Tokyo Revisited part III

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Thursday: Come Again to Kamakura! How's the sushi in Zushi?

I had to make some quick changes. The camping trip to Yamaguchi was off.

May 3rd, Constitution Day. Takeshi and I were getting along famously. Standing at the JR wicket where I learned it was no problem to extend my return journey free of charge, I asked if I could stay with my host the rest of Golden Week. He agreed. At his suggestion, we caught a noon train out of Shinjuku headed to Kamakura. The train was packed with holiday makers, seniors, families, a nice break from the suits. Kamakura lies an hour south of Tokyo, near the coast in Kanagawa Prefecture. On visits to museums and galleries, I'd noticed Kamakura Period stencilled under some beautiful wood carvings but I knew little of the place. Kamakura was capital of Japan from 1185 to 1333, when Europe was constructing its early Gothic cathedrals and China was ceding its control to the Mongols. Distancing themselves from the court intrigues of Kyoto, the Minamoto clan won a series of victories leading to Minamoto Yoritomo's appointment as shogun. Without an heir, power passed to his wife's Hojo clan who ruled from Kamakura until the mid thirteenth century when they could no longer afford the cost of defending Japan against the attacks of Kublai Khan, and Kyoto became the capital once again. There are over two dozen temples scattered about the low lush hills, now separated by dense suburban sprawl. Kamakura has become a fashionable community of well-to-do's. From the train I witnessed beautiful neighbourhoods, houses carefully landscaped affording privacy and plenty of greenery, a Japanese version of the Hollywood Hills. From Kamakura Station the streets were packed. I could imagine my father struggling to keep his calm in such a situation. Kamakura has tried in vain to resist modernity. The McDonald's sign is brown and beige rather than vibrant red and yellow, like a sepia print, I suppose. And the crosswalk chime for the seeing impaired, still plays an old Japanese tune long since replaced in most other parts of Japan by the monotonous bleep, bleep, bleep. Takeshi explained that in the song two speakers discuss the road ahead, "Where are you going? Oh, it's safe going but the return is dangerous." or something like that. I found the tone ominous even without ever having learned the lyrics. We struggled up the pedestrian shopping street, six or seven people across, some of whom, usually the shortest ones, held parasols aloft, determined to remain fashionable in the heat. We quickly took a side route, stopping at a shop offering samples of its wares, jars and jars of pickled vegetables and seaweed.

I had not planned to visit Kamakura so I'd not brought any guidebook information. I let Takeshi lead, an impressive step for a control freak independent traveller. We crossed a crowded scramble, a miniature of that in Shibuya, passed under the bright red Shinto Tori. After circumventing a small steply arching bridge dating from the Shogunate, a central stone walkway continued down a wide gravel path flanked by tall pine trees. Under the pines bright primary coloured yatai sold toys and sweets and fried octopus or potato. A Wedding Procession, the couple and their guests all dressed in black, cut through the crowd lead by Shinto Priests wearing purple robes and playing the shakuhachi, a whiney wind instrument. More interested in the greasy food stalls, we lost sight of the wedding party until we approached a gazebo like Noh theatre stage standing in the centre of a large compound at the base of a hill. The ceremony had gathered inside. Two young priests waved branches over the couple and the guests. Incense was light. The shakuhachi's eery whine called out above the bustle of holiday makers. Heads bowed. Two young mothers in the wedding party remained at the steps to the gazebo fussing with their babies, keeping them quiet. After admiring the commercial artwork of some old sake barrels displayed on a ten metre high wall to one side of the temple compound, Takeshi and I continued up a steep stone stairway passing a famed ginko tree, and a stone tablet telling of a political assassination carried out beneath this tree in 1219. The hilltop shrine was loud and bright and colourful, a typical Shinto shrine. We descended a side path reaching a small shaded garden and the National Treasure Museum. Little daylight and very few tourists entered the gallery. I took my time to admire the 800 year old wood statues of the Buddha, of demons and of two curious characters, Gushojinzazo, who, sat either side of the ten judges of Hell, reading out from long strips of paper the life of the deceased as he or she passed along into the Netherworld. My favourite carving was a four piece display including a lion and an elephant, both of which wore strange faces and had oddly scaled bodies. One can imagine how rare and little known were elephants or lions to Japan some eight hundred years ago. Takeshi and I wandered around the large pond, feeding the koi and people watching and felt satisfied we'd seen enough of the ancient capital.

