The Golden Reptile

Posted on 13/10/2014 by Luke

With a new home comes a new train station. Today, I head to the nearby Minowa Station and take the Hibiya Line. At Kayabacho Station, a man runs out of the train as the doors close, trapping his foot. He falls over, smashing his face on the platform. The doors re-open, he gets up, and walks away calmly, as if it didn’t happen. The train is also full of screaming babies, which is endlessly annoying. I much prefer the calmness of the Ginza Line. I remain on the noisy train for as long as I can stand; which happens to be twelve stops later, at Hibiya.

“I’ve never been to Hibiya before, but the area seems to take its name from a train line, so I’m hopeful I’ll find something interesting here. Inside the station, the yellow area information map presents a world of endless possibilities. There’s the Passport Centre, the Imperial Hospital, or even the Diet Building. Instead, I opt to explore Hibiya Park. As I approach the park’s entrance, a group of marathon runners rushes past me. In the distance, I hear the sound of megaphones. Inside the park, a festival.

Today marks the 21st Railway Festival. On the main stage, a big yellow mascot, shaped like the front of a train, dances around energetically. Market stalls are brimming with train-based information and souvenirs. Adults form queues, eager to have their photographs taken with various images depicting trains through the ages.

A crowd of people stands silently, engrossed in taking photographs, so I head over to investigate. A man holds up a sign that reads ‘On Air.’ A complete film crew is present, recording for a channel called Ch.546. They are filming a segment focused on the railway festival, featuring what seems to be a Japanese idol displaying a remarkable enthusiasm for trains.

The bustling stalls attract a steady stream of people, children brimming with excitement, and families enjoying picnics. Despite the event being a railway festival, the only physical trains in sight are on a miniature track featuring characters like Thomas and Percy from Thomas the Tank Engine—a ride that children happily pay an overpriced fee to experience.

Deeper into the festival grounds, a queue of over a thousand people forms for a live music event. I decide to continue my stroll through the park, which turns out to be quite charming with its fountains, ponds, and well-tended gardens. After a while, feeling a bit bored, I decide to leave and make my way to Ginza. Here, I indulge in the familiar tranquillity of the Tokyo Metro Ginza Line until I eventually arrive at Ueno Station.

Today marks the 31st Kappabashi Kitchen Festival. I start my journey from Ueno towards Asakusa, walking through the bustling Kappabashi Kitchen Town. The place is crowded; too many cooks.

This area is a hub where all the kitchen shops in Japan are clustered together. It’s the primary destination for purchasing kitchen products in the country. The festival serves as an avenue for shopkeepers to sell off their summer inventory at discounted rates, making room for their winter stock. Prices have been significantly reduced, resulting in a rush of shoppers clamouring for bowls, knives, pans, and even shop signage. Meanwhile, the enticing aroma of delicious food from various small stands fills the air.

I swim through bustling crowds until I spot a group of people capturing photographs of a statue—a golden kappa.

The kappa has evolved into the official mascot of Kappabashi Street, although the reason might not be immediately apparent. One story suggests that ‘kappa’ translates to ‘raincoat’ in Japanese, as many merchants used to hang their wet raincoats out to dry on a nearby bridge. Another tale revolves around a merchant named Kappaya, who supposedly constructed a canal in the area to manage floodwater. Consequently, the street was named after him to honour his contributions. However, as time passed, these origins faded into obscurity, and now the street is simply associated with the homophonically named kappa—a mythical frog lizard—replacing historical roots with legend.

At the Asakusa end of Kappabashi Street, I make a brief stop at Cafe Byron Bay for a radio interview with the Japan FM Network, discussing vending machines. Interestingly, the interview won’t be broadcast until next month, and despite being recorded in Tokyo, it’s to be aired everywhere except here.

Turning the corner from the cafe, I’m greeted by the commencement of festivities—traditional Japanese taiko drums echoing through the air.

As I finally depart from the festival, the resonating beats of the drums linger in my ears. Heading back towards Minowa, the rain begins to fall—another typhoon approaching. Quick to act, I grab some snacks from Seven Eleven and opt to seek refuge in my apartment for the evening, bracing for the impending storm.

There Will Be Flood

Posted on 06/10/2014 by Luke

Typhoon Phanfone is making its miserable way toward Tokyo and is expected to arrive this evening. I can’t wait. It’s already raining today, and judging by the state of the pavement outside, it seems like it has been raining all night. To avoid getting soaked, I walk for one minute to reach the nearest station and take the somewhat aptly named Tsukuba Express Line (pronounced ‘scuba’), before transferring to the Yamanote Line at Akihabara Station.

