Tag Archives: stars

Towering Above the Rest

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The day began with a ¥1000 haircut, which is actually quite cheap for a haircut. I was a little worried about communicating in Japanese, but the barber understood what I wanted and did a very good job. After finishing the haircut, he surprised me by vacuuming my head. I wasn’t expecting that!

With my nice new haircut, I decide to check out some boat racing. At the Kyotei Boat Racing Stadium, security is very tight. The entire perimeter of the 1,397-capacity atrium is littered with security guards. Today happens to be the 28th Ladies Championship Boat Race. I pay my ¥100 entry fee and take a seat on the steps outside that overlook the racecourse.

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This is one of 24 boat racing stadiums in Japan, a sport that is unique to the country. As the race starts, I pull out my camera. Instantly, one of the security guards taps me on the shoulder. “No photography is allowed here,” he says. The above photograph of no race happening was the only one I could manage to steal.

The six boats complete three laps of the 1,800-metre-long course. The red boat, numbered five, gets bumped by another racer and ends up stalling. It reminds me a lot of greyhound racing. Strangely, there’s betting involved here too. Boat number one emerges as the winner. A 1-4-2 tricast yields ¥1590 from a ¥100 bet.

After the boat racing I swing by Fukuoka Yafuoku! Dome.

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The dome serves as the official baseball stadium for the Fukuoka SoftBank Hawks. It holds the distinction of being Japan’s first stadium equipped with a retractable roof. With a capacity of 38,561 spectators, seat prices range from ¥1000 to ¥14,000. Baseball enjoys immense popularity in Japan, and based on the games I’ve caught on TV in bars, it seems the Hawks are a pretty good team.

Beyond the dome in the distance is Fukuoka Tower. I park my bicycle near the tower and take a closer look.

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Fukuoka Tower kicks Beppu Tower to the dirt. Upon entering, I’m pleasantly surprised to learn that as a foreigner, I receive a twenty percent discount; I pay ¥640 in total. Stepping into the tower’s main area, I’m instructed to look up. Following the instruction, I gaze upward to see a 108-metre shaft above me.

“The lift takes seventy seconds. The tower is 234 metres tall. The viewing platform stands at 123 metres,” the attendant states mechanically. “The tower has been built to withstand magnitude 7 earthquakes.”

On the fifth floor of Fukuoka Tower, the view of Fukuoka City is wonderful. In the distance I can see Hakata Bay, in the opposite direction I can see the Sefuri Mountains.

fukinsidetower[1]

I take the stairs down to the third floor, then ride the lift down. At night, the tower will be illuminated in ‘Milky Way’ colours—whatever that’s supposed to mean. The illuminations change for each season.

My next stop is in the building opposite the tower. On the second floor, I visit Robosquare. This is absolutely the place to be in Fukuoka if you like robots, want to learn about robots, or take part in robot workshops.

robosquare[1]

It is free to enter. Inside, there’s a robot museum and a little shop selling robots and other kits. Some robots are for playing, while others are for interacting through conversation. Sadly, I arrived twenty minutes late for the 2 p.m. performance. Me and my bad timing.

After Robosquare, I head five minutes to the Fukuoka Disaster Prevention Centre. It’s a facility that realistically simulates various disasters for visitors, serving as an excellent way to promote citizen safety in case of emergencies. Additionally, it houses a museum dedicated to firefighting and earthquakes.

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Entry is again free, and so is the one-hour tour. During the tour, you can watch a video about safety before learning how to react in a number of simulations: handling strong winds, extinguishing fires, navigating through rooms filled with smoke, and escaping safely. There are doors simulating water pressure: a car door submerged underwater that visitors can try to push to test their ability to escape. Photographs depicting earthquake disasters adorn the walls. It all feels rather macabre.

Finally, there’s an earthquake simulator where you have the chance to hide under a table with a pillow on your head and experience the impact of a magnitude 7 earthquake on the Richter scale. Unfortunately, I arrive late for the tour and miss out on the simulations. I contemplate waiting for the next tour, but it won’t start for almost an hour.

