Japan

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.

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.

I have decided to wait out the rainy season in Tokyo, until August 18th. There are several reasons for the decision; Firstly, rain is wet, and wet travel is depressing (wet hitchhiking even more so). Secondly, travel is expensive, and expensive things make your wallet lighter. My trips around Japan are coming to an end - there are indeed many beautiful locations I have yet to so, but bankbook reality has to intervene at some point. Thirdly, I want to get to know a city, I want to taste more than one gets by just passing through. So, here in Tokyo, I decide to build a new life from scratch.

By the end of the first week I soon realize that work is one of the most important ingredients of a happy life. Though we may loath work and long for the free life, I soon find the free life boring and insubstantial. Without a purpose to work towards, days fly by meaninglessly. Strange though it may seem, I begin to yearn for a job.

How far am I willing to go to get one though? I resolve to present my case as honestly as possible, without covering up the blemishes in my employability. I dont want to give the Gods of Irony any more reason to smite me, and am also concious of my role as a representation of every person outside of Japan. Moreover though, I want my new life to be a simple one, and I do not like the thought of working a job by means of lies, half-truths and hidden facts. I trawl the city, with all its shiny lights, being simple - `Hi my name is Nick, and I am looking. I can speak english, I can speak Japanese, I can wipe tables and benches, and I leave Tokyo on August 18th.`

`Simple` also has the meaning of `Stupid`. My job prospects would be so much better if I changed it to `December 18th`, and many businesses told me this outright. `We would employ you, if you were here longer`. Perhaps I should just not mention it at all, but that would just delay the shock - judging by the colour of my skin I do not live here, and will be going back to my white little home country at some stage, and an employer would be very foolish not to ask when. Job searching is as frustrating as it is anywhere else in the world, with my enquiries resulting in all sorts of responses, from being outright laughed at (one manager actually went and hid in his office for some reason!), to the more promising people who listened intently and said `hmm...well give you a call and see, ok?`, to the people who actually do call back to arrange interviews. For two weeks, I get further and further along the path, give up my job search and sit back and wait for them to call me back, only to hit a dead end and be right back where I started. The Japanese have an onomatapoeia for frustration - `Ira Ira`. Ira Ira Ira Ira Ira Ira Ira.

Ira ir---what?! A job? Hurrah! I am sitting on a comfortable couch in a very well-designed house, teaching English to Vanessa. Vanessa is 5 years old, half-Indian half-Japanese, and likes making stories. The only hard part is getting the stories to end, as she quickly finds any conceivable loophole for some further catastrophe to occur. The king and queen kept having their castle smashed by dragons, and didnt have enough money to buy new furniture, so I tried to help them by having them build a new castle in space. But then, according to Vanessa, `the hugest dinosaur there ever was came and smashed it!`...damn, I should have made it a space-dinosaur proof castle...

Nothing ever comes when you expect it to, and job opportunities wait around a corner to attack me when I am not looking. Now that I am happy to devote all my attention to teaching, I land another job after several unexpected job interviews, and am working at a British-Style pub in Shibuya starting tommorow. My new life in Tokyo has begun!

It begins with food. I am hungry (as I sometimes do become) and am looking for a particular restuarant when the street I am on suddenly ends in darkness, and looks very depressing. I notice a bar nearby however, well lit and with lots of English menus out the front and all sorts of foreigner-welcoming signs. The menu is about 20 pages long, and I assume that it is more of a restaurant than a bar, and it promises free internet access and even a special gift for foreigners. Well, I am hungry!

Of course, too much English, and too much friendliness is a sure sign of a tourist trap, but the little pixie on my shoulder forgot to tell me that at the time. He looks confused when I dont want any alcohol (just water is fine), and it turns out that the sign out the front did indeed say that internet was free to those who drink here, not those who eat, and it would otherwise cost 300 yen ($3...in your dreams!). The tempura price is a bit pricey (1000 yen, $10), but has a far greater variety than most places, so I decide to just give up on my budget and order it. Then he tells me that the tempura price really is just for the tempura, and if I want rice with it, that will cost extra. I pay another 300 yen for half a bowl of rice, and tuck into a bucket of tempura most likely meant for more than one person (I think most of the meals here are meant to be shared among drunk friends). When I go to pay, the bill doesnt quite seem to add up, until I realize that my glass of water cost another 200 yen. As I leave, I get the special gift that I had completely forgotten about - a brown, depressed looking banana.

I get back to the youth hostel to a very cosmopolitan crew of foreigners (who had cleverly used the kitchen facilities to cook cup noodles and other very cheap meals), and we spend most of the night sitting around the table chatting. Two guys from Connecticut, USA (is that how you spell it? And where is it for that matter?), another two guys from Israel, and an older man from Scotland all exchange hilarious stories about strange, crazy Japan. One person swears he saw a train employee bowing to an empty train carriage, and another one tells of a town where absolutely every shop shut at 5pm, and he was forced to have beer and chocolate for dinner as that was all he could find in vending machines. They too are victims of the Gods of Irony it seems, as museums and shops have completely random holidays (Sorry, we are closed on Wednesdays), and they arrive in towns just in time to see the mess from the years biggest festival, which was of course the day before they arrived. We also muse over the strange phenomenon whereby Japanese buses manage to arrive at least an hour later than a car going to the same place. By nights` end the topic of conversation is the Israeli `textile factory` (which definitely, definitely does not make nuclear weapons) and for some reason, advanced mathematics. When we got onto the topic of the different types of infinity and other abstract mathematics, Eytan, one of the Israeli guys who has a degree in pure mathematics, grabs a peice of chalk and starts writing up mathematical symbols on a blackboard. I wonder what in gods name a blackboard is doing in the kitchen...perhaps its just in case someone ever wants to teach maths at 1am?

