Jul 2008

Although there is still much more to see in Kyoto (with over 2000 temples and 1200 years of history, there is always more to see in Kyoto), I insist on a day trip to Nara, Japan's first capital. Unlike Kyoto, which is still a functioning metropolis, Nara is entirely historical. The centre of the city is one giant park, dotted here and there with world-heritage sights and a lot of deer. It is sleepy compared to Kyoto, an entire world apart from frantic Kyoto. Its time as the capital in the 7th century coincided with the rise of buddhism in Japan, and as a result it is home to some of Japan's greatest Buddhist treasures. The greatest of these is Todaiji, the giant (and I mean giant) temple in the centre of the city. In order to get there you walk through about 500m of gates, one of which contains two gigantic fearsome looking guardians said to be two of the worlds greatest wooden carvings. They are designed to keep evil out of the temple, standing two stories high and with wooden robes flowing over their muscle bound bodies - if I was evil, I would stay away.

Between the many gates are yet more deer standing around, waiting for foolish tourists to buy deer food from the many stands lining the path. The deer know where the food stands are, and they know that when money is exchanged the tourist now has deer food in their hands. The moment the tourist finishes the transaction, they are surrounded by deer which bluntly demand the food that they have just born. Some people try and resist, try to hold the food above their heads and feed them one by one, but it is no use. In the end the deer always win, and most people just toss the food at them and run the other way, glad to escape with their life.

Having walked through the final gate, you suddenly have Todaiji in front of you. As the worlds largest wooden building, its size is hard to capture in words or even pictures. It is big, very very big. Built 1300 years ago, it used to be even bigger but was burnt to the ground several times, each time rebuilt to slightly different specifications. One thing has not changed though - in the centre of the temple sits the worlds largest indoor buddha statue. He is also very big, big enough that he needs the worlds largest wooden building just to keep him out of the rain. Gigantic guardians, gigantic temple, gigantic buddha.

A short walk above Todaiji is another temple, overlooking the city of Nara, where weary travellers like us can look out over the city where Japan began. The last sunset of our journey is complete, and the after one last night in our luxury hotel in Kyoto we say goodbye to the ancient city and are on the shinkansen back home.

With a suitcase full of souvenirs for friends and family in Australia, and a backpack full of famous Kyoto-region foods for my host family, we step off the train in Tokyo station. Here we say goodbye, for the remaining few months of my journey anyway, and just as soon as my dad was here he is gone again. I can honestly say it has been the most interesting week yet in all my travels of Japan, and I am glad my father was there to experience it with me. Some of the experiences were new to me, and some were familiar, but they were all better with the right company. Having spent most of my life being led in one way or another by my parents, it was very strange to suddenly be leading my dad around, but I had a lot of fun doing it, and I hope he had fun too.

The pace of life settles down once more, and the next train I catch leads not to towering skyscrapers or ancient temples, but to the back room of a pub, where I wash dishes for the night.

Our bullet train speeds into Kyoto station. Quite possibly the handiest form of transport in the entire world, bullet trains (aka shinkansen) rush around the countryside of Japan at up to 300km/hr, making travel between any two major cities a breeze.

For the first two nights we are staying in a high-class Ryokan, a traditional Japanese style of accommodation running since the days before hotels. Upon arriving, there is a lot of bowing from the kimono-clad hosts. The diminutive women steal our heavy suitcases and insist on hauling them into our room, while we adventure out into the local neighbourhood. When we return that night, we are shown to our room. Tatami mats, sliding doors and bamboo shades. The only piece of furniture in the room is a low-lying table, which you use while sitting on the mat. Here we are served green tea (with traditional lollies!) and asked what time we would like to use the bath. We book it for 9pm, and the woman leaves with a thousand apologies.

The baths are traditional Japanese style, a room made entirely out of wood, where you sit on little seats while showering and then jump into a steaming hot body of water. It is indeed very relaxing, and very atmospheric with all the wooden walls and whatnot. After bath-time we go back to our room, which has undergone a sudden transformation in our absence. The table is gone, and in its place there are two futons, with little paper cranes on the pillows. I manage to move my dads out of the way before he collapses on it.