My destination today is Meiji Shrine. The train ride takes thirty-one minutes to reach Harajuku Station. While on the train, the telescreen has taken a break from displaying the usual dull advertisements and, instead, is showing the current position of the looming typhoon.

I leave the station and make my way through the pouring rain towards Meiji Shrine.

There’s a weird festival happening called Ningyo Kanshasai, centred around setting fire to broken old toys. This unique event is a way to express gratitude to dolls and is held annually at Meiji Shrine. It originated in 1989 and this year marks its 26th anniversary. In Japan, there’s a belief that a fragment of your soul resides within your possessions. Consequently, the practice of giving used gifts isn’t very common here, as it’s believed that a part of your essence accompanies the second-hand object.

Today, this Shinto exorcism ceremony serves as a method to purify the doll, releasing the part of your soul believed to be encapsulated within the inanimate object—a means to attain a liberated spirit for a healthy mind. For a nominal fee of ¥3000, you can include your dolls in the extensive collection along with others, granting your soul its liberation. The spirit of the doll is elevated through the Haraikiyome (purification) ritual performed by the priest, involving a cleansing ceremony known as Oharai conducted on the dolls.

Last year, over 7,000 people donated a staggering 44,000 dolls for purification. The assortment of dolls is incredibly diverse, encompassing Japanese traditional dolls, Western dolls, and popular stuffed animals this year. The rain has somewhat subdued the turnout, but there’s still a plentiful display of dolls. Inside the main hall, two women in splendid costumes are conducting a captivating and beautiful ritual. According to the official website, this solemn festival is highly recommended as a must-see.

I depart just before the distribution of the ‘sacred sake.’ Despite the shelter provided by the numerous trees within Meiji Shrine, I am still soaked by the storm outside. Determined to seek refuge, I make my way across the road to Yoyogi Park, only to discover yet another event taking place.

This weekend’s event is ‘The Road of Hokkai-Food,’ a celebration dedicated to Hokkaido cuisine. Interestingly, like the previous festival, this event also commemorates its 26th year, despite appearing unrelated. Here, there are almost ninety stalls selling a variety of snacks, inexpensive meals, trinkets, cheeses, and beer. The tightly packed stalls, accompanied by the pouring rain and the tantalising aroma of food, create an energetic atmosphere akin to a lively music event.

Some of the foods on offer include, Ishikari-nabe (salmon, stewed vegetables, and tofu in a miso broth), Yakitori (grilled chicken on a stick), various types of seafood, and plenty of Sapporo beer. The only thing missing is the people; it would be fair to say the event is a complete washout. There’s a woman dressed in a smart white suit giving a talk on the stage for an event advertised as ‘Sapporo Presents …’; however, she speaks only in Japanese, and my language skills are still lacking.

I leave the festival and head over to Shibuya. Today marks the final day of an art exhibition I’ve been planning to visit, so while I’m in the area, I decide to drop by Bunkamura—a venue encompassing a concert hall, theatre, and museum. ‘Visual Deception II: Into the Future’ is a trick art exhibition focusing on shadows, silhouettes, mirror images, optical illusions, and anamorphosis. Admission costs ¥1500, providing a nice respite from the weather. The display of peculiar artwork can only be described as mind-boggling. As usual, photography is not permitted.

After the exhibition, I opt to head home before potential train cancellations. At my hostel, preventive measures have already been taken to tackle potential flooding: staff members cleaned out the drains and placed a row of bricks in front of the steps where flooding occurred last month.

Back at the hostel, I order Glastonbury Festival tickets and spend some time writing before heading out for a few drinks at a nearby bar. The rain persists. As I eventually leave the bar, I find the pavement outside flooded with rushing pools of water.

The forecast predicts the rain to persist throughout the night, intensifying at 3 a.m. as Typhoon Phanfone hits Tokyo. I doubt I’ll witness the full impact of the storm; I’ll likely be asleep by then, unless the howling wind wakes me up amidst the chaos outside.

Birds Thrown Around, Bullets For Hail

Posted on 11/07/2014 by Luke

The largest storm on the planet passed through Beppu last night. The storm had drifted a little south of its predicted trajectory, but we still got hit by the strong winds; they sounded like a bullet train as they rattled the windows and the walls. I read somewhere that three months of rainfall will fall over Japan in just two days. This morning I take a walk to the beach to see how high the sea level is. I am surprised to see so many boats on the fierce waters.

