“What Goes Up Must Come Down.”

Posted on 13/09/2014 by Luke

Today, it’s back to exploring the Toei Oedo Line. I take two trains and eventually arrive at Bunkyo. As soon as I exit the train station, I am overwhelmed. In front of me is the massive Tokyo Dome, the home of the Yomiuri Giants baseball team, but this isn’t why I am here. Outside the stadium, there is the strangest roller coaster I have ever seen, Thunder Dolphin. The seventh tallest continuous circuit roller coaster in the world; it twists and turns between the buildings and through the middle of the first Ferris wheel in the world to have a hollow centre; again, this isn’t why I am here.

Today, I’m in Bunkyo to see a tree.

I follow what looks like a castle wall for about ten minutes before eventually arriving at the entrance to Koishikawa Korakuen Gardens. Special Historic Site and Special Place of Scenic Beauty, the gardens are named after a poem by Chinese poet, Fan Zhongyan; the poem is Yueyang Castle.

Be the first to take the world’s trouble to heart, be the last to enjoy the world’s pleasure.

At the entrance, I pay my ¥300 and make an inquiry about the location of the tree. “That is a different garden,” says the woman as she hands me the ticket I have just paid for. She then takes out a map of Bunkyo and highlights where I am right now, then circles the place where the tree is. Not wanting to upset the apple cart by asking for my money back, I thank her for her help and enter the gardens anyway.

The first thing that strikes me is the magic of Tokyo Dome. The dome is white and provides an impressive backdrop to the many Japanese silver leaf and maple trees. The interesting thing, though, is that the dome refuses to be photographed. As I focus my camera, the roof of the dome just magically disappears as it blends into the white Autumn sky. It’s hard to explain. The roof is made of some magical material that makes it look like a living organism, perhaps a chameleon.

I continue to explore the wrong gardens; the peace and tranquillity are quite welcoming. A huge lake takes up most of the area, and there is a nice walking route around the lake. The only thing that spoils it for me is the restoration project that is currently taking place until next year. The workers here have their work cut out today as it appears that a large part of the lake has crumbled during this week’s flooding. Water is being sucked away by a huge industrial pump.

The thing that makes these gardens worth a visit though, is the scarecrows.

I actually spent time last week trying to find rice fields in Tokyo, just so that I could see what a Japanese scarecrow looks like. Today I am not disappointed. Never mind the crows, these sinister creations scare even me.

I continue to explore the deserted gardens. I must be the only person here; presumably everyone else in Japan is in Ginza queueing up for the new iPhone. I walk all the way around the lake, and toward the exit. I am really looking forward to revisiting all nine of the Metropolitan Cultural Heritage Gardens in Tokyo during different seasons; in a month’s time, I will get to enjoy the dappled shades of autumn leaves.

I leave Koishikawa Korakuen Gardens and walk the thirty minutes to the similarly named Koishikawa Botanical Gardens. I pay the ¥400 entry fee and explore.

These gardens are managed by the University of Tokyo Graduate School of Science and are the birthplace of Japanese botanical research. Dating back to 1684, the garden displays a collection of over four thousand species of plants and a herbarium containing over 1.4 million specimens. With over four thousand species and a map written entirely in Japanese, my search for one specific tree is almost fruitless.

I wander through the lush garden foliage for over an hour; it is the most peaceful place I’ve been to since leaving Kyoto. Eventually, I find Mendel’s Grapevine. Next to the grapevine is the tree, Newton’s apple tree.

The tree rarely grows apples. When it finally does bear fruit, the apples are instantly devoured by the many crows in the park, so many crows; maybe I should have stolen a scarecrow from the other gardens.

Sir Isaac Newton’s apple tree is not the original tree that he floated under before he invented gravity. This tree is just a sapling from the famous tree and was delivered to Japan in 1964. It was almost incinerated on arrival at Haneda International Airport because the leaves were infected, but an agreement was made so that the tree could be replanted in an isolated environment, and now it is here.

Rather ironically, I learned today that the original Newton’s apple tree is in Lincolnshire, England. My birthplace.