In every guide to packing, there is the disclaimer that you will always forget to pack one thing you really should have, and pack one thing you really shouldnt have. For me, here were the two:
I definitely should have brought a toboggan
I definitely should not have brought insect repellent

I wake up bright and early for my trip to Japan`s hiking Mecca, Kamikochi. Well, I wake up bright, with the sun shining through my room, but not exactly early. The night before (at the `big piss up`), my phone ran out of batteries, and I was forced to use my iPod as an alarm clock instead. It did seem to have an alarm function, and putting every bit of faith in it, I set the alarm for 8am. I knew it wouldnt let me down, that somehow it would wake me up at the time I wished to be woken up, the trusty little iPod that it is. However, it never occurred to me that to use an iPod alarm, you need to leave the headphones in your ears...

I wake up at 9 30am, and stumble out of bed rushing to put some clothes on, then onward toward the bus stop in a sleepy haze. Unfortunately, I miss the 9 40 bus, and have to wait another hour for the next one. Damn you iPod!
However, the weather forecast as of yesterday was cloud and rain, so I was not overly fussed about getting there quickly, as I figured the hiking conditions would be below average anyway. Of course, now that I am running late, the Gods of Irony quickly play their part, and I sit on the bus for an hour and a half watching the beautiful blue sky and sunshine out the dirty bus window.

Arriving at 12 30, I am determined to get a full day of hiking in before the last bus leaves at 5pm. Buried about 50km into a national park, and unreachable except by special buses, Kamikochi has indeed earnt its reputation as one of Japan`s most beautiful places. With the sun shining down upon me, it is indeed heaven. The waters are tinted an alluring turquoise, and I fill my water bottle up along the way with water so crystal clear you can see the bottom of the lake several metres below without a trace of murkiness, and so cool and delicious I wanted to take it home and sell it to myself for $5 a bottle. And when you look up, you are completely surrounded by massive snow-covered alps, the kind of rocky mountains you see on advertisements for SUVs. Basically, anywhere you look, it is breathtaking.

As lovely as the scenery on the ground is, I did not come here to amble along the riverside like most tourists do. I have an insatiable desire to be at altitude, to be looking down at everything that surrounds me from a craggy mountains peak. I positively bound up a mountain track, sometimes even literally running up the steep inclines, powered by an unquenchable energy in my legs that I can only call youth. Two hours later, I am indeed very, very high up. Having reached the snowline long ago, I am now looking down at the turqoise lakes in the distance, and the tiny little model town where I came from. The alpine scenery of sharp rocks and perfect white snow, where not a single tree grows...all of a sudden I am there, amongst it. The clouds rush by not too far from my head...I feel satisfied with the altitude I have reached, and though I am only halfway up the massive 2900m peak I decide I have gone far enough. It is not so much the time constraint, or the pain in my legs, as the fact that the gradient has become far too steep, and climbing on icy snow at such an incline is becoming very, very dangerous. I knock a rock off and it falls...and just keeps falling, gaining speed as it goes down the slope. My shoes do their best, but simply cannot get a grip on the snow, and any time I do get a decent foothold the snow collapses beneath me and I fall knee deep into it.

There is one thing you should know about snowy inclines - they are twice as difficult to descend as they are to ascend. After a few unbelievably difficult steps, attempting to keep myself from falling down the mountain, I decide that simply walking down is literally impossible. I do not wish to attempt a different route down either, as there are bears on this mountain, and I do not wish to meet any of them. Of course, there is an ovbious, simple solution - use my backpack as a makeshift toboggan!

My first run is not particularly succesful. Having padded my valuables within spare clothing, I jump on my backpack and point down the steep white slope, and begin to gain speed. And gain more speed. And gain more speed. I had neglected to think of any way to brake, or steer, and as I rocket down the slope my backpack decides that it is only fair that we swap places halfway. Suddenly I am the toboggan, and the backpack is on top of me as I skid down in a dirty, snowy mess. I eventually do come to a stop, but only by plunging my hands into the freezing snow as a form of braking - it is many, many hours before my hands forgive me for this, and they sting the whole way down.

However, I soon learn the basics of makeshift tobboganing, and come up with a method of securing my backpack to myself. I still have absolutely no control of steering, and I just head in whichever direction the bag wants to go, as it always ends up going downhill in one way or another. Braking is relatively simple - I gain speed until I run into a tree or bush, which quickly brings me to a stop. The snow is forgiving, soft and powdery, and even the tree branches are springy enough for me to avoid injury, and at some point the whole experience does indeed become quite fun. The birdsongs are mingled with an unfamiliar sound - `Wheee!`

Eventually my ride ends, and I make it to the rocky trail again in one piece. However, another suprise awaits me when I open my bag...DAMN YOU INSECT REPELLANT! I had put my sunscreen tube in a plastic zip lock bag, but didnt bother with the insect repellant as it was still unopened, and was foil sealed with the lid on tightly. The foil seal did indeed remain intact - the repellant simply came out the other end when the entire tube exploded. All my belongings were now covered in a sticky fluid resembling clag glue, and smelling far, far worse. I hadn`t even had a chance to use it on the hike; though there were vast clouds of insects, it seemed they could be repelled by stern looks alone.

Luckily though, my snacks remained intact (a local concoction resembling biscuits of caramel and peanuts), and I had something to munch on my way down. I arrive at the bottom, bag covered with snow and emitting a strange smell, and my pants covered with mud and dirt from my tumbles down the slopes. But looking back up at the mountains, I feel satisfied with my stupidity, and happy with my adventure. I treat myself to a local beer, then hop into the local onsen for a blissfully hot bath (snow is cold, and after a day of snow hot water is heaven). Soaking in the volcanic waters with the mountains in the distance, I look on the bright side - no bugs will ever come near any of my belongings again.