We booked breakfast for 8am. As westerners, we figure that means that someone will come to our room at 8am with breakfast. But that is not how it works in traditional Japanese culture. Breakfast at 8am means that at 8am you will be putting the food into your mouth. As a result, I am still asleep when the two kimono-clad breakfast pixies come into our room, and they decide it would be best to leave momentarily while I put some pants on. When everyone is fully dressed, the futons are collapsed back into the cupboard and the table resumes its position in the centre of the room. And the breakfast plates start coming...and keep coming...and coming...In the end we have about 20 plates on the table, a veritable banquet of traditional Japanese foods. I am still three-quarters asleep, I wake myself up gradually to the taste of rice and tofu.

Our bamboo shades have also been opened, and we can see all the wonders of the world outside. Our Ryokan is located in Kyoto's Higashiyama district, chock filled with temples, shrines and quaint alleyways. We can see examples of all three while we eat breakfast. If not for the lonely planet sitting on the table, I could easily believe we were in ancient Japan. Every day is a little bit different in the Ryokan - the breakfast is different, the kimonos they wear are different, and even the cranes on our pillows are made differently.

During the day, we leave the Ryokan (with lots of bowing, smiling and 'we'll be waiting for your return' from the hosts) to explore the city. There is plenty within walking distance - the famous Ninenzaka and Sannenzaka, and Shinbashi street, said to be some of the most beautiful alleys and streets in all Asia, are all part of our local neighbourhood. So too are the platforms of Kiyomizu temple, jutting out over a hill looking over all Kyoto from the forest. Here, we also take a side tour into one of Kyoto's strangest attractions - a tunnel inside a buddha statue, where you grope around in pitch blackness while a rope leads you around. Being without the sense of sight for about 5 minutes is a strange feeling indeed, and coming back into the sunshine is, as the pamphlet promises, an enlightening experience.

While walking the lane ways near the temple, we spot our first Geisha. There are only 1000 Geisha and Geisha apprentices in all of Japan, so when a Geisha walks down the street, everyone looks. More so when they are three of them. Always graceful, they were about a hundred layers of clothing, and in the blazing heat of the middle of the day I can't imagine they would stay out for very long. The only one who has more reason to complain is the monk chanting on the street, who wears one hundred and one layers of clothing and stands in full sunlight for hours on end. Only in Kyoto!

We are also within easy walking distance of the central city, where temples give way to shops, shops, and more shops. Even here though, Kyoto keeps a distinct charm. Little canals make their way through the city, and there is a peaceful river nearby, with a bridge built specifically for people to stand and sigh on as they look out over the mountains in the distance.

On any given day, hundreds of people sit on the riverbanks as the sun sets, and in the night they gather under the bridges to watch the buskers play. Here we treat ourselves to a very expensive meal on the outdoor deck of a restaurant on Pontocho, while looking out over the river. All of Kyoto seems to move at a very different tempo to Tokyo - it is slower, more relaxed, more cultural, and more human. The roads are made for ambling rather than rushing, the buses are leisurely compared to Tokyo's speedy trains, and people seem to exist as individuals rather than a human sea.

We are back on the bridge before too long, ready to experience another integral part of Japanese culture - Matsuri! Matsuri translates as 'festival' or 'celebration', and in the lead up to one of Japan's greatest, the Gion Matsuri (which we will not be there to see, dagnabbit), a shrine is to be carried through the city streets to be washed in the waters of the river we have recently been admiring, in a tradition dating back more than a thousand years. Muscle-bound men in headbands and simple cotton robes walk the streets clapping and chanting. The chanting is not just for appearances sake - it is to spur on those who are carrying the shrine on their shoulders, which by the look on their faces is very very heavy. Other men carry flaming logs over their shoulder, and whenever they turn to look around flaming embers fly all over the place. As well as the muscle-bound men, a very creative cast of characters from Shinto priests to kimono-clad Geisha walk the streets, and follow the shrine all the way to the temple. Given its historical significance, the actual running of the parade is rather casual, there are no boundaries or security, and ordinary people (or camera carrying tourists like myself) can mingle with the sweaty shrine-carriers, geisha and priests to their hearts content.

