Grandiose Encounters of the Third Class

Posted on 28/07/2014 by Luke

I went without any Internet connection for a few days, so I couldn’t post anything. Here’s a summary of the last three days:

Friday – Fukuoka

Today, I met a German guy named Klaus. It’s his first day in Japan after spending a month in South Korea. He wants to stay here tomorrow night as well, but there are no available rooms in the hostel. I cancel my reservation for tomorrow night, and he takes my room. I wanted to start traveling early tomorrow anyway, as I have a fourteen-hour train journey to endure.

Klaus and I take a stroll around Hakata Station. I show him the sights, starting with the roof terrace. We then wander through the enormous indoor shopping complex, exploring various random gifts. I spot some excellent souvenir ideas. Later, we head for food—a classic dish of mixed vegetable and prawn tempura on rice, accompanied by a pint of Kirin Beer. Kirin isn’t my first choice for Japanese beer, but I don’t complain.

Afterward, we head over to Tenjin Station because Klaus is really keen on seeing the giant cardboard train. I don’t mind showing him around as I have nothing else planned in Fukuoka. Klaus is quite funny, and his English is good, so I don’t have to speak slowly or anything. We enter the building where I thought the cardboard train was, but we can’t seem to find it. Unfortunately, I deleted the photograph, so I can’t prove to him that it was real. He starts doubting its existence altogether, and I begin to question it myself, still feeling a bit off-kilter from yesterday. We hesitate to ask anyone else about the train because it might sound absurd. “Excuse me, miss, could you point us in the direction of the giant cardboard stream locomotive, please?”

After an hour of searching, we eventually find it in a completely different building from the one I had sworn it was in.

Next, we head to an izakaya by the river. It’s the first time I’ve visited an outdoor izakaya of this style. We choose the most welcoming one. “Please, you are welcome,” the owner says with an honest smile. This place serves skewers of meat and noodle soup. Klaus and I do what Germans and Britons do best: drink.

We meet a couple of Japanese people: two guys, one of whom had visited Berlin last year, so he and Klaus engage in conversation. Two girls, one of whom had spent six months studying English in Leeds, so she and I chat. As the night progresses, Klaus teaches me about South Korea, and I share my knowledge about Japan with him. We drink, joke, and before we know it, the night disappears.

Saturday – Okayama

I board my third and final train for the day at Shimionoseki Station, taking the JR Sanyo Line. The train is old, with uncomfortable seats, no toilet, and no vending machine. I wish I had more than one bottle of water. The train announcements are exclusively in Japanese. Am I even on the right train? How would I even know?

This ‘local’ train makes an astonishing 83 stops, taking a total of eight hours. Finally, at 9 p.m., I arrive in Okayama. I decided to break up my travel to Kyoto with a nice stopover in a pleasant-looking business hotel. I enjoy staying in a hotel once a month; it offers a refreshing change from the noise of a dormitory room. By using my Seishun 18 ticket, I save myself the ¥16,060 that the bullet train would have cost me. In exchange, I sacrifice 569 minutes of my life.

As I step off the train, the speakers are bellowing out the tune, ‘I’ve Been Working on the Railroad’. In fact, they play the tune every time a train pulls up here. You might go insane if you were a member of the station staff. Leaving the station, I realise just how exhausted I am from doing absolutely nothing but sitting on trains. It wears me out.

There is a really lovely fountain just outside the entrance. I believe it’s shaped to look like a dandelion.

One thing I notice immediately about Okayama is the maps—they are everywhere, massive, and in English. My hotel is on the same road as the station, about halfway between here and Okayama Castle. I grab a well-deserved can of Suntory whisky highball for the walk.

The main road through Okayama is wide, with trams drifting through the middle of the lanes. Neatly pollarded trees, lit up by lamps, line both sides of the pavement, adding to the city’s charm. Finding my hotel, I notice it’s slightly more upmarket than I’m used to. The room is of average size, with a laid-out yukata on the bed and all the usual hotel amenities. Unfortunately, my view isn’t of the castle but of the train station. Oddly, the hotel exists in a time before the World Wide Web and does not offer Internet access.

After settling into the hotel, I decide to take a walk. I head into the park, passing a group of people exercising to music from a stereo in the street. The park is pitch black, but I can vaguely make out a lake in the middle. In the distance, I see the castle, illuminated by bright green lights.

