Befall Upon The Watchtower

Posted on 14/02/2015 by Luke

For whatever reason, someone has suggested to me that I check out the area where the Arakawa River and the Sumida River flow into one. As I head out into what feels like a spring afternoon, I realise that my destination today might offer little excitement to anyone, including myself. Somehow, I feel drawn in the direction of Arakawa, the shackles of free will severed from my legs. Part of me feels like there is a demon possessing my very soul, controlling my destiny as I cycle at rapid speeds in the direction of Arakawa.

I see the remnants of a temple or shrine, but it looks as though perhaps it is trapped within the confines of an industrial site. Not letting that stop me for one moment, I park my bicycle and wander in. Seconds later, I am cornered by a security guard. He shouts angrily in Japanese as he waves his hand in the direction of the street. A strong urge to not give up consumes me, and I quickly find myself on the other side of the complex.

It is a strange sight. I am standing along the Sumida River, and there is nothing but tall yellow grass stretching off in every direction. No cars pass along the road in front of the shrine. No people are walking. It is silent, yet only ten minutes away are the tall residential buildings that make up my neighbourhood. Looming over the Shinto shrine are three huge green balls, presumably part of a sewerage station. Perhaps the god of water treatment resides here.

I carry on my journey, not wanting to disturb the sewer gods, and eventually find a map. Sure enough, the place I had just visited is marked as ‘Sewer Station Shirahige Nishi Pump Place.’ However, there is no mention of any temple or shrine on the map. There is, however, one other interesting point of interest labelled as ‘Ballpark for boy Ground of using combinedly.’ I excuse the terrible English and carry on along the river.

Ten minutes later, my fanciful difficulty fades away, offering me some karmic resolve.

A watchtower. The best thing that has happened to me all week. It somehow feels like I am stumbling through an episode of the television drama ‘Lost’. For no apparent reason, there is a massive wooden watchtower sitting guard at the entrance to one of the bridges that traverses the Sumida River. What is it doing here? Who built it? Is this real? My mind floods with questions and possibilities, as if somehow collecting fragmented pieces of information and forming them into ideas in my head.

I park my bicycle, and ignoring the sign that tells me to stay away, I enter the wooden doorway. My body filled with an emotion that is yet to be given a name. As I climb the watchtower, I begin to wonder if all of this is just some giant metaphor for something else, something that can’t be explained with words. Each step toward the top tests me, as if life is testing me at this very moment. Eventually, as I near the top, the cracks in the surface become wider, making way for sunbeams.

The view from the top is of nothing of note. Tokyo Skytree hangs in the distance, slightly masked by concrete surroundings. In the direction I came from, I can see the water treatment plant and the barren riverbed. I stand at the top of the tower in silence for a while, watching the blue hue of the river for a time, before the sound of footsteps echo from below. A man appears. He looks devious, something very odd about him; like he means to cause trouble. He stands atop the watchtower with me, blissfully staring out into a void. The man doesn’t speak to me, and something about him makes me incredibly uneasy. I decide that I can’t stand here any longer, so I head back down the steps to my bicycle below.

I cross the river as fast as I can, somewhat unnerved. On the other side of the river, I take a right, following its path back toward what looks like civilisation. After twenty minutes of cycling, I realise I am slightly at a loss. I don’t really know where I am, and I’m not sure if the river I crossed was the Arakawa River or the Sumida River. Perhaps I have already cycled beyond the confluence.

I try to check the map on my camera, but nothing appears to work. I stop for a moment, take a deep breath, and take in my surroundings. Desolate. Empty. Nothing. Everything here looks abandoned, and it begins to reflect on me. Right now, even I feel completely abandoned; which is the strangest feeling I have suffered in a while. As I stand here, lost in the middle of something that might or might not be nothingness, a certain fear destroys my usual calm demeanour, and I begin to panic.

Everything will be fine, though. As if saved, I can just make out the silhouette of Tokyo Skytree on the horizon; so I point my bicycle in the direction of the structure. After what seems like an hour of following the river, I reach a bridge and am finally free to cross. This bridge takes me over the Arakawa River, so it appears that I never reached my destination, never found what I sought out to find. Regardless, I am finally back within familiar territory, heading back toward life. I stop to photograph a sign that probably has no relevance here, but perhaps it does. The sign appears to have been written by Yoda from Star Wars.

As the day continues to distract me, I inadvertently end up in Akihabara. Tired from three or four hours of intemperate exploration, I decide to leave my bicycle at the train station. Inside, I stand at the platform, waiting for the train to take me back to Minowa. It is here that I see yet another strange vending machine.

The machine offers four shelves of items, two of which are toys for children: two sets from the Nature in Japan series. Small models of various different animals native to the country. It is what is contained within the other two shelves that I find strange. At a bargain price of ¥200 per purchase, I can buy office ladies that sit on the edge of my coffee cup; legs open, underwear exposed.

Akihabara Station famously has signs at each escalator, warning women to watch out for ‘upskirting.’ Apparently, it is a law in Japan that all cameras must make a sound when a photograph is taken. With Akihabara being the home of electronics and comic books, lonely men have often been known to pry on women as they ride the escalator, sneakily taking photographs from below.