We caught the local and headed one station in the same direction, to the coastal town of Zushi, where my host had once managed a hamburger joint. Zushi is a laid back little beach town with a beautiful mix of stylish homes. We bought a couple cans of beer and some sushi and headed for the beach. The sun was sinking into the sea, wind-surfers were making for the shore and cleaning their sales. Dog-walkers strolled barefoot and a few children tried to fly their kites. Groups of high school students and young people sat around barbecues and stereos enjoying the break from studies. Fishermen casted their lines off the rock pilings. A number of foreigners were among the beach-goers. Zushi, I learned is quite popular among the ex-pat community. On a clear day, Takeshi told me, you can see Mt Fuji from the beach. A grey smear of cloud on the horizon turned pink with the setting sun. My friend lead me back into town to his favourite old restaurant where Native American paraphernalia hung on the walls.

After filling our stomachs we returned to Shinjuku and set out for the bars. The first place was relatively quiet. We ordered drinks and danced alone in the corner to a strange mix of lesser known 80s and 90s music. We popped into a sex shop and had a good laugh at the array of toys before heading to one of the neighbourhood's more popular bars among the foreigner and foreigner-loving crowd. I bumped into a couple familiar faces. We left the smoke and noise to share a drink in front of the conbini (convenience store). Neil, a heavyset guy in his mid thirties who has a cushy job tutoring at Waseda University, had just returned from a week in the UK. He introduced me to his boyfriend, a Japanese fellow several years his junior and half his size suffering from hay fever. Cesar, from Peru, whom I'd met in Osaka almost four years back, was happy living in Tokyo. He loves to party. His American boyfriend always stays home. I was introduced to his friend, a muscular Indonesian with a hearing impairment. Cesar said his friend reads lips but I didn't know what language. The guy was hilarious. He spoke with his hands and made struggled sounds to communicate his lack of success hooking a guy at the bar this evening. I learned he was a black market jeweller/ masseuse in Ginza. This ragtag group of queers was a bit much for Takeshi who mostly stood their quietly in awe. He and I said good night to my friends, and had a quick bite at a late night gyoza shop before calling it a day.

Friday: Lions and Tigers and Bears, oh my!

May 4th, Green Day. Sleep in late day. Sing in the shower day and eat yogourt and fresh veggie sticks on the balcony until midday. Although it was my fourth time to visit Tokyo, I'd never seen the pandas at Ueno Zoo. Entry to the zoo was free today as it turned out. The queue to the Panda shelter weaved through the park for several hundred metres. The whole grounds in this corner of Ueno were teaming with Panda kitsch: stuffed bears, keychains, hats, Panda picture booths and Panda balloons. Poor pandas. I wandered away from the mayhem into the wild birds exhibit. Many of the birds of prey I recognized from western North America. They looked out of place in Ueno. I tried making bird calls without alarming the other tourists but none of the eagles or hawks recognized me. The sloth and ant eater cages were empty. I think they were on tour together. Tropical birds galore lived inside an old building sunk between the lions and tigers, gorillas and elephants on one side and a food court on the other. What crap food they sell at zoos, eh. The polar bears were the oddest placed figures. The two of them looked thin probably from their constant pacing back and forth between one end and the other along the top terrace of their compound. I hate zoos. I don't know why I wanted to go the zoo and watch little kids bang on the glass walls to get the animal's attention. Surprisingly, I enjoyed myself though. Probably, I enjoyed the novelty of it all. I've been to the zoo three times in the last twenty years: San Diego (1990), HoChiMin City (2003) and Tokyo (2007). We cut a path through the photogenic Children's Amusement Park and descended the steps to Shinobazu Pond.