Similar to the park, the castle exterior is pitch black, earning it the nickname ‘Crow Castle’. After visiting the castle, I step out of the park and into the light. Following the neon signs, I navigate interlocking side streets filled with restaurants. People stand outside, attempting to usher customers into their establishments. As I walk around with an empty can of highball, a trick I discovered, I notice that nobody wants someone with an open can of drink in their restaurant. Consequently, I am almost completely ignored by the touts.

I decide to dine at a small family-run restaurant. Surprisingly, they have Basashi (raw horse meat) curry on the menu, alongside natto curry. Opting for a fish curry, I’m asked by the owner, ‘Medium heat, medium curry, okay?’ I request it to be hot. He brings out the familiar chart with the five chili symbols. His chart looks like this:

One: For children.
Two: Mild curry.
Three: Extremely hot!
Four: Daredevil!
Five:

Five is left blank, presumably because no one orders a five. I ask for a three. ‘Three!!!’ he exclaims. His response makes me start laughing. When my curry arrives, the smell is enticing, and the heat level is just right. It costs ¥1019, including a small can of Kirin Beer. It’s a good meal, albeit with a substandard beer.

Sunday – Kyoto

After traveling for four hours on trains, I finally arrive in Kyoto. I switch to the subway line headed to Kawaramachi Station, and surprisingly, the subway train happens to be the nicest I’ve ridden all week. Remembering my station name won’t be an issue either. During my month in Tokyo, my local station was Tawaramachi Station—here, just a letter’s difference. Leaving the station, I walk directly into a massive shopping arcade that sprawls out in every direction.

I pass by a huge market where everything is produced and sourced locally. There are numerous vegan and organic restaurants here as well—my kind of place. Additionally, within the arcade, there are random temples dotted about. Seishinin Temple is sandwiched between a small shop selling calligraphy on wooden blocks and a shop selling human caricatures.

It is only 2 p.m. and I have one hour before I can officially check-in. I find the hostel and fill out all the necessary paperwork and pay. The hostel offers to look after my bags for an hour. As I hand over my one bag, the staff member gives me a bewildered look. “That’s it?!” He asks me with surprise in his voice.
“Yep, that’s it,” I tell him.
“Not very heavy,” he says, struggling to grasp the concept of my luggage.
“I like to travel light,” I offer as an explanation. His expression retains a sense of disbelief.

I have an hour to kill, so I decide to find some lunch. I head to a small restaurant across the road that offers natural organic food. Like most restaurants here, it has an English menu, probably due to the sheer volume of tourists. They offer free wireless Internet, and Björk’s music is coming out of the speakers. I order a salmon, mushroom, and cheese omelette over rice, served with a big salad, along with a green tea latte. Although the food doesn’t look too pretty, it tastes and smells amazing. The meal costs ¥1944. No complaints here—good food, good music, free Internet.

Kyoto was formerly the imperial capital of Japan for over a thousand years. Now, it serves as the capital of Kyoto Prefecture. It’s often referred to as the ‘City of Ten Thousand Shrines.’ I’m not certain if it actually has ten thousand shrines, but it wouldn’t surprise me one bit if it did. I’ve counted eleven already today, and they were all within the indoor shopping arcade.

I return to the hostel to retrieve my room key. The hostel is modern, featuring five floors and a roof terrace. I decide to explore the public areas. The lounge is adorned with small wooden boxes housing growing plants, adding a touch of nature. A huge glass bay window floods the dining area with natural light. The outdoor roof terrace is neatly arranged, complete with beer and cup noodle vending machines. It seems someone in the hostel has organised a weekly late-night running group, with a clear emphasis on ‘going for a beer afterwards.’ I have a feeling I’m going to enjoy my one-week stay here.

The hostel also features a library, and unlike Fukuoka and Beppu, it has a lift. While I’m writing up my weekend, a Japanese guy who works here comes over and introduces himself. He seems quite a character and turns out to be one of the barmen at the hostel’s bar, which is located in the basement and stays open until midnight every evening. They also offer ¥400 beer on tap. Tonight, the hostel is hosting a monthly party, which is fantastic—another stroke of lucky timing. At the party, I discover that the other barman is my friend Shonosuke. I had no idea he was here. Brilliant!

Canal City, a Wedding, a Japanese Massage

Posted on 23/07/2014 by Luke

Today is Marine Day, but nobody let me know. The purpose of this public holiday is to thank the ocean for all the fish. Stock markets are closed, as are some shops. The weather is nice, and everyone has taken a day off for a trip to the beach.

I spend two hours of my Marine Day celebrations cycling between closed post offices. I wonder why they are all closed? After finding the fourth post office open, I conclude my business and leave with great dissatisfaction. These three police officers on one-speed bicycles soon cheer me up as they chase after a fugitive.