After I inspect the tree, it is time to head back to Asakusa. I walk fifteen minutes to Myogadani Station, before taking the Marunouchi Line to Ochanomizu Station. Here I walk ten minutes in the direction of Akihabara. I get a little lost on the way, but eventually see the familiar sign for Big Apple Pachinko and Slot, and finally know where I am. I take the train from Akihabara back to Asakusa.

Back at the hostel, I drink in the bar for a while before meeting up with Malaysia, Germany, Italy, Chicago, and Japan, and the six of us head to Nui until close. After, we head to an all-night karaoke bar with the most confusing pricing structure ever. Everyone has incredibly good music taste, and I enjoy The Smiths until the early hours. There’s music and there’s people, and they’re young and alive.

One thing that strikes me about karaoke in Japan is the videos. They don’t have the license to show the official music videos, so instead, they show random Japanese men sitting on park benches or salarymen rushing around the crowded streets of Tokyo.

We sing and drink gin until daylight.

Shiitake My Breath Away

Posted on 08/09/2014 by Luke

The hostel shared news of a festival at Mukojima-Hyakkaen Gardens. Today is Tsukimi-no-Kai, which means ‘Moon Viewing’ – a tradition marking its 210th year in these gardens. The goal tonight is to celebrate and enjoy the Harvest Moon. We’re set to meet up at 4 p.m. It’s cloudy outside; I doubt the moon will be visible, but the event sounds fun.

My first destination of the day is the brilliantly titled ‘Project Eat More Mushrooms,’ just an enticing eleven stations away on the Ginza Line. This year, it’s hosted at Ark Hills, a substantial office development in the heart of Akasaka. I hop on the train and disembark at mnemonic favourite, Toranamon, to run a marathon. I take a rather unhurried walk to the venue. Along the way I pass the Embassy of Micronesia and the Foundation of Miracles, before finally arriving at Project Eat More Mushrooms.

The mushroom festival here is disappointing, an absolute waste of thirty minutes each way on the train. Forget about eating more mushrooms; having more stores selling them would be a welcome start. I can hardly classify four market stalls as a festival. There are no miracles here, no mascots either, and certainly not many mushrooms. To salvage the journey from being a complete waste, I purchase some shiitake mushrooms and enoki mushrooms for a total of ¥450.

Back at the hostel, it dawns on me that these mushrooms are precisely the same ones I could have purchased from Seven Eleven. Considering the wasted time and train fares, these have turned out to be the most expensive mushrooms on the planet.

After the mushroom episode, I gather as planned at 4 p.m. The small group of seven comprises my friends Aram and Dagmar, along with two fantastic tour guides from the hostel, Keina and Gomez. We make our way to Asakusa Station and board the Tobu Skytree Line to Higashimukojima Station. Interestingly, the train deliberately slows to a crawl as it crosses the Sumida River to showcase the glorious view, or so we’re told. Upon reaching Sumida, we head straight to Mukojima-Hyakkaen Gardens, marking my third visit to these beautiful gardens during my time in Japan. The entrance fee remains the usual ¥150.

At the entrance, we’re requested to douse ourselves in mosquito repellent due to a Dengue fever outbreak in Tokyo. Just last week, Yoyogi Park was closed for extensive fumigation to eradicate mosquitoes and is likely to remain shut for several months. Similarly, Shinjuku Gyoen Park underwent the same treatment two days ago. It seems this week might be the least opportune time to visit an outdoor garden.

We enter the gardens, and inside, offerings are being made to the moon.

Television crews are setting up at the entrance to the Hagi Tunnel. Swarms of people are queueing up for the ¥2000 tea ceremony, the same ceremony I had previously enjoyed at no cost. The sound of chirping insects fills the air. We kill some time exploring the park before heading back to the wisteria trellis for the opening ceremony. Following a short opening speech, a performance of the shinobue begins.

A shinobue is a Japanese transverse flute made from hollow bamboo. Two performers play for almost thirty minutes. During their performance, I lose myself in meditation on a bench surrounded by foliage and mosquitoes.