The sun was falling behind the city, the wind picking up and people rowing boats in the lake struggled to manouver their vessels back to the dock. A paddle boat pink fiberglass swan floated in a spot light of reflecting sunshine. Stalls along the approach to Benzaiten temple continued brisk business selling fried, gooey foods, tacoyaki, okonomiyaki, yakisoba and a man in a dark blue yukata ignored the play of colour in the sky and over the pond, continuing to pour batter and to scrape fresh Doraemon and Hello Kitty cakes into paying customer's hands. Around the far side of the pond, antique and junk dealers rushed to secure awnings and table cloths flapping in the wind. It grew dark and was soon to difficult to see their displays. Takeshi and I crossed back into the shopping district, drank an espresso, before venturing into Ameya Yokocho Arcade, once the black market area of post WWII Tokyo. Shopkeepers piled box after box of chocolate or noodles and called out to passing customers, 1000yen? 1000yen? 1000yen? 1000yen! Having declined the greasy zoo food and the stalls by the pond, I was now starving and ordered a mysterious fried seafood pancake. It was delicious but required a beer. After more window shopping, my friend and I hopped the train to Shinjuku where we dined out at a Korean barbecue chain. Pots smoked at each table filling the air with a vegetarian's worst nightmare. I sat listening to the young western woman behind me talk with her dinner companion explaining all about ordering and eating the food. It's always an ego booster to have your friend visit from out of country and show off all what you have learned while living abroad. I felt proud that I had met Takeshi and that I was in Tokyo for the fourth time. I knew what I enjoyed and I knew where I enjoyed being. And I respected that it had taken me four years to get here. I could remember my first days in Tokyo in August 2003. I could now analyze most any scene in Japan and explain what the people were doing and why.

Saturday: In the Park

May 5th, Children's Day. Glorious weather, although til mid afternoon we didn't make it much further than the balcony. Too agreable to spend the day in a museum and too late to leave the city, we settled on Yoyogi Park, probably the city's prime people watching location. I bought beers at the station this time. I wasn't going to support the English fellow by the fountain again, selling cans at 500Y, says its a weekend past time. Sicko! Takeshi and I admired the 50s rockers performing a sort of off off Broadway lipsink dance number, five elvis looking fools gryrating and swinging around a young woman in a pink poodle skirt. Teenagers dressed in over-priced Goth outfits they'd purchased in nearby Harajuku, held signs up, FREE HUGS. And tourists took them up on their offer. Inside the park couples and groups of friends sat scattered in the shade with picnic baskets, anxious little yappy dogs led their owners to the fenced-in dog area, and drums could be heard somewhere beyond the next bend. We plunked down by the rose garden. Takeshi slept, snoring quietly while I sketched. We walked further through the fields, on grass intended to be walked on, run on, jumped on, played football, catch, frisbee and a thousand other games on - all of which is unheard of in Japan. A girl lay in the middle of all the flying objects and laughter, flopped over a twister mat. Her friend stood several metres away spinning the dial.

Speakers are banned inside the park. Musicians of all styles and skill level set up along the park's perimeter. Four men practiced a traditional Okinawa dance with a sword and a drum. Next to them and highly untalented, a young African guy seemed to have found his groove, a five word long repetitive rap he continued at least the ten minutes I sat there trying to zone him out. Painted faces and young people in white robes jumped about screaming a heavy metal meets Japanese pop song. My favourite was a jazz quintet called Mountain Mocha Kilimanjaro. I got right into it and started to boogy on the sidewalk. As free loving and living as Yoyogi Park may be, there were no other boogy woogy folk, just a smattering of toe tappers.

Takeshi dragged me to Omotesando for some up-scale shopping. We checked out an Italian label called Energy. T-shirts sold for just less than 20,000Y. People watching in this neighbourhood, though only 200m from Yoyogi, is a contrast to the laid back and festive park. Omotesando attracts the streamlined and trendy, walking billboards and mannekins, each with their own personal touch to the community wide trend of torn jeans with retro kimono print patches, baseball hats, sunglasses, handbags, all in the look-at-me-dammit price range. It's fun to watch. We got lost in the maze of fancy boutiques and popular cafes of Jingue-mae before crossing over to Takeshita-dori, a popular shopping street for fetish clothing and other oddities. I picked up a famous Okinawa sake shirt for 1100Y. Saturday had to be our least romantic dinner. Takeshi led me into an old 1940s looking Japanese Dining Hall, a very stylish 1940s. The waitress guided me past the lonely old man bar and into a high ceiling family dining room. At the next table a young child, wriggled in her chair and whined at the top of her lungs. An old woman in the corner got up from her table and went to the toilet with her water glass. All the menu items had their pictures included. Most looked the same, simple and traditional, various dishes of fish or meat with rice, soup and pickle. Young woman in white dress shirts and soft blue aprons served the customers with graceful speed. It all felt like a Japanese Are You Being Served? film set.

Neither of us had much energy for the bars. Instead we retired early. Takeshi had switched off the affectionate mode button sometime today or perhaps the night before. We were more like friends, just hanging out. I thought I had done something wrong but he insisted he just didn't want to have cheap memories of us. I had relaxed my camera's love affair of Tokyo as well, having taken only three shots the entire day. Tomorrow I had to return home.