For the last two nights we transfer from our traditional Ryokan to the height of modernity, a very upper class western-style hotel located literally inside Kyoto's station building. It is interesting to compare the two forms of luxury - a room on the upper floor of this towering shiny building costs about the same as a night in the tatami and wood Ryokan. We still have tiny women insisting on carrying our gigantic suitcases, but there are no cranes on our pillows, and the furniture no longer transforms when we step out of the room. Instead of eating breakfast on the floor in our room, we catch an elevator 20 floors down and gorge on a buffet downstairs. The convenience can't be beat, however; after breakfast we walk out the door into the middle of the station building, and from there we have our choice of buses, trains or bullet trains to take us wherever we would like to go.

We quickly check off most of the remaining tourist sites, like the golden pavilion and the thousand and one kannon statues, and find the time to see a few museums and craft shops too. We also spend a fair few hours with map in hand wandering the back-streets, getting a taste of the 'real Kyoto' as we try to figure out where we are and where we are trying to get to. The meals are, as always, another highlight, and by the time we are finished here my dad has tried just about every Japanese cuisine there is.

One night, while both lost and hungry, we end up chancing it on a Sukiyaki restaurant who's menu is far too complicated for me to make any sense of. Upon arriving, my backpacker instincts perk up - something is wrong. The staff seem confused, a little bit unsure of what to do. It's too quiet, the people are too polite and too well dressed. If I was on my own, I would have almost certainly ran back out the way I came, but we are hungry and this place does appear to serve food. We are shown to a private room, and having heated up the sukiyaki pot, a kimono lady cooks and serves it to us piece by piece, chatting politely all the while. I figure out why my backpacker alarms are sounding - this place is far too high class for me to afford on my own, and it doesn't seem like they've ever had a foreigner here before. Luckily my dad is paying for it, my ability to speak Japanese smooths over the apprehension of the hosts, and eventually I just sit back and enjoy the experience of high-class Japanese food. When we leave, I notice the sign which tells me that this shop has been serving up Sukiyaki to the wealthy for over one hundred and fifty years. Ah, Kyoto...

Views in the morning are a little different to views at night. Instead of ghostly neon outlines, we now see Shinjuku in its every minute detail. From our hotel room, we see people massing in and out of the worlds busiest station, trains whizzing backwards and forwards, traffic lights changing colour and cars gradually negotiating their way around the city. The chaos of the street looks like clockwork from above, the whole metropolis so tiny, and so peaceful...

From ground level, those same streets are anything but peaceful. Sunday morning brings us to Harajuku, to see the Cosplay (Costume play) maniacs dressed up in 'goth-lolita' fashion on the bridge. In conformist Japan, kids who do not fit in at school are generally bullied by their peers and are put under immense pressure by their teachers and parents to just 'act normal'. They even have a saying for it; `the nail that sticks out will be hammered down'. Here you see the teenagers who have risen above the pressure to be normal, and express their strangeness freely and unashamedly. Some dressed like Alice in Wonderland and Little Bo Peep, some with mohawks and gothic makeup, some dressed like vampires and others in glaringly bright streaks of colour, it is a parade of diversity, a celebration of weirdness. And it is 30 degrees in glaring sunlight, so today most of them are sitting under trees fanning themselves like mad while foreigners pose for photos with them.

Meiji shrine is a little more peaceful than vibrant Harajuku, an expansive forest/shrine in the middle of the city. It almost succeeds in blocking out the Tokyo chaos; except for the distant sound of rock music filtering through the Empresses Garden. We eventually check it out - a whole street full of buskers, including a group of middle aged men with Elvis hairstyles and tight leather Jeans (must be hot in the summer sun), dancing while combing their greased back hair. Put a couple of vinyl chairs and a jukebox around them, and you would fully believe you were in the 50's.
Harajuku continues to show off its diversity, and over the road from the 50's is the 60's, a huge market devoted entirely to hippy crafts.