After the performance, it’s time to light the many lanterns scattered throughout the gardens. The paper lanterns are lit just as twilight sets in. In total, there are thirty-five lanterns, and volunteers are encouraged to participate in the event. Each lantern is decorated with a haiku.

Once the lanterns are lit, a curtain of dusk descends to the melodic tune of the koto, a traditional thirteen-stringed Japanese instrument. The five performers play in perfect harmony, and the sweet sound of the koto resonates throughout the gardens. Eventually, the earlier gifts presented and the beautiful music work their magic, transforming the overcast evening sky into a clear one. As if on cue, the clouds part ways, unveiling the face of the Harvest Moon.

We sit down and admire the sky. The moon is a ghostly white, brighter than I can ever recall; but it has been a while. Like the stars, the moon rarely appears above the Tokyo skyline. Tonight the moon doesn’t hide, it looks beautiful, it is breathtaking.

We eat snacks. The chatter combines with the music. The thought crosses my mind that this ceremony has been taking place exactly where I am right now, for the last two-hundred or so years. It probably hasn’t changed much since then either. My mind transported to another time.

I eat a bowl of oden, a Japanese winter food consisting of various fish and vegetables in a soy-flavoured broth. It costs ¥800 and is delicious. We chat for a while longer, enjoying the sound of the insects, the music from the koto performance, and the lull of the moon.

At 7 p.m., it feels much later than it is. Darkness arrives earlier now, but the weather is still warm—an atypical autumn. We all head back to Asakusa on the train before going our separate ways.

I take the Ginza Line for thirty minutes, and as I exit the station into the crowds of Shibuya Crossing, it begins to rain. At 9 p.m., I meet up with a friend from England, Laurence, and his two friends. We gather outside Hachiko, a statue of a dog. The dog belonged to Professor Ueno. Hachiko would wait for the professor at the end of each day outside Shibuya Station until one day, in 1925, the Professor died. Despite the professor’s absence, Hachiko continued to wait faithfully, but his owner never appeared. Legend says the dog returned to the station at the same time every day for nine years, yet Professor Ueno never returned. Then, sadly, in 1935, Hachiko passed away.

Our evening begins in an absinthe bar exclusively playing The Smiths’ music and ends in a cheap izakaya-style bar. Artwork and literature dominate our evening’s discussions. An enjoyable night washed away with rain and ¥450 Suntory whisky highballs. I don’t take a single photograph; much like Hachiko, my camera is dead. With no photographs of my own, Laurence kindly lets me use one of his: Neon Nirvana:

A Kale of Two Sakes

Posted on 23/06/2014 by Luke

I ride the Tokyo Metro Ginza Line. I get off the train at Nihonbashi Station to buy a drink. I recently discovered that there is a small shop selling ¥300 smoothies here. It is the same side of the crossing gate as the tracks so there is no need for me to buy another ticket. I buy a smoothie and hop onto the next train some two minutes later. Today I choose a healthy bright green plastic cup of crushed kale.

From Harajuku Station, I take the five minute walk to Yoyogi Park. There is a festival here today in celebration of fifty years of diplomatic relationship between Japan and Jamaica. The festival is relatively quiet, but it is still morning. There are market stalls selling jerk chicken, mugs, and adorable hats adorning the Jamaican flag; the usual. There is a stage and a choir, they sound good but they are only sound checking, so no one applauds when they finish. I wander for fifteen minutes before deciding to leave.

As I exit the festival a man with a shaved head and white clothing approaches me. He hands me a gold card with a picture of Siddhārtha Gautama etched to the surface. He is not a native Japanese person, and is probably not even a real monk. He tries to get me to write my name, address, and how much money I am willing to ‘pledge’ to him. I tell him that I’m not interested, give him back his card, and walk away shaking my head. Using religion to scam people out of money, that’s a first.

Around the corner from the park, opposite the entrance to Harajuku Station is Takeshita Street; a famous pedestrianised shopping street with an amusing name. It is lined with small boutiques featuring all the newest fashion, and far too many ice cream shops. There is nothing really of interest for me here so I walk the length of the street before returning to Harajuku Station and jumping back on the train.