Sunday: Rainy Sunday

We said good-bye in the metro. My train was continuing to Otemachi. He had to transfer lines. And like that - it was over. I went to one last museum, mostly because it was central and accessible, the National Museum of Modern Art. The exterior of a vast majority of the country's Museums look the same, dark, demure, anonymous. I can imagine a MadMax world of Japan where all that has survived are the thick concrete government buildings and the green and grey steel school desks. The museum's temporary exhibition was open free of charge. An entertaining couple of hours, the three floors highlighted artist movements from 1890 to 1950. The write-ups were all bilingual but offered no deeper explanantion than to list the major painters and who had influenced them, usually the French. Some artists felt a desire for a return to more traditional ways, others sought increasingly abstract forms. I was most impressed with a large canvas hanging in the wartime collection, and depicting an air-attack on an enemy airport. Another equally talented painting but on a smaller scale depicted a line of tanks entering enemy territory. Scenes of war, once comissioned to a rare and talented set of artists, have since lost their power. Although today's photo-journalists often risk life and limb, their photos seem so plentiful. The images usually don't leave a very lasting impression.

I think half of Japan had gathered in Tokyo Station on the last day of Golden Week. It took a while to find the right platforms, passing several electronic turnstiles, searching out a food shop, dodging oblivious passengers with heavy suitcases and zigzagging through crowds of shoppers searching for just the right gifts to take home to co-workers. It is the rule to return home from holiday, even if said holiday were your only 1 day off in the year, it is the rule to bring back omiyage. I couldn't be bothered. I couldn't even find a convenience shop selling beer. The return trip always seems faster. It rained. I watched the Tokyo/ Yokohama sprawl fall dark under heavy grey clouds. Before Nagoya, the scene zipping past my window had turned dark. I read my book and wondered why the couple across the aisle did not feel ashamed that their young son was being so loud. Typically, fellow passengers will not complain or disturb one another. Typically, all Japanese have an identical instict of shame. In fact, a month back, a middle-aged salary man took a teen-aged girl from her seat, crying and yelling, into the toilet and raped her. When questioned by police, fellow passengers admitted they could see what was happening but didn't feel it was their responsibilty to step in. I continued to read about Sanzang, the Buddhist priest, and his devout followers, Monkey, Pig and Friar Sand, heading west to fetch the scriptures.

At home, in Hiroshima, I felt I had been transported back in time. I'm told that Hiroshima is about five years behind Tokyo but it feels like thirty or more, with its old street car, the single track through the city.

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Photos

unknown food alley, Shinjuku Station
sometimes there was so much to see I didn't have enough time to know what I was looking at or where I was, somewhere between points A and B

Kamakura, capital of Japan 1185-1333
entrance to Tsurugaoka Hachiman-gu, main shrine of Kamakura

ema & uma, Kamakura
ema: votive plaque, uma:horse - there is a connection between the two but I've forgotten! this person had a lot to pray for but at 2000Y a pop, why not

ema, Kamakura
A girl named Ayaka prays that she may graduate this September. let's all send her good vibes

high class wedding shinto priests play the shakuhachi
On a very crowded day at Kamakura a wedding party proceded up the main entrance to the Noh theatre hall where priests conducted strange superstitious acts with tree branches. Wedding guests were hypnotozed by the shakuhachi players. Then the bride devoured the groom whole!

ema, Kamakura
Ayuko want to go to Canada and meet many nice friends

Takeshi, Tsurugaoka Hachiman-gu, Kamakura
to one side of the temple compound stood a wall displaying old sake barrels

Takeshi, Tsurugaoka Hachiman-gu, Kamakura
to one side of the temple compound stood a wall displaying old sake barrels

Takeshi, gyoza joint, Shinjuku San Chome
place serves eight kinds of gyoza until the wee morning hours

midday sunshine, Ueno Station
Ueno, a glimpse of pre-1980s economic boom Tokyo, but with inflated prices

koi, kodomo no hi, Ueno Zoo
On Children's Day, May 5, carp are hung as a symbol of male strength to celebrate boys

How to Pray
1. correct posture, calm your heart, 2. two deep bows, 3. two loud claps, 4. one more deep bow

Comments

[Vicki]

Actually the story of Minamoto Yoritomo, and his younger brother Yoshitsune, is my favourite part of Japanese history!