I return to my bicycle, only to discover it’s about to be clamped. The security guard has already fastened seat clamps to other bicycles nearby and is currently inspecting the bicycle two from mine. Casually, I walk toward my bicycle, adrenaline pumping through my body, and swiftly unlock it as fast as I can.

I shoot off in the direction of Ohori Park. Me and my impeccable timing.

ohoripark[1]

Ohori Park is lovely, offering cycling, jogging, and walking paths—all flat concrete, my favourite surface. Distances are marked along each path, making it an ideal spot for athletes to train. The route circles a vast lake at the park’s centre. I cycle the route several times before deciding to head back to the hostel for some food.

Down a random side street near Tenjin Station, something incredible happens—I spot the YouTube personality Micaela Braithwaite pleasantly strolling along. As we pass, I greet her with a rather coy “Hello.” She replies with a slightly hesitant “Hi.” I glance back for a second look, but she’s already gone.

The very reason these two weeks in Fukuoka even made it onto my itinerary is because of her. Before returning to Japan, I spent a fair amount of free time scouring through YouTube videos about the country. Micaela’s videos always towered above the rest. Based in Fukuoka, her captivating videos about the area were the reason I felt compelled to visit. Without her videos, Fukuoka would never have crossed my mind.

As I continue cycling, somewhat starstruck, I find myself unable to stop thinking about the day’s events. My mind conjures endless possibilities. If I had stayed for the disaster tour, I would have undoubtedly ended up with my bicycle clamped. The remainder of the day would’ve been miserable—I’d have had to explain it all to the hostel staff, pay a fine, waste the entire day sorting it out. It’s astonishing how two minutes made such a significant difference. Lost in these thoughts, I realise I’ve been cycling instinctively for ten minutes without noticing. I have no idea where I am or how I got here.

…

Back at the hostel, Ged shows up—an Englishman I met back in Beppu. He’s staying here tonight but leaving Japan tomorrow. He hands me his Seishun 18 Ticket, having used three of the five days on it. I offer to pay for the ticket, but he refuses my money. This ticket grants me unlimited travel for any two days on any Japan Rail local line. It’s amazing—I can essentially travel from Kyoto to Tokyo for free with this ticket. Thank you, Ged.

18ticket[1]

I head out for some food and a couple of Suntory whisky highballs at my favourite bar. Attempting to read my book, I feel a little troubled. I can’t shake off thoughts of the alternate version of me—standing there, trying to explain myself to the bicycle traffic warden. Nothing has felt real to me since that moment.

I leave the bar after only two drinks. Gazing at the sky, I see a star, for the first time in eight weeks.

Udon in (three-hundred and) Sixty Seconds

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With the sun directly above me, there’s nowhere to hide from the heat. I anticipated the scorching conditions; the seat on my bright yellow bicycle was already burning when I first set off. I had to pour a bottle of water over it to cool it down; the water began to boil on the pavement. The tarmac here blisters and broils.

As I head toward Tenjin, I realise I’ve inadvertently chosen to wear a bright yellow shirt. I must look rather peculiar: a foreigner on a yellow bike, clad in yellow. Fortunately, I find a nice cycle path with newly laid tarmac, and my destination seems to have chosen itself.

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Inconsiderate pedestrians often walk on the cycle path, obstructing me without a care. I make a stop to let a taxi pass, as I usually do, and the driver nods in acknowledgement, as they typically do. Interestingly, here, even when the crossing light is on a pedestrian green, motorists can still turn left, but they must yield to pedestrians first. I’ve made it a habit to let taxis turn before me, especially when they have a passenger. I like to think I’m doing everyone a favour.

I cycle for what feels like an eternity until I reach a place called Ohahsi. Not much happening in Ohashi, so I spot a sign for Hakata Station and decide to head back. On my way, I come across a woman holding a sign that says, ‘Time Sale.’ I humorously decide to ‘buy’ five minutes. Additionally, I encounter an army of crossing guards—three people directing one vehicle. Absolutely insane.

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Attempting to find some eccentric Japanese electronics to write about, I discover that everything seems rather ordinary. Instead, I end up in a music shop on the seventh floor of Hakata Station. I spend about ten minutes practicing the piano, drifting away as I try to recall how to play the only song I can fully remember: ‘To Zanarkand’ by Nobuo Uematsu. It eventually comes back to me, but it was mentally challenging. The thought crosses my mind that I might have forgotten how to play the guitar by now.