This vending machine perhaps tries to solve that problem. These coffee cup women are clearly exposing their undergarments, with no shame. The only shame is possibly when your co-workers see you with a decorated coffee cup featuring this type of imagery. ‘Make your office fun!’ ‘Happiness in your cup!’ are just some of the explanations on offer, scrawled in Japanese across the machine.

There are certain times in my life when my mind is simply not capable of understanding something, and this is certainly one of them.

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.

Florets Get Ready to Grumble

Posted on 14/07/2014 by Luke

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Much Beppu About Nothing

Posted on 13/07/2014 by Luke

I haven’t really done any touristy things during my last two days in Beppu. Instead, I have listened to far too much Blind Pilot and filled the rest of my days reading Haruki Murakami. In the evenings I have visited bars. On Friday night I got to the semi-finals of a Table Tennis tournament, only to be beaten by Yojiro. Today I will write about general things in Japan.

Vending machines. There are far too many Coca Cola vending machines for my liking. One is too many if I am completely honest. As a non-consumer of this particular brand of misery (reasons: child labour, worker rights, pollution, murder), I often find myself cycling around looking for a machine with the Suntory Boss brand. The best vending machines offer Coffee Boss Rainbow Blend, and if I am really lucky, Boss Ice Creamy Latte.

Vending machine coffee in the summer is mostly cold. I have always enjoyed cold coffee anyway. In the winter, the machine changes and the can of coffee is hot. In the vending machine above, Coffee Boss Rainbow Blend is on a Price Down!

In Japan, there are far too many silly notices and signs in English; most have terrible grammar and bad spelling. Presumably these signs are mistranslated when they are put through Yahoo! BableFish. Google is surprisingly unpopular amongst the Japanese people. For news, emails, and searches, almost everyone here uses Yahoo! Here is an example of a bad sign:

I like umbrellas.

Yesterday I met a vegetarian couple. They decided before coming to Japan that being a vegetarian here would be ‘too difficult’, so they have chosen to eat meat while they are here. I don’t quite understand this logic. Admittedly, vegetarianism is somewhat uncommon here. I find that simply learning to explain that you don’t eat certain foods will get you by. I have even seen people with printouts in Japanese explaining their dietary requirements. There are ways, and there are also plenty of amazing vegetarian dishes here too.

I think I have mentioned it before, but the streets here are littered with cats. Here are some cats:

There are a lot of things I miss about England. Eating cheese. Crust on my sandwiches. Coleslaw. Sometimes I really wish I could sit playing the guitar for a few hours, but I don’t have a guitar here, maybe I can rent one. I also mentioned the stars before. Never visible. So strange. Maybe it is just because of the weather. When I finally see the stars I will probably write a huge post about it.

I went for a late-night walk in the ocean last night. The ocean here appears clear or blue, depending on the time of day. Sitting on the beach at midnight with a few beers, followed by a walk in the warm ocean — even at midnight, the air here stays warm. Even during heavy rain, the air remains warm. I’m uncertain about the winter; time will tell.

Here is the ocean in the day time. Very blue:

Walking around at night with a beer and not breaking the law is also amazing. Convenience stores are everywhere, so if you cant find any nightlife, you can buy a beer from Seven Eleven, finish it by the time you get to Family Mart, buy a beer, finish it by the time you get to Lawson Stores, et cætera. Basically if you walked to every 24-hour convenience store in one area buying one beer at a time, you would get nicely drunk. I count eight stores within ten minute walking distance from my hostel.

I enjoy the lampposts and traffic lights playing happy tunes. I like being in Japan and being from England. When most Japanese people ask me where I am from, their attitude changes when I say England. It is as though I have uttered some code word that makes people more friendly. “Ah, from England! You know Sherlock Holmes?” The other night a Japanese salaryman bought me a drink in a bar, he said it was because he, “Likes England so much.”

Random things are placed on the streets here. This is inside Beppu shopping arcade. Spot the Carnival Cutouts:

There are things I don’t like. I dislike being tall. The number of times I’ve smashed my head into the top of a doorframe surprises me; I’m amazed I haven’t suffered a mild traumatic brain injury. Although, maybe I have. I often forget the occasional English word. While talking to someone, I might suddenly draw a blank on a word I should know. It’s like there’s a void in my head where the word used to reside. At other times, I unconsciously substitute a Japanese word for an English one without even realising.

I hate inconsideration, but who doesn’t. I am in a four bedroom dormitory room trying to sleep. Someone comes in, sits down on his bed and starts to eat from a bento box (a lunchbox style Japanese meal; commonly with sections for rice, pickled or cooked vegetables, and a type of meat or fish). He is eating chicken, but I don’t eat chicken. Now, my room smells of chicken, and amidst this olfactory assault, all I can hear is him chomping loudly on his food. The hostel has a dining area and a lounge area, so please avoid eating chicken in the dormitory room. Additionally, some people insist on loudly packing their suitcase for about an hour at 7 o’clock in the morning. It shouldn’t take that long and can be done the night before.