Back in Asakusa I hire a bicycle. ¥200 for four hours, brilliant. I park my bike at the hostel and sit on the pavement to take photographs of a lit up Tokyo Skytree; I try to improve the image by messing around with my cameras settings. Someone shouts my name from behind me, “Luke, what are you doing sitting on the floor?” It is a woman who works at the hostel. I tell her I am messing around with exposure and shutter speed. “Oh,” she says rather confused, “I’m emptying trash!” I think to myself that I probably know more about emptying rubbish than I do exposure and shutter speed.

Back on my bike, I cycle around in search of food. After a while, I eventually give in to a Seven Eleven tartare sauce fish burger and a bottle of Pocari Sweat. Pocari Sweat is going to be the first sports drink that has a billboard on the moon, or so an advertising leaflet claims. I cycle around the quiet back streets of Asakusa, stop off for a rest outside the exciting World Bags and Luggage Museum. No idea. I randomly bump into a person I know from the Fuji TV show; he is stood talking to a man dressed as a tree. No idea.

Back at the hostel I chill out in my favourite room, the 4th floor laundry lounge. The room is actually an outdoor conservatory in a big tent. It features a ball pit, a lovely water fountain, and a bath tub full of soil. Cherry tomatoes grow from the soil. I sit on a chair and read the last thirty or so pages of Murakami’s ‘Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World’. It is here that I lose myself to the tranquillity of my surroundings. A staff member interrupts my serenity. She is here to do ‘maintenance’ on the ball pit, or so she tells me with a grin. She elegantly makes sure all the balls are neatly resting in the bathtub before leaving me in peace.

After finishing my book I pop over the road for a quick drink in A.S.A.B. I chat to the bar owner and ask him if he knows any good places to eat. “Yes,” he states matter-of-factly, “I draw you map.” He draws me a map. I thank him, pay, and leave the bar. His map is very accurate and I find the place with ease. Inside I take a stool at the bar and am handed an English menu, a nice surprise.

So, from the top left I have a pot and saucer of Japanese mustard for dipping, fresh cabbage served on ice, a side salad, spring onions, rice, a white box, some odd tasting red pickles, edamame beans, and the star of the show, cutlassfish marinated in soy sauce. The set meal also comes with miso soup, but it is pork based so I ask to have my meal without. I drink two Suntory whisky highballs whilst I feast, and pay ¥2240.

Now, that white box. Natto. It has no place with the rest of the meal so I take it back to the hostel. On the way I buy a tube of salt and vinegar flavour Pringles. I eat the natto using chop sticks, I wrap three to five fermented soy beans around a crisp; the correct way to eat natto, probably. The natto smells so bad that it even comes with a sachet of strong smelling mustard, and some red sauce that just about cancels out the disappointing smell.

In the hostel I meet up with a couple of guys from Hong Kong, and Aaliya, the Canadian I met during my first week here. It is her last night in Japan, so we decide to drink. We go to a bar, closed. We go to another, they’ve stopped serving. At the third bar, Asakusa OTO, we are humbly welcomed inside. It is a sake bar selling Japanese rice wine. It tastes okay, better than the supermarket rubbish I am used to. Sayaka, the English speaking Japanese staff member asks me to go through her English menu and correct the twelve mistakes. The owner of the bar puts on the ‘most famous’ Britpop band ever, Ride. I tell him I’ve never heard of Ride. Instead he puts on The Smiths.

‘Girlfriend in a Coma’ plays in the background while I eat crushed ice with sweet sauces. Delicious. It is time to leave after about an hour of sake drinking. We go to pay and the owner refuses to take our money. He says I should tell more foreigners about his bar in exchange for the drinks he has given us. It’s the least I can do, I tell him, scribbling his website on the back of my hand.

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Tag Archives: the Smiths

“What Goes Up Must Come Down.”

Shiitake My Breath Away

A Kale of Two Sakes