neighbourhood was a bustling red-light district known in Japanese as Gay World. Yanabashi was the subject of art and literature at that time.”

Once again, the willow is the symbol for a red-light district in Japan. The small river leading up to the bridge is dotted with numerous small boats housing little bars and restaurants. Intrigued, I decide to explore the area around the bridge, only to discover that Gay World and the red-light district have since been replaced by street after street of fashion shops.

As the night draws in, it’s time for me to head home. While cycling back, I make an exciting discovery—the light on my bicycle is powered by a gyroscope. It’s probably the most exciting thing that has happened to me all day.

Willow Trees All The Way Down

Posted on 09/10/2014 by Luke

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Moshimo Tours, Robots, Red-lights, Coming to Life

Posted on 21/06/2014 by Luke

I am blaming everything on the constant breathing in and out of air-conditioned air. Everywhere I go there is air-conditioning. In my room. Inside the train. Outside the train. It has destroyed my throat to the point that it is so dry, it hurts when I swallow. Clearly the magical cow didn’t work. Thanks to illness, I haven’t done as much these past few days; not enough for a whole post each day. Instead, I will summarise the last three days here:

Wednesday

Today I am filmed as part of a television show for Fuji Television. The show, called Moshimo Tours, is about Cafe Byron Bay. Presented, I think, by Airi Taira. There are eight western guests in the cafe including me. We chat amongst ourselves as the lighting equipment and tripods are set up. There is basically nowhere to move with all the crew. Cameras three times the size as TV Tokyo’s. A team of about fifteen staff members all wait around outside until it is eventually time to film.

With the crew in place, Airi Taira, four comedians and a Japanese pop idol enter the cafe. Udo Suzuki and Hiroyuki Amano are here, they are the famous comedy due Kyain. Sanpei is here too; a football shirt wearing Japanese comedian who’s catchphrase is saying his own name. I instantly recognise him from episode two of cult classic ‘Adam and Joe Go Tokyo’. I am now on the same television show as him, which is quite exciting. The name of the famous Japanese pop idol escapes me. I am told that the band he is in are the Japanese equivalent to One Direction.

My part in this show is in the background. I am a customer enjoying a drink, talking to my friends, and pretending I haven’t noticed the comedians, and idol, at the bar. Pretending I haven’t noticed the huge lighting rig, the cameras, the guy furiously hand-writing cards which he holds up for the comedians to read from or garner instruction from.

After filming for some fifty minutes, the comedians leave and we are interviewed on camera. Following the interviews we are each given a gift from the producer as a thank you for taking part; a Japanese hand fan. As a thank you for coming, the cafe owner gives the eight of us some money to buy dinner, although she didn’t need to; just being on television with famous Japanese comedians was thank you enough. The show will air on Saturday 5th July at 6:30pm on Fuji TV.

I book another month in Asakusa for the middle of August. It really is beginning to feel like home. Between now and then I am going to travel across Japan like I had originally intended. I get talking to a Japanese guy in a bar, he asks of my plans. I tell him that I am thinking of travelling first to a place called Beppu; famous for its hot springs and various kinds of geothermal healing. It turns out that the Japanese guy in the bar is on vacation in Tokyo, and he actually works at a hostel in Beppu. The same hostel I am considering booking. Beppu is on the other side of Japan, some 496 miles from Tokyo. Yet another strange coincidence.

Thursday

It is another hot clear day. I have been here for three weeks now and it has only rained for three of the days. I go into Cafe Byron Bay to thank the owner for buying me lunch. It is very early and I am the only customer. I ask her to make me some eggs. We talk. She says out of the blue that when I come back in August, she will happily employ me. “Thank you,” I say, tucking into my happy free-range eggs and happy toast. After breakfast I hire a bike again and spot this random guy:

I spend about four hours just cycling around Taito, exploring side streets at not-so-great speeds. Even the policemen here have one speed bicycles. I cycle down the Sumida River and back again, looking for interesting things, mostly seeking odd signs, hilarious typographical errors, or ‘staff wanted’ notices. I see a woman in black face makeup and red eyes. She is holding a doll. I have no idea why.

At the hostel Daisuke and I talk about farmyard animal noises and phone sounds. Different in every language; my favourite is probably the Japanese frog sound. We hang out at the hostel bar for a while. Today is Thursday but the Jazz Club isn’t on tonight, instead there is live music from three staff members; a guitarist, a vocalist, and a violinist. They are playing an evening of music from Studio Ghibli films. For each song the lyrics are read out in English, then the song is performed in Japanese. I stay and watch both sets.

Friday

Luis Suárez is out of his wheelchair and scoring goals. Not worth getting up at 4 a.m. for. After the game I had planned to watch ‘Japan versus Greek’; or so the sign in my hostel says, however, I decide to give it a miss and I’m glad I did. After breakfast I take a few trains and end up in Shinjuku. Here I walk around. I see a typo on a McDonald’s sign and wonder how a company of this size could not employ just one person that can proofread English. I think about writing to McDonald’s but the moment passes.

I take a walk to Kabukicho, the red-light district in Shinjuku. Here I find the famous ‘Robot Restaurant’ that everyone keeps telling me about. The restaurant features a live Japanese cabaret show. The female performers wear neon and not a lot else. They dance around on giant robot tanks, robot samurai, robot dinosaurs, all to the sound of techno music. It costs ¥5000 for a sixty minute show. I suppose they have to charge a lot to make back the ¥10 billion they allegedly spent on the place when it opened last year. ¥10 billion! I decide to give it a miss.

Back in Asakusa, I go out for a tuna sashimi set meal. It is served with the usual suspects, rice, miso soup, wasabi, a selection of pickles, and some love in the style of heart shapes and flowers. It costs ¥1830 with a beer, which just happens to be the exact amount of change I have in my pocket. Yet another strange coincidence.

My night ends at Cafe Byron Bay for last orders where I impress with a couple of card tricks. “What’s your favourite playing card?” I ask a Japanese salaryman. He tells me the seven of clubs; he actually says ‘clover’ instead of ‘clubs’. I reveal the top card and he gives me a puzzled look before bursting into applause. The top card is of course the seven of clubs. The magic trick earns me a beer.

I pop to a late night supermarket called ‘Life’. Here I buy a couple of cans of Suntory whisky highball. As I leave the shop I notice this amazing sign:

Japanising.com

about Japan

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