Further down the beach I see houses with their windows boarded up. Thankfully, I see very little damage to anything. Beppu has survived the Super Typhoon and everyone is safe. Life goes on as normal here. Across the road the 24-hour pachinko parlour is packed full of people and cigarette smoke. The light rain all but stops so I wander back to the hostel to grab a bicycle.

I cycle the ten minutes to the Rakutenchi Cable Railway Station. The train here only goes up the mountain to Rakutenchi Amusement Park. The park is closed today because of the typhoon. Oddly, the rest of the trains and buses in Beppu carry on as normal, except at Rakutenchi Cable Railway Station. With the park closed, I decide to go back to Kanawa Hells to finish what I started last week.

On my way to the Hells, I see a road sign for ‘Beppu Univercity’. I find it unbelievable that major road signs can contain such errors. At the Hells of Beppu the sun is shining; not the weather you would expect the day of a Super Typoon. The Foreign Tourist Information Office is closed today; I am not sure if this place offers information to foreign tourists, or information about foreign tourists.

Shiraike Jigoku, White Pond Hell, is the first Hell I visit. I am pleased to find that it is open. I pay my ¥400 entry fee and admire the white pond. The water apparently is, “Transparent but as time passes it turns a blue-white colour.” I have no idea why the sign says this, the pond water is clearly green. Also at White Pond Hell, there is a really old aquarium with just three fish.

Opposite Shiraike Jigoku is a closed red door. The sign next to the door says Hinryu Jigoku, Golden Dragon Hell. Inside this Hell is a, “Dragon statue with steam coming through its mouth that seems to be flying when water spouts out at sunrise.” This is actually the 9th Hell of Beppu; I’m not sure if it’s still open to the public as it’s not on any map. Anyway, I mention it only because I really enjoy the impressibs description on the sign:

The next two Hells I plan to visit today are half way down the mountain and about ten minutes away. I get back on my bicycle and take a very fun bike ride down the winding mountain path, through the many forests and tunnels carved into the mountainside.

Chinoike Jigoku translates to the amusing, ‘Bloody Hell’. Here there is a massive pool of red hot mud estimated to have been here for over 1,300 years. This is Japan’s oldest natural hot spring. It takes its name from the image of hell found in Buddhism. There is also a nice waterfall here. Some colourful Koi Carp fish swim in the pool below.

Carnival Cutouts are found everywhere in Japan. Wooden life-size cutouts where you can put your face through are commonly found at every tourist attraction and randomly placed on the streets for no apparent reason. I can cycle around Beppu for ten minutes with my camera and will easily find ten Carnival Cutouts. Everywhere. After Bloody Hell, I head next door to Tatsumaki Jigoku. It is closed today. I see a sign saying Beppu Station 7.5 kilometres and decide to head back to the hostel for my new favourite food, natto.

Back at the hostel enjoying my natto, a member of staff finds it hilarious that I wrap my fermented soy beans around potato chips. Whatever. After food I head to Beppu Tower. It is one minute from my hostel and I still haven’t been. Beppu Tower was probably once a marvel, but now it is used as an advertising billboard for the brewery Asahi. There are eight neon Asahi signs on the Tower; four in Japanese and four in English. The Tower stands at a Herculean 100 metres tall.

I pay my ¥200 and ride the silent lift to the seventeenth floor. It’s one of those lifts that doesn’t display the current floor number and doesn’t really feel like it’s moving. After about thirty seconds, the doors open, and a Japanese lady at a desk greets me as I hand her my ticket. I begin to wander around.

Inside the Tower there are black and white photographs of crowds of people standing not too far from where I am standing right now. There are photographs of Japanese celebrities. There are pictures of the Tower through the ages. It used to look quite nice when it was first constructed in 1957. Today though, far from the bustling crowds, I am the only person here.

The view from the Tower is good. A full 360 degree panoramic view. The only problems here are that the glass in some of the windows is cracked and broken. Other windows are filthy on the outside and are in desperate need of a clean. Some of the photographs I take just don’t turn out at all; my camera unable to penetrate the thick layers of dirt.

