Tag Archives: watchtower

Parks and Simulation

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It’s humid beneath my mask. It appears that it rained slightly this morning for the first time in weeks, but now it’s hot. I can’t begin to imagine what the summer will be like. I shouldn’t complain though, the unusually warm start to the winter is set to end later this week, and Japan will become enveloped in an icy-cold ambience.

I take a train to Saga Prefecture, my first destination today, Yoshinogari Historical Park, an archæological site dating back to between the 3rd century BC and the 3rd century AD. I walk two kilometres from the nearest train station, and arrive at the entrance. The car park here is huge, empty, and covered in fallen leaves from the skeletal trees.

I arrive at the aptly named Entrance Zone. Each area of this park has a zone name. There is the Ancient Forest Zone, the Moat Encircled Village Zone, the Aztec Zone, and the Medieval Zone. I pay the ¥460 entrance fee, and note that the two day pass costs only slightly more, a reasonable ¥500.

After crossing a massive red bridge, I arrive at the park. The first thing that draws my attention are what appear to be loads of large wooden spike traps.

As rice cultivation increased, more people fought one another to control the water and occupy the land. People set up barricades with sharpened posts or tree trunks, especially around strategic areas such as the entrance to the village in order to strictly protect their properties. These stakes are called sakamogi.

I leave the abatises and wander further along the tree-lined path, passing what looks like straw statues of wild boar, before finding a small museum. The first thing I notice when entering the museum is the eagerly awaited return of a small fascination of mine, Carnival Cutouts.

The museum itself contains loads of old pottery from the Jomon era, bronze daggers and bronze swords, the jaws of wild boar, deer skulls, hunting tools, arrowheads, stone daggers, and a 2,000-year-old human skeleton.

I leave the museum and in the distance I see some watchtowers. These watchtowers mark the entrance to the South Inner Palace, and were once manned by sentries.

I climb up the slippery wet wooden steps to the top of the Gate Tower, this tower had guards with shields at its four corners. The tower offers a good vantage point to watch for people entering and leaving the enclosure.

I wander further along, passing the moat and fences that guard the Palace, to the houses beyond, to the zone known as Moat Village. This area contains the village that once housed each of the residents. From the kitchens to the main assembly halls, each house can be entered and fully explored.

I visit the Brewery House, where women would brew sake for festivals and rituals by steaming rice from the years’ harvest. The Sericulture House, where precious silkworms were raised to produce silk thread to weave textiles. And finally, to the Barracks, where the soldiers who guarded the northern defences would rest.

I find a map only to realise that I’ve explored just a quarter of this giant historical site. Its sheer size is quite alarming. The map also shows that the park boasts four car parks, one at each corner of the site. Some Christmas lights are dotted around for good measure; evening illuminations, but I have other places to be. I wander in search of an exit and see a sign in desperate need of pluralisation.

Suddenly the clouds burst and the unforeseen downpour leaves me completely soaked. I see a man who has been given the arduous task of sweeping up the fallen leaves, he’s equally soaked. I pass a golf course, two full sized football pitches, and a petting zoo, and wonder if these such things were here 2,000 years ago too.

Eventually I find an exit, walk two kilometres to the nearest train station, and hop on a train bound for Saga City. At Saga, the rain has stopped. I walk twenty minutes in the direction of the Saga Balloon Museum. Before I arrive, I spot a canopy of umbrellas that might have been useful thirty minutes ago.

For some reason, Saga Prefecture is famous for hot air balloons. Inside the Saga Balloon Museum, I learn that the very first time a human being “flew in the sky like a bird” was in 1783, in Paris. In Japan, the first manned flight by a gas balloon was completed in 1877, in Kyoto, an event watched by 50,000 spectators. And in 1903, the Wright brothers flew an aeroplane, making the hot air balloon useless.

I take a seat in a small cinema describing itself as a “Super High-Vision Theatre” with a 280-inch screen. Here, I watch a film that claims to be so realistic that you will think that you’re there. I learn about balloons, what makes them fly, before leaving the cinema and heading up to the second floor. Here I get the opportunity to fly a hot air balloon myself, using the advanced simulator.

I stand inside the hot air balloon simulator and begin. I have 180-seconds to land the balloon in the target area, taking into account wind direction and wind speed, all the time sporadically pulling on a lever that releases pretend propane gas. When the lever is pressed down the balloon floats further upwards, when it’s released, the balloon slowly floats further downwards and catches in the wind. Apparently the trick is to control the lever early, anticipating the atmospheric conditions.

Landing the balloon within one metre of the target awards ‘S’ rank. The rest of the ranks rate down from ‘A’ to ‘E’ and the sign next to the machine offers the following encouragement, “Ride the wind and get a high rank!”

Obviously, I spectacularly crash the balloon into the sea.

Befall Upon The Watchtower

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.