I went to the supermarket to photograph a bento box, but they had completely sold out. So instead, here is a photograph of some strawberry and cream sandwiches:

Anyway, I have a bus to catch. Next stop: Fukuoka.

Twenty-Four Hours in Japan

Posted on 30/05/2014 by Luke

Sitting on a British Airways flight for thirteen hours with Suzuki-san, I land at Tokyo-Narita International Airport with a strong hangover and a profound but newfound knowledge of ballroom dancing. I was happy that I had someone to talk to during the flight, and Mr. Suzuki was happy because he got to practice his English. What struck me as odd, though, is that after two small Heineken beers, Mr. Suzuki handed me a pamphlet for his ballroom dancing studio, complete with a nice map and address. One Heineken later, he gave me a business card with his home address, telephone number, and email address. Japan must be the only country I have experienced that has such a high level of trust.

As I approach immigration at the airport, I notice a sign that reads, “Please refrain from physical contact with others, except for the staff.” I adhere to this unusual instruction and proceed to have my fingerprints and photograph taken. After a swift 90-minute train journey on the Narita Express, I arrive at Tokyo Station. Here, I make a seamless transition to what has always been my preferred railway loop line in Japan: the Yamanote Line. This remarkable train route encircles all the main stations in Tokyo, spanning 29 stops in just one hour—a line I aspire to traverse entirely on foot one day.

For now, I take a brief two-minute train ride from Tokyo Station to the following stop on the loop, Kanda Station. It’s at Kanda Station that I transfer to what will likely serve as my new home for the next month: the Tokyo Metro Ginza Line.

Finally, after a total of twenty-two hours of solid travelling, I step out of the subway, gaze across the skyline for a few seconds, and spot the second tallest structure in the world, as well as the tallest tower in the world, Tokyo Skytree. Standing a mere 634 metres tall, this will be my Polaris.

After finding my hostel with somewhat relative ease, I check-in. After a few moments I already decide that I have made the right choice to start my Japan journey here. “We offer free laundry powder,” the receptionist says in perfect English. “We also have a comic room!” he exclaims.
“A what?”
“A comic room,” he repeats. So up the lift we go, and he shows me to the comic room, with its free massage chair, and free manga comics.

It is the official place to chill out and read manga comics, apparently. And it’s all free!

‘Free’ a word I will be hearing a lot of in the next few hours. The hostel has free tea and coffee, free laundry powder, free manga comics, free massage chair, free wireless Internet, free computers with free Internet, free toilet roll, and every Thursday, in a little room that doubles up as a whisky bar, is a free Jazz night, featuring excellent and professional Jazz musicians. Luckily for me, today is Thursday.

After finding my room and my amazing bed, I check out the facilities and find out that all the toilets in this hostel are made by Toshiba. I also find the hostel vending machines: one selling soft drinks and Boss coffee, one selling extremely cheap Asahi beer and 6% cider, and the other selling, ‘FOOD FOOD HOT FOOD 24 SEVEN,’ or so it says.

I relax in the hostel for a while reading one of the ‘free’ guide books. Eventually I team up with an Irish man, who is sharing my hostel room and whom I had previously met, and an American man. After a few beers we decide to head out for some food. The Irish man knows a great ramen shop across town, so off we go.

He was right, the ramen was amazing.

On the way back to the hostel for the Jazz night, the American spots a sign he had referenced previously that evening. It basically says free beer in exchange for some bar work, so we decide to check it out. I have been in Japan for less than a day and, although paid in beer, I have effectively landed a job.

Here, in this small back alley bar, Japanese men and women come to practice their English. My job is for thirty minutes to sit and talk to a Japanese lady in my native tongue. The moment I sit down a beer is poured for me, and it is on the house. Free beer brings the English speakers in, English conversation brings the Japanese customers in. A clever idea in a country that generally has limited to poor English speaking ability.

After thirty minutes of stop-start, but very enjoyable conversation, the bar owner asks the three of us to switch around. The Irish man gets put with the Japanese lady I had just been talking to; and I sit with a young Japanese man, probably in his mid-twenties. Another beer is poured for me, once again it is free.

This man has excellent English speaking ability, probably better than some of the native English speaking customers I have spoken to during my previous employment. He does not need to be here. I would argue that he is only in this bar to improve his confidence when speaking in English, however, this man has the confidence to come to this back alley bar, on his own; so I am not sure his confidence needs improving too much. Shortly into our thirty minute conversation he mentions a Japanese art and acting form called kabuki. Oddly, a few days ago I had watched an NHK World documentary about the subject, so from that, the conversation flows.

After our two thirty minute sittings, and my two free beers, the three of us head back to the hostel to find that unfortunately the Jazz has finished. However, the whisky is still flowing and the party in the Jazz club is far from over.

I don’t remember a great deal else from tonight, just that I leave in the early hours in a haze and head back to my room to sleep off almost 48 hours of being awake.

My first day in Japan.

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