Back at the hostel I book a ¥2100 bus ticket for Sunday to my next stop, Fukuoka. Just when Beppu was starting to grow on me too. I speak to a Korean guy (and fellow avid bicycle enthusiast), he tells me about something amazing that he saw today. It’s only 6 p.m. so I decide to check it out before the sunset. As I cycle down the ocean, I quite like the look of the sky.

My destination is beyond the Monkey Park, some 5.7 kilometres each way. As I cycle, I realise that I haven’t seen any stars yet in the six weeks I have been in Japan. Very odd. Anyway, I finally reach my destination; an old landlocked boat converted into a play park. There are slides, tunnels, ladders, and a climbing frame. There is also a weird rope ladder that leads into the hull below. I am very tempted to go on the slide, but there is a couple on the ship too, seemingly on a romantic date.

After I exploring the abandoned ship, I abandon ship and cycle back to the hostel for the last time tonight. At the hostel, the excitement in Beppu never ends; Justin, a staff member here, has found a crab in the male onsen. Everyone is going crazy about the crab. They finally catch it and take it back to the ocean, where it most likely belongs.

The Mountain: a story about climbing Mount Fuji

Posted on 05/07/2012 by Luke

It is Wednesday 4th July 2012 and it’s very cold. I am at the top of Mount Fuji, 3,776 metres above sea level, and there is a fierce blizzard going on. Winds that appear somewhere between gale force and hurricane force on the Beaufort scale. Snow on the ground and snow falling fresh from the sky combined with freezing rain that can only be described as freezing rain. Then there is the thick cold fog that makes it impossible for me to see my hand in front of my face, despite the incredibly bright headlamp that for some reason can’t penetrate thick cold fog at a distance greater than 15 centimetres. Legs aching. Face aching. Losing count of the amount of times I’ve fallen over. Here we are at the top of the highest mountain in Japan. We’re contemplating waiting here until 4:40 a.m. to see the sunrise. There is however another problem …

We don’t have a clue what time it is.

Three days ago I couldn’t sleep. The excitement of visiting a foreign county often has that effect on me. Travelling across time zones, navigating planes, taxis, and a relentless journey left me smiling at an airport on the opposite side of the world, yet internally adrift.

I meet my friend Sean at the airport, we hop on a train for 2 hours, and finally arrive in Shinjuku. It’s lunchtime in Japan. I’ve been awake for about 31 hours, and we can’t check into the hotel for another four. After some sightseeing and food, it hits around 4 p.m., so we head to the hotel. I crash in my room and quickly fall asleep.

Tuesday rejuvenates my spirit, restoring me after what feels like the best sleep ever. Tokyo calls for exploration, and after a few trips on the Yamanote Line, it starts pouring. The sky darkens as massive clouds block most of the sunshine on what was a relatively hot July day. The rain pounds down, the air thick with humidity. Buying an umbrella becomes a solemn act, seeking shelter beneath it as if seeking refuge from the downpour of life’s uncertainties. We head back to the hotel a bit early to dry off and snag some extra sleep for tomorrow’s adventure: climbing Mount Fuji.

After some struggle finding the bus, finally, at 11:27 a.m., we’re ready to set off. The ¥2700 highway bus takes us through Japanese countryside, across bridges and valleys, until, a few hours later, we reach Mount Fuji Fifth Station—the starting point for climbers. There are ten stations in total, the tenth being the summit.

Here at the Fifth Station, the sun shines, and the mood is upbeat. Restaurants, souvenir shops, and gear stores line the area. I forgot warm clothing, so I grab a nice fleece for ¥6000. After a satisfying Japanese meal, it’s time to climb. We rent a coin locker and leave everything non-essential at Station Five, setting off promptly.

The hike to Station Six is pleasant, perhaps taking forty minutes or even less. We rest, snack on Kendal Mint Cake, then resume climbing. What’s heartening as we ascend is the warm greetings from every person we pass—each offering a smile and a ‘konnichiwa!’

Somewhere between Station Six and Seven, there are dreadful steps. Loads of them, sweeping from left to right, hindering progress. We take a break and chat with an American couple descending the Mountain. They joke that it’ll take another ten hours to reach the top. Hilarious, I hope.

A few hours pass since Station Six, and we arrive at Station Seven—equipped with a bench, a toilet, and a shop selling instant ramen. We pause to admire the view before continuing. Around this climb point, we’re engulfed in clouds, and it starts getting cooler. No more steps, thankfully … just rocks.

Endless rocks.