I spend a while restaurant window shopping, stopping to admire the models of plastic food. A sign outside a Chinese restaurant catches my eye.

delicious[1]

Instead of dining in Hakata, I opt for Tenjin, thinking it would be a better choice. With tired legs, I decide to hop on a subway train for the first time in nearly a month. I’m surprised by how soft and springy the seats on the train are, probably because the bicycle seat is hard and uncomfortable.

I disembark at the last stop, Fukuoka Airport, realising I’ve taken the wrong train. Not to worry, it was just a two-stop ride, and I won’t be charged for my mistake. As everyone exits the train, I wait a moment while it’s cleaned, and then I board the same train heading back to Tenjin. Surprisingly, many others do the same, presumably having made the same mistake as me. One of the things I enjoy about subway trains here is that since the tracks are separate from the ticket gates, you can effectively ride the train all day, getting on and off as many times as you like. There’s not much purpose in doing so except to rectify errors.

Ultimately, I spend a full thirty minutes on the train, the same amount of time it would have taken me to walk. The fare for this brief trip amounts to ¥200.

In Tenjin Station, there is a train made out of cardboard. The detail incredible. The photograph doesn’t do the quality of this cardboard art justice though:

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I explore the thirteen floors of the train station, the overwhelming feeling I experienced on my first day in Fukuoka now just a fleeting thought.

I leave the train station and make my way to an indoor shopping arcade near the much-loved Reisen Park. There, I spot an udon restaurant—a Japanese dish I’ve yet to try. I opt for a mix of healthy and slightly indulgent choices by ordering a big set meal of udon served with vegetable and seafood tempura, on rice.

After placing my order, I notice I’m not offered a towel, something I’ve grown accustomed to in Japan. Typically, when dining at a restaurant, you’re almost always handed an ‘o-shibori,’ a wet hand towel to clean your hands before eating. Surprisingly, I’m also not given any water, and I sit waiting, feeling quite thirsty.

The drink I order takes five minutes to arrive, the food takes six.

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The food turns out to be a bit of a puzzle; I have to assemble it myself. I pour the jug of sauce onto the tempura and then crack the egg on top, just for good measure. As I start sprinkling sesame seeds over the lightly battered vegetables and seafood, a Japanese man eating nearby tells me to stop.

He lifts the tray of sesame and wasabi to reveal a dip hidden underneath. ‘This,’ he points out, ‘is for udon.’ I express my gratitude for his guidance. Hopefully, I managed the tempura correctly. Once I finish my cold tempura served on warm rice, I move on to the ice-cold udon. Interestingly, the dip meant for the udon is warm, making everything seem quite backwards.

I find these thick wheat flour noodles a bit dull. I dip them, slurping and chewing at the seemingly endless strands. As I eat, my reflection stares back at me from the sauce. Hoping for a change, I mix some wasabi into the dipping sauce for a kick, but it doesn’t seem to make much difference to the dullness.

The food didn’t quite meet the usual standards I’ve come to expect in Japan. Perhaps my expectations were too high. The total cost of ¥1060, including a drink, offers good value for what was an average meal.

As I step outside the shopping arcade, the evening has settled in, casting a dark, starless sky. Walking along the river, I’m surrounded by crowds and vibrant bars. I pause to admire the numerous izakayas lining the riverbanks, each offering its own specialty food. It seems like an ideal place to unwind after a hectic workday or a leisurely Sunday afternoon spent in the sun.

izakayas[1]

Returning to Hakata Station to retrieve my bicycle, I encounter the same busker for the third consecutive day, stationed along my familiar path. Today, we exchange pleasantries. Judging by his accent, he’s a fellow Englishman. Our interaction has been evolving: yesterday, we greeted each other with a ‘hello,’ and the day before, it was a mere nod.

Back at the hostel, I make new friends. An Australian guy tells me that he went for a walk on the beach today and the sand was so hot that it burnt the soles of his feet. Blisters and broils.