Pain and Wonder in Tokyo - Week 5
The journey to Tokyo from Ina takes about three hours. In daylight, you are treated to the sight of wooded mountain slopes disappearing up into cloud cover, and the brief glimpse of a sun-spiked snowy peak. There are huge lakes, around which cities are gathered, and at times you can see the vast mountain plains in between the Central and Southern Alps, and it is only then that one can appreciate just how cramped living here can become. For the mountains are everywhere, and the 120 million people on this series of islands have to squeeze themselves in somehow. The mountain valleys are awash with houses, chimneys, radio towers, high rise blocks of flats, shopping malls, hotels, and about them are the vicious peaks of the mountain ranges; vicious because their steep sides attest to the forces that threw them up there.
Tokyo seems to appear in a gradual sprawl, the land gradually flattening and the housing becoming more and more cramped. In some places no sense of planning seems to have existed. Houses sit between each other at odd angles, like pegs forced into the wrong holes, and are replaced as we hit the city traffic by train lines, glass buildings and huge tower blocks. Shinjuku is visible for miles before you actually arrive there, and it feels strange to come into a foreign city which I actually recognise parts of. I did enough wandering of Shinjuku the last time I was here to find the MyLord building and various other architectures familiar.
Off the bus, on the JR line and out two stops later at < a href=http://www.japan-guide.com/e/e3006.html>Harajuku. To put Harajuku into as concise a description as possible, think of Camden, but bigger and achingly hip and alternative in equal measure. The kids here take their outfits seriously, and there are shops galore catering to their every taste - Goth, Lolita, hip-hop, Birkenstocks (yes, an entire Birkenstock shop) and the rather wonderful LaForet, a series of excellent boutique stores set over seven floors. Wandering about here was slightly over-whelming for the wealth of clothing on offer, and for the terribly well dressed people wandering about buying it all up.
On the hip-hop front some black guy stopped me on Takeshita Dori and told me to come visit his store. I asked what his store sold and he showed a bunch of baggy trousers etc. “ Not girly enough,” I replied. So he looked at me for a few seconds and said: “ So, wossup?” Having never had to reply to such a question before I stated the obvious: “ Not a lot.” Then he asked how long I was going to be around Harajuku and whether I wanted to hang out. I made some excuse about running away. The last guy in a foreign city to ask if I wanted to ‘hang out’ with him was some mad-as-a-sack-of-badgers guy who’d been gently removed from the fetish section of the corset shop I was purchasing goodies from in San Francisco.
For an escape, Yoyogi park (past Jingu Bashi where the Cos-players pose for the crowds - coy and primping in equal measure) provides a peaceful, autumnal walk through the giant gates leading up to the Meiji Shrine, dedicated to the Emperor Meiji who is celebrated for ending Japan’s isolation from the world and heralding the start of modern Japanese society. The temple is impressive, and you can observe the worshippers bow twice, clap twice, and bow again before the audacious altar. The leaves flutter and spin across the wide path like little winking flames in their shades of red, gold and brown, and amidst this, I witnessed the start of a traditional Japanese wedding, though was not near enough to get any pictures.
From Meiji to Akihabara, where the dichotomy of traditional and modern Japan becomes incredibly clear. From incense and the rustle of wind in the leaves above, to the stink of exhaust, grease from restaurants, and what can only be described as an aural battering from every direction via microphones, loud speakers, whirling, whizzing machines, and the glare of neon from every building. Signs all become one, and it is far too easy to become disorientated by it all.
Again, as a contrast to the myriad noises and wide traffic-choked streets, Ueno where I met for dinner, was a nice relief. We met in the busy station, but quickly disappeared into the labyrinth of streets radiating out from it. Izakiyas, love hotels and bars line the close streets, punctuated by the market stalls selling everything from trainers to blocks of pineapple and melon on sticks, which are delicious. We searched for a cheap Izakaiya Janan knows, but find it closed when we finally located it and then spent the next fifteen minutes walking in circles deliberating whether to go to Shinjuku for okonomiyaki, or to stay in Ueno and see what we can find. Eventually we opt for the latter and find our way to a Watame (?) an cheap Izakaiya-style establishment geared for the young, and for tourists (there are English menus). We sup tasty sake cocktails made from Okinowan lime juice and lumps of fresh orange one has the pleasure of mashing at the bottom on the glass. And we stuff our faces - sushi, edamame, octopus kimchee, rice, avocado, pickled aubergine with wasabi, freshly made tofu (and believe me, there is no comparison to the fresh stuff), daikon-slices wrapped in seaweed and some other thing I couldn’t place, but which was not meaty. Following this we take a visit to the Hub, an English-style pub whose décor is quite convincing, making for much amusement when one stands at the bar, only to discover that there is an orderly queue, and no large-gutted men to fight your way through. Unfortunately, the beer sucks, although they make quite pleasant cocktails - but when did you ever see an English pub make one of those?
By now, my legs are sore and after sitting for so long in the pub, I find it extremely painful to mount the stairs for the journey up out of the Hub and home. I get to take a late night wander through Asakusa, a treat to see when the crowds are not blocking the view. I hang out in the dark with a Buddha and wonder why some of the statues have clothes on, but don’t go so far as to ask why this may be the case. Even the dogs have capes.
The next day, I take a wander about the shitamachi district that is Asakusa, one of the few parts of Tokyo maintaining a traditional, old-style flavour. When one reads the bumpf about Tokyo, and it age old shrines, it is easy to understand why so much of Tokyo’s traditional past has been built on. It falls down, or it is destroyed by fire, or war, or natural disasters. Perhaps the transience of things is appreciated. In any case, this striking red temple is the focal point of downtown with it accompanying seven-storey pagoda and an entire street leading up to it drowning in plastic and crackers. The incense burning outside the temple is believed to have health-giving properties and you can witness people wafting it over themselves and then rubbing it in through their clothes. Inside, the temple is lavishly decorated in gold, but again, kept away from the prying public. That it has been rebuilt numerous times to mimic its 6C original, is impressive for it still retains a feeling of age and wisdom, despite its youth.
Finally I returned to Shinjuku to wander around, buy a few bits and people watch from a Starbucks that sits on the corner of a road. Kabukicho is the main centre of Shinjuku on the East side. Here you can find numerous shops, a McDonalds and KFC on every street. Starbucks pop up like the little sleek pockmarks they are and if you ever doubted why you travelled so far to go to an American café then you should have stayed at home, for the influence of American culture is heavy on the main streets. Of course, the further back you venture, the quieter it gets, and the more suspiciously well-groomed men you see lurking at intersections. Finally you’ll find yourself in the ‘soap-district’, which I’ve written about before, and which I felt no need to visit this time. Instead, I decided to venture about with no particular aim. In the process I discovered a run down temple and its accompanying park, numerous interesting little shops, and the Tower records store spread over five floors. I finished my wander by spending an hour sitting outside Starbucks with a white hot chocolate, watching the coming and going to people, and feeling the ache in my legs getting worse and worse. When I stood up to walk to the bus station I felt a little like the little old ladies one sees waddling about. They could probably take you out with their walking stick in the flick of a wrist, but I am not so inconspicuous.