Eventually we find our way back to our own decade, in time to head to Shibuya for dinner. I have grown to love the twilight crossing madness, the flashing signs and glittery people. There is a certain rush about stepping out onto that street, and joining a sea of faceless people as we rush around doing whatever it is we are meant t be doing.

The next day is no less jam-packed (I figure if my dad doesnt go back with chronic fatigue, I havent done my job right). We find ourselves in the ludicriously expensive Ginza, flitting around the local art galleries trying to look thoughtful. We float down the river in the rain to Asakusa, famous for its Tempura (which was delicious) and being more packed with tourists than anywhere else in Tokyo. You want to buy a paper fan? Its here. You want a Ninja suit? Its here. Thousands upon thousands of tourist shops, all built into a huge complex surrounding the famous 'Thunder Gates' of Asakusa temple.

While in Asakusa, we take the opportunity to head to a district called Kappabashi, the one stop shop for people opening a restaurant in Tokyo. You want a 100kg copper pot? Its here. You want a neon sign that says 'Elvis Presley is The King'? Its here. You want one of those 'open'/'closed' flippy signs? Its here. Then there are the things I have never seen before; like a giant diabolical looking knife, bigger and scarier than any meat-cleaver, which turns out to be for cutting up noodles. However, Kappabashi is most famous for its food, of the plastic variety. Designed for use in shop windows all around Japan, they have honed imitation food to a fine art, and are able to make a plastic version of any food realistic enough to make you drool. They are not cheap, however - An imitation beer is around $30, and an imitation bowl of carbonara complete with levitating spoon sets you back about $100.

Finally we are both exhausted, so we had to a local onsen, which prides itself as being the hottest in Tokyo. I can see why; if another onsen tried to outdo them, people would almost certainly start cooking. Basically it was just hot enough for you to think 'are they serious?', but the Japanese men sitting in the bath looked reassuringly alive, if a little red. Outside, on a wooden platform overlooking a tiny waterfall, pink people pad this way and that, none of them in the least bit concerned about being naked in front of complete strangers. It takes some getting used to (my dad did very well compared with most foreigners), but once you get used to it its the most natural thing in the world; its like an alternate universe where clothes just dont exist. The whole experience is very good for unwinding tired legs and minds, and we head back on the train back to the hotel feeling very relaxed...

However, we dont end up at the hotel until much, much later that night. Instead, we decide to make an impromptu visit to my host family, so that my dad can meet them, they can meet my dad, and I can give my dad stuff I want sent home minus the postage fees. Giving them only 40 minutes warning, we descend on their house at 11pm (my host mum assures me its ok, and I assure my dad in turn)...and the house is spotless! I am shocked. I know the house is not usually like this. But my host mum only had 40 minutes! I thought maybe the late warning would be a good thing, as it would prevent my mother from going into extravagant guest preparation mode. I told her again and again, im just stopping to pick up my stuff and introduce my dad to you, you dont need to do anything...It turns out that the minute I rang, she conscripted every single member of the family (including the ones who were napping) to frantically clean the house. By the time we got there, they had done the whole package - everything was tidied, packed away, swept and vacuumed. Both Riku (one of my host brothers, who had an English test the next day) and Naoya (my oldest host brother, who as an intern was no doubt cherishing his 2-3 hours of nightly sleep) were woken up to be lined up with my other host brother to be presented to my dad. In Japanese houses a visitor is expected to announce 'Ojama shimasu' when they arrive, which means something like 'sorry for causing you such inconvenience'...now I can see why!

We try our very best to negotiate with them, but my host dad adamently refuses to let us return home by train. Instead, he insists on driving us all the way to our hotel in Shinjuku, half an hour away. They seem genuinely thrilled to meet my dad, and appear to have forgotten all the commitments of the next morning in their efforts to make a good impression.