My legs are starting to ache after days of excessive exercise. I’ve established an eight-kilometre cycling routine that I follow every morning and evening for the past four days. I’ve managed to trim it down to about forty minutes, which is good by my standards, considering I’m on a one-speed bike and often encounter crowds of pedestrians that slow me down.

I head to Hakata on foot. Outside Hakata Station a stage has been erected and god knows what is going on. People on stage finish up singing, “We are the Bridge.” The theme song for the Asian Pacific Children’s Convention; a non-profit organisation that ‘connects dreams around the world’. I recognise the song, but I am not sure how or where from.

I head to a place called Canal City. This place is huge. 234,460 metres squaredof shops, restaurants, a theatre, a Taito Station video game arcade, a cinema, two hotels, and an indoor canal running through the middle. The nickname for Canal City is, ‘the city within the city’, and it certainly lives up to its name.

There is also a water jet show. The water sprays up into the air from the fountains below. There is a mat of synthetic grass where children can get absolutely soaked as they dodge the water as it falls toward them. A woman stands with a huge water pistol, shooting at the children, a grin on her face.

If you look closely, in the window beyond the water, a bride and groom are getting married.

Back at the hostel, the manager asks me if I ever eat. I was asked this question yesterday by another member of staff. It turns out none of the staff here have ever seen me eating. I try to explain to them that ten years of working nights have reduced me to just eating one meal a day, but they don’t seem to understand.

I head to the Nakagawa River. On the way, I stop and talk to Alan, the busker. He is taking a break, sipping on his Royal Milk Tea. He is from England and became homeless eight years ago. Singing with a banjo, he managed to earn enough money for a one-way ticket to Australia. For the past eight years, he has spent six months at a time in various countries. The money he makes busking every day covers the costs of his accommodation and meals.

As I walk across the river, my calf muscles are hurting. I decide to have my first Japanese massage, a type called Shiatsu, which focuses on finger pressure. I opt for a 50-minute full-body massage, emphasising my neck, back, legs, and Achilles. Afterward, I indulge in a ten-minute head and eye massage. The massage, performed fully clothed, is amazing. It costs me ¥4470.

I don’t have any photographs from the massage, as I didn’t have my camera with me. Instead, lazily, here’s a photograph I took of televisions earlier today:

I leave the massage feeling great, but darkness has fallen on Fukuoka, and I don’t know where I am. I buy a bottle of green tea and walk for a while in the vague direction of Hakata Station before giving up and asking a young Japanese man which direction it is.

He says to me, ‘I am going to Hakata, come with me.’ I follow him until Japan turns into a Monty Python sketch. ‘Come along, come along,’ he tells me, ‘over here.’ I follow him for ten minutes; at each intersection, he checks to see that I am still following him. ‘This way, come on,’ he says, ‘nearly there now.’ We do indeed arrive at Hakata Station. I thank him, and we go our separate ways.

I haven’t eaten anything today, just water and green tea, and it’s 9 p.m. It’s been thirty hours without food, but I don’t feel hungry. I force down a Family Mart dinner before heading out to do my laundry.

As I open the dryer door, a voice inside greets me with, ‘Irasshaimase!’ I sit in the Coin Laundry, reading, and every now and then, I glance up to watch my clothes spinning. I’m only writing about my laundry experience because I found the orange sign above the dryer amusing. ‘Help!’ shouts the shirt, as if about to be gobbled up. After the drying cycle is finished, the machine cleverly switches to ‘Cool Down Mode.’ Five minutes later, my laundry is at room temperature—fascinating. The dryer door thanks me as it opens, ‘Arigatou gozaimasu.’

Back at the hostel, I strike up a conversation with an Italian girl. She left Italy without money or a job and used whatever she had to fly to South Korea. Swiftly, she found a job and established a new life for herself. As we talk, I mention Alan, the busker; his story seems to have some parallels. Surprisingly, she knows Alan—around four months ago, she met him in Seoul. ‘An Englishman with a banjo, right!’ she exclaims.

Many of the people I’ve met at this hostel are residing in South Korea and are currently here on a visa run. Their visas expire, prompting them to fly to Japan, stay for a day, then fly back out, earning another three-month tourist visa. Interestingly, as tourists, they legally trade work in hostels for free accommodation without exchanging money. This way, they can keep traveling indefinitely, and some have been doing just that.

A guy from Canada has a big carrier bag full of jet black volcanic ash. “A souvenir from Kagoshima,” he proudly tells me. It weighs a tonne.