Arguably the worst part of the Mount Fuji climb is between the Seventh and Eighth stations. This stretch demands hand-climbing over endless slippery rocks. Thankfully, there are about eight or nine mountain huts interspersed, each with a bench, toilet, shop, and if needed, a place to sleep. I’m grateful for these intermittent rests, although the prices keep climbing higher with altitude. I recall one of the higher shops selling two cans of Coke and a Snickers bar for the equivalent of £10, though the exchange rate wasn’t as favourable back in 2012.

After leaving the last hut at Station Eight, the skies begin to darken. This part of the climb features volcanic rock littering the trails—loads of smashed-up or small bits of rock and stone. Tricky to walk on, they slide around under our feet. The darkness doesn’t favour us here, so it’s time to put on the all-important headlamp.

Somewhere before the penultimate Ninth Station, we encounter a mountain hut. A Japanese man outside informs us that the mountain huts beyond this point are closed, urging us to stay for the night. Uncertain if he’s honest or aiming for extra business, it turns out he’s genuinely concerned for our safety.

At Station Nine, perched at 3,600 metres above sea level, the solitary mountain hut stands closed, swallowed by pitch-black darkness. Devoid of light, shops, or comfort, it echoes with the haunting symphony of wind and rain. An impending storm brews, casting a foreboding shadow over our proximity to the summit—just 176 metres away.

In daylight, this section of the Mountain might take about 40 minutes. In the dark amid increasing rain and wind, it takes us 2 hours. Passing through a torii gate, we venture deeper into darkness. Here, the volcanic rocky ground ends, and a very difficult climb begins. Bare rocks mark the path, and climbing these slippery, wet rocks is no fun at all. My vision reduces to a black screen with flickering white dots, snowfall illuminated by my headlamp. After navigating the treacherous rocks, a white torii gate signals the final steps, and we reach the summit. Exhausted, cold, wet, but relieved.

At Mount Fuji’s peak, all the shops are closed; no light, no life. The summit at night is bleak—snow falls, wind howls stronger. We huddle by a closed mountain hut, attempting to shield ourselves from the wind. Trying to calculate the time, as we have no devices or clocks, it becomes a futile exercise. Everything is in the coin locker back at Station Five, and with nobody around to ask, we are forced to do some calculations.

The sun set hours ago.
On Monday, we missed the sunset due to our late afternoon sleep.
Tuesday’s rain and sudden darkness hid the sunset.
We do know the sun rises at 4:40 a.m.
We set off from Station Five around 2 p.m.
The American couple said it takes at least ten hours.
It feels like we’ve been walking for at least ten hours.
We decide it’s probably around midnight, but we have no way to be sure.

Contemplating waiting for sunrise, hoping the sun would warm us, we realise the risk of freezing if we linger. We opt to head down the dark, slippery, snow-covered rocks.

Hours seem to pass, and eventually, we return to Station 8.5. A Japanese man and woman greet us, whispering, indicating that people are already asleep, planning to wake an hour before sunrise for the final climb. For ¥5500 each, we acquire a small bean bag pillow, a blanket, and space on the hard wooden floor. Cold and exhausted, I could’ve slept anywhere. A clock on the hut wall reads 10:47 p.m. Turns out, in summer in Japan, the sun sets just after 6 p.m.

In the morning there was this:

Descending the Mountain proves far easier than ascending it. There’s a twisted pleasure in knowing those we pass on the way down will face what we’ve just endured. I now understand why those descending greeted us with smiles and a cheerful ‘konnichiwa!’ as we ascended.

July and August mark Mount Fuji’s ‘climbing season.’ We tackled the Mountain just days into the season, hence the lingering snow on the summit and the closure of mountain huts past Station 8.5.

Returning to Station Five, we board a bus to Kawaguchiko Station, encountering a French lady and her daughters who scaled the Mountain that same night. She recounts a chilling warning from Station Five’s security, advising against venturing beyond Station 8.5 due to hazardous snow. In her narrative, a haunting reality unfolds: the Mountain’s icy grasp clung to mortality’s edge, our steps teetered on a malevolent dance with death. Each footfall echoed a grim refrain, a chilling symphony marking our unnerving closeness to an untimely encounter with the abyss.

In June 2013 Mount Fuji was granted UNESCO World Heritage status.

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Tag Archives: storm

The Golden Reptile

There Will Be Flood

Birds Thrown Around, Bullets For Hail

The Mountain: a story about climbing Mount Fuji