And so we end up back at our hotel at 1am, having seen just about every face of Tokyo in two and a half days...
Shinjuku, Roppongi, Shibuya, Harajuku, Ginza, Asakusa, and finally my hometown of Asaka. With just about every sight in Tokyo crossed off the to-do list, we pack are bags the next morning for a bullet train heading West.

In a rare burst of spontaneity, my dad decides to come out to visit me in Japan for a week while he has some time of work. The idea is simple enough - I advise on sights, food, transport and accomodation and he pays for it. Adults travel a bit differently to teenagers it seems, and he seems happy to pay for things that have far too many digits in the price for my budget. We both prepare to travel into an entirely different world; My dad, into the very foreign world of Japan, and me, into the equally foreign world of luxurious travel (I always thought it was an oxymoron).

We are reunited in Shinjuku station, and as Father and Son we begin our journey around Japan. Our first stop is Hotel Century South Tower. Having never stayed in a hotel expensive enough to have four words in its name, the experience is quite new to me. We walk about 300m from the station, into an air-conditioned lobby on the 20th floor of a shiny glass tower. We receive plenty of smiles, bows and other polite gestures from the well-dressed English speaking hotel staff, and then board another one of those smooth rich-people elevators where you cant tell whether you are moving or standing still. We stop off on the 34th floor, and walk into our room, which has a view every bit as good as Tokyo Tower`s. The view is characterized by tiny red lights on every tall building, which fade in and out randomly to create a very soothing nightscape.

Still, I cant sit there daydreaming for too long! Hunger calls, and I must prowl the streets to find my dad his first authentic Japanese meal. We settle for Yakitori (chicken skewers) in Shinjukus `memory lane`, a tiny maze of narrow streets with a prevailing atmosphere of economic depression. Just a block from the sushi shops and designers handbags of central Shinjuku, it serves as a reminder of `real Japan` beneath all the hype and glamour, where exhausted workers treat themselves to noodles, yakitori and beer on wooden benches.

Keen to see as many faces of Japan as possible in 7 days, my dad musters up the energy to board another train at 10pm. We only have one Saturday night here in Tokyo, and I figure there is only one place to spend it...Roppongi! He isnt much into nightclubs, but walking the length of the street is interesting enough. Here African-American men attempt to pull us into every kind of strip club imaginable, and go to great lengths to explain why going to a sleazy strip joint is an unmissable part of Japan. They are admirable for their perseverance, and annoying for the same reason, but there are a number of strategies one can use to get rid of them. You can duck into the nearest shop (none of them are willing to follow you grocery shopping), or you can just say you have a train to catch (even if you are walking in the opposite direction to the train station). After about an hour of this, we attempt to sleep whilst standing on the train back (its possible, trust me), and eventually go back to get some horizontal sleep in our 100m high hotel room. Four hours into the trip, we are both completely exhausted.

The Days
Inevitably, every day begins with waking up. I always clung to the fantasy that this time in Japan I would wake up before dawn, meditate on top of a mountain before skipping down to the morning markets to buy vegetables from a local farmer named Nakamura-san. Instead, I roll around groggily when my alarm wakes me up at 10 30am, and stumble into the shower before eating whatever is left over from my host familys breakfast.

If I have nothing to do that morning, I generally head to the library, my home away from home. Here, I read the paper, books on Japanese history and culture and a very relevant book titled `What Should I Do With My Life?`. Eventually, something drags me away from my abode, and I am on a train bound for some distant destination. The trains are fantastic - there are several different routes to get to the same place, and several different types of train travelling at different speeds and stopping at different stops, making getting somewhere in a hurry as strategically challenging as a good game of chess. Once I have actually decided on a train, I sit and read Manga like every other Japanese person, which I have grown to love in my time here. Except for the time when I was so absorbed in the story that I missed my train stop - then I ceased to love it for a while.