Sentient Pigs, Birthday Cake, Neon Electric Girl

Posted on 17/07/2014 by Luke

Today is different. For some reason I don’t feel like myself, I cannot explain how I feel. I just don’t feel right. I decide to sell my second camera, a Nikon. Never used. My Samsung camera literally taking all of the action.

I take a bicycle. Thirty minutes later, I arrive at Reisen Park. I step into the ‘We buy and sell any camera’ shop and place my bulky Nikon on the desk. I hand the man all the wires, still locked inside opaque plastic. ‘Charger?’ he asks. Oh, I forgot the charger.

One hour later, I return to Reisen Park with the charger, and the sale concludes. In the park opposite, a stage appears to be taken down. I stop by a bookshop and use some of my camera money to purchase a book; there are so many books I need to read. I spend ¥1160 on the one I choose, ‘Kafka on the Shore’.

Outside the rain drops like scattered gunfire, but you probably don’t care about the weather. I decide to grab an early lunch from the second floor of Hakata Station. I deliberately go via one of the shortest escalators in the World. Just for fun.

Most restaurants in Japan display plastic models of their dishes outside. These models are crafted so meticulously that mistaking them for real food is easy if you didn’t know any better. The attention to detail is incredible. Taking a chance, I enter a restaurant that lacks these plastic models, leaving me clueless about what’s on the menu.

It is one of those restaurants where Japanese is the only language spoken, which is fine by me. I order a set meal of tuna on seaweed with rice, accompanied by something resembling coleslaw but with a different taste, miso soup, a spicy horseradish green condiment (the name escapes my memory), and a delicious red bean cake for dessert. Overall, it’s a nice meal.

After I leave, a woman chases me out of the restaurant with my forgotten umbrella.

I return the bicycle to the hostel, just as the rain stops. I sit on the roof terrace and read eighty-six pages of Kafka on the Shore.

After reading, I take a stroll around at dusk. I walk toward Tenjin. I take a photograph of the city from the river, and then walk back. I was going to fill up space by talking about wasting electricity with all this neon, I will instead waste words telling you that Fukuoka is the sixth biggest city in Japan.

I realise on my walk back that I haven’t been on a train or bus for three days. Maybe I haven’t done anything but read for two. A Chinook passes over me. Ironically, I am on my way to meet a helicopter pilot.

At the bar, the manager pours me a free glass of ice cold rice wine. The helicopter pilot is with his wife. I talk to him for ten minutes, before sitting at the bar with my book. Not to disturb him as his food arrives. The helicopter pilot is Japanese, I met him last night in the same bar. His English is average. He told me to come back again today, “Not a problem,” I told him. “The bar is five minutes from my hostel.”

I sit at the bar for a while, eyeing the skewers of meat atop the glass counter. Eventually, the helicopter pilot’s daughter arrives. She’s studying English at university, and for the next two hours, we converse in English. Her eyes are a deep-set brown, strikingly profound. Her black hair has an unusual texture, reminiscent of straw to the touch.

I agree to meet her tomorrow over a bowl of Paella. She leaves. I pay for six Suntory whisky highballs and her orange juice, ¥2345. A nice clean number.

As I wander back via a Lawson Stores, I see these odd workers:

I see them everywhere, actually. They stand on roads, at entrances to car parks, and next to building sites. They wave on traffic and pedestrians with their red lightsabers. Sometimes there will be three or four, all standing on the quietest street next to a cement mixer or ladder. A very strange job.

Back at the hostel I have a craving for salt and vinegar crisps; another thing that I cannot find here. I sit in the lounge with a can of Suntory whisky highball, and talk with the Koreans. There is a Korean woman who is both the same age as me, and two years younger. East Asian age reckoning.

It becomes one of the Koreans’ birthday; an amazing cake duly arrives, bang on midnight.

One of the Korean guys is studying philosophy, and his sister is incredibly intelligent. We talk about philosophy, another thing I really miss doing. He quite likes my discussion on M-theory. We also talk a lot about sentient pigs.

The intelligent Korean girl tells me that my eyes look lonely.

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 halfway 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 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 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.

Into the Belly of a Whale

Posted on 25/06/2014 by Luke

I am filming the rain as it slowly sweeps toward me. The rain is just a bit further away on the other side of the road. It’s heavy, two weeks worth of rain all in one go. As it passes through me my umbrella goes up with the flick of a button. Flick. Swoosh. Patter patter. At Tawaramachi Station, I see a member of the hostel staff. He doesn’t have an umbrella. I walk him the five minutes to the hostel holding my umbrella above us both, much to his delight.