One of my frequented destinations is Vanessa`s house, where we play games in English for hours on end. Most English teachers research games and make at least a rough plan of the lesson - I usually just pretend I am a small child (its not hard for me) and do whatever seems fun. My work therefore consists mainly of building block castles and smashing them, selling pretend things at a shop, and hiding in cupboards. Vanessa also has a very good knowledge of death and funeral rituals it seems, as we end up burying a cat in the sand `coz um hes Christian`, and cremating Vanessas Buddhist mother who was innocently lying on the couch reading a book...it took me a while to figure out what Vanessa meant by `We have to fire mummy coz shes Buddha!`. When fun and games are over, I go to my old host familys house down the road to teach chemistry in English to my old host brother, who is currently attending an international school in Switzerland. Thats right my little tutorees, youve been replaced!

My schedule is hectic, so I set aside a time once a week to just sit down and take my mind off the various stresses of life. Well, a chance to sit with so much pain in my legs that I completely forget about the various stresses of life. Thats right...I am back at Eiheiji. Ok, so not the real Eiheiji, thats a little bit too far away. I found the next best thing, an associated temple which shares the same name and style of practice. You just sit facing a wall for two hours, mixed up with a little bit of walking and chanting. When you sit, you dont do anything in particular. Not trying to become a Buddha, not trying to meditate better than the guy sitting next to you, not visualizing a beach or a forest or going to one`s happy place...Just existence, and nothing else. Well, that is the ideal anyway - I tend to throw in a little bit of shuffling around on my cushion, and my empty mind is filled with noisy thoughts such as `what the hell are you doing here?`, `ow, ow, ow, ow` and `How much wood could a wood chuck chuck if a wood chuck could chuck wood?`. Still, by the time I leave I am glad I came, and I am drawn back to the old temple time and again.

The Nights
Like any hardworking man, my days generally end up at the pub.
Only a little bit of beer drinking though; mainly, I am restricted to the kitchen. I am the Igor to Doctors Dr.Frankenstein, and together we prepare delicious traditional English cuisine using flour, egg, spices and sausages. It is a very laidback place, and sometimes when we are doing nothing but staring at the walls I go outside to talk to the barstaff (two czechoslovakian girls and an Irish guy), or just enjoy listening to Beatles records. Who needs to pay for an airfare to Europe when you can just work at a pub in Shibuya?

Reheating is the true fun of it all, another mathematical game where I have to work out how to best use the two microwaves and two toasters to heat 5 different dishes, each with completely different reheating procedures, so that they all come out at once. I have learnt the golden rule of parsley (sprinkle it wherever possible), but am yet to make friends with the chip fryer since I spilt hot oil on my hand on our first acquaintance. I am gradually getting more independent in the kitchen, and yesterday all my studies paid off when I made a plate of chips all by myself.

The memory will be forever vivid in my mind...Doctor takes the order, turns in slow motion to look at me. He passes the peice of paper over to me, and silently speaks with his eyes...`This ones for you Nick`. I move into the kitchen as though in a dream, and with hands trembling with excitement, heat the oil and gently place the chips in the fryer. Is it too hot? Is the oil the right colour? Oh no! A broken chip! I look around for Doctor, but he is not there...I alone on this one. Sweat breaks out on my brow. Ten minutes later the flame is extinguished, and I limp out of the kitchen with a smile breaking out on my exhausted face and a plate of golden chips in my hand. I did it! I am a cook!

I hang up my apron just before midnight, and walk towards the station on streets paved with fashionable young things, most of them drunk no matter what night of the week it is.

I catch the last train home (filled with party-goers who couldnt make it till dawn), and generally just fall asleep with exhaustion like everyone else does. I walk home in the city twilight of 1am, strolling the empty streets with the twinkling of apartment complexes instead of starlight (there are three stars in the sky here, I counted). Some nights a dusky moon rises over the train tracks, other nights the softest mist of rain falls over my face. Some nights I am just left alone with my thoughts, reflecting on the day behind me and the months and years ahead.

A dog barks, a street light flickers, and I fall onto my futon to wait for the next day to come.