On the way back to Tawaramachi Station, the path is already flooded. The thunder sounds like a drum, a big booming drum. It starts from behind me and roars across the sky travelling above me and away into the distance. One fell swoop. I stand for a while watching the lightning over the Sumida River, it dances around Tokyo Skytree, a giant lightning rod on a day like today. I wait with my camera, poised for the shot that never comes. Ten minutes pass and I decide ten minutes is long enough to wait.

I grab the train to Shinagawa, via Nihonbashi for a ¥300 orange and ginger smoothie. Outside Shinagawa Station a thick grey blanket of cloud covers every inch of the sky, casting rain and darkness across the city. Street lights have come on and it’s only 10 a.m.

I go to the Tokyo University of Marine Science and Technology. There is a museum here about fishing methods. There is also a big round pond for the turtles to swim around in.

The highlight for me is something you won’t find in a guidebook. A full size skeleton of a western gray whale. There is a sign saying ‘open’ but there is not a sole in sight. I enter the room housing the giant whale skeleton. It is incredible. The way the exhibit has been put together allows you to walk inside its rib cage, into where its stomach would have been. I contemplate spending three days and three nights in the belly, like Jonah, but the smell of the bones is quite potent. Like a rotten seaside smell. I take a few photographs, but the whale is so big, I can’t fit it into a single shot.

I wander around the rest of the university campus. I find it interesting to get a perspective of what it’s like here at a university in Japan. They have tennis courts, surfboards, labs, classrooms, a whale skeleton, boats, dormitories, and an outdoor swimming pool brimming with rainwater. I leave impressed. In Tokyo, every train station has its own theme tune for each train line, and the Tokyu Toyoko Line does not disappoint.

Back at the hostel I think about moving on. A hostel in Beppu claims that: “If you are tired while you are traveling, Beppu is the best place to relex! [sic] Beppu is blessed with abundant nature for trekking, soaking in natural hot springs, or playing in the ocean. You can choose what you want depending on your mood. There are eight different kinds of hot springs, depending on the area you go to.” The hostel having its own hot spring bath making the decision very easy for me, and I book a two week stay.

Outside the rain has just about stopped, so I go to hire a bicycle. Bright green, my favourite. Yesterday I wanted to buy my own bike, I even went to the bike shop. The guy told me I can’t buy a bike unless I have a permanent address. Apparently, to prevent theft, all bicycles in Japan have to be registered to an address and all bicycles are stamped with approval. Each cyclist has a card with their name and address and a number matching the number stamped to the bike. If stopped by the police you can prove the bicycle is yours. If a bike is abandoned the police know who it belongs to and will charge you to have it sent back.

On my bright green hired bicycle I cycle to Ueno. There is an expedition on today at the Tokyo National Museum. It is art work from Taipei and has been big news in Japan for all the wrong reasons. The Japanese billboard advertising the Treasured Masterpieces from the National Palace Museum in Taipei had omitted the word ‘national,’ an act that was perceived by the Taiwanese government as undermining the nation’s dignity. The exhibition was almost cancelled until a last minute correction was made and an apology from Japan was given. Unfortunately, the famous ‘Jadeite Cabbage’ was left back in Taiwan amidst the controversy. I came here solely to see The Cabbage, so perhaps it was a wasted journey. Outside the museum, I eat green tea ice cream while gazing in, saving my ¥1600.

The time is 19:11, so I head to Seven Eleven. I buy Inarizushi (sushi rice wrapped in deep fried tofu). I also buy an egg sandwich, a box of natto, and some hot chilli flavoured Potato Chips, for the natto. At the counter, chopsticks and a mint tipped toothpick are given to me in a handy little bag, complimentary of course. I head to my hiding place on the 4th floor of the hostel and read. The packaging for my sandwich thanks me for eating its contents. I eat natto until I run out of Potato Chips.

I decide to cycle around Asakusa looking for something to do. Outside Senso-ji Temple, I spot a television crew and TV presenter Kazuo Tokumitsu. He is with a female singer who’s name I haven’t yet discovered. She sings a few songs, her voice sweet, her smile sweeter. She thanks a few members of the crowd and then everybody leaves.

Back at the hostel, I plan on an early night. My early night doesn’t quite happen though and somehow I’m in a bar with three guys from the hostel. For some reason, I can still recall the stench of the whale bones. I stay to watch the first half of the Uruguay game, before giving in to slumber at around 2 a.m.

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