Sons of Loki

Me ma’s been watching Swedish smash-hit crime drama Wallander and, on another of her crackpot schemes, picked up a book on Swedish grammar. Clearly, my mother was never meant to learn Swedish, but I thought I’d have a flick through and it’s interesting stuff, you know.

You know how athletes will run at high altitudes with heavy weights so that, when they’re accustomed to that, running unladen at sea level feels like a breeze? It’s like that after studying Japanese. Two years of banging my head against the brick wall of fluency in Nippongese, and when I try my hand at Swedish, it’s like punching through cardboard. There’s so many cognates that vocabulary – lång (long), hem (home), också (also, pronounced ockso) – just pops into my memory in a way that Japanese words never do. Knowing a little German helps too – läsa (lese, read), arbeta (arbeite, work).

It always seems remarkable to monolinguists like myself when you hear of people who can speak three or four or six languages, but once you’ve learned the skill-set necessary to learn a language – which tools to use, how conjugating works, what articles and particles do – the next language is half as hard. Conjugating Swedish verbs is essentially the same as conjugating Japanese verbs – it’s just a matter of learning different ‘bits’.

I watched Tora Tora Tora today (remarkably, half-directed by Kinji Fukasaku, he of the Yazuka Papers and Battle Royale) and as a test, tried to understand the spoken Japanese without the subtitles. Entirely hopeless. Been studying this two, three years and I can’t understand even a sentence or two.
I know the answer is “study more” but it’s hella depressing.

I also watched the much-hyped The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo (Swedish: Män som hatar kvinnor) and found it to be pretty enjoyable, even if I’m always suspicious when beautiful troubled young women end up sleeping with chubby, middle-aged author surrogates. (When I’m an author, my protagonists will be celibate and miserable.) I liked Lisbeth – she put me in mind of one of William Gibson’s heroines, and in a way the whole film is like some kind of modern post-cyberpunk thriller. Sort of. You know, the stuff that Gibson was pioneering in the 80s – technology as an integral part of our daily lives, a world where everything’s on the net and information is a commodity, all those cliches which were revolutionary then but today sound ancient – that sort of stuff is so mainstream now that you hardly notice it.

I noticed Lisbeth’s password was only four characters, though. No real hacker would let that slide.

So I’ve hopefully got an interesting little job lined up, if I pass the final interview next week. Heading up to Leeds this weekend to move into my house and kill a few days before the interview and then, if I get it, starting my induction the week after – then it’s Freshers’ Week and finally, after that, lessons begin again.

I’ve been worrying about what to do for my dissertation, but the other day I found myself writing a blog post about the future of Japan – slowing economy, fossilised government, aging population, freeters, continued backwards attitude to immigration – and realised I’ve got a beautiful paper to write right there. If I do it right. The New World: Changing Paradigms For Japan In New 21st Century Economic Realities – Demarking the Migrant Pathos and the Erotics of Primal Pathology, it will be titled.

Until then, then, I chill out, raid the fridge, learn lines like “Du bröt dig in i mitt hem. Jag kan ha ihjäl dig utan vidare.”* and try to put off packing until Friday.

* “You broke into my house. I can kill you without consequence.” Learning lines from films is much more fun than “I am Herr Smitt,” don’t you think?

I’ve been back a long time! After the initial week of sorting out all the immediate concerns, life has sort of settled into a hikikomori-ish fugue where I translate manga, to try to maintain a doggy-paddle in the sea of Japanese; pretend to be writing a novel, which will solve all my money concerns; and worry about money.

I am broke, and then some. I sent off an article to a magazine that hasn’t got back to me yet, and in the meantime applied for a few jobs. The only place that got back to me is Sainsbury’s in Leeds, but as I’m not up there yet I couldn’t go to one of their interviews. I suppose I’ll just have to try next month. In the meantime, I have pretty much nowhere to turn, unless I follow millionaire David Willett’s advice and do some volunteering. Thanks, Education Minister. That’s really useful.

Yesterday I spent the last of my money catching the coach (most cheap option, and not bloody National Express rail, but it’s National Express coach so it’s ultimately a futile gesture, but then isn’t everything in our brutish lives) to London to see my “homeslices” and many of them there were: Rob, Kanako (in London for a few weeks only so I won’t see her again until I get back to Japan, which is sad), Jameses E and B, Hugo and Emily, Kazuya (now at Sheffield for the year! fantastic) and even Ed. We went to Mitsukoshi, a Japanese department store in the heart of London, which provided the surreal experience of being a thousand miles away in Tokyo and a month ago in July as we were welcomed with いっらしゃいませぇぇぇ～～～ and browsed their bookstore. It was full of Japanese tourists – imagine coming all the way to London and then visiting a Japanese department store! – but then that’s what we did. We ate at a really expensive (by our standards) Japanese restaurant, which served up some tasty-looking katsu kare, but then I had the shoyu ramen which was … disappointing. Really, disappointing. I thought a bad bowl of ramen was impossible, but this was just … not at all what I’m used to.

“What I’m used to.” Pfft. Anyway, most of my money went on day travelcards, because the tube is ridiculously expensive if you don’t have Oyster. I kept seeing adverts on the tube for the next big novel – marketed fiction, fiction which says “You’ve read Stieg Larsson, now read this!” as if mentioning a popular novellist you may have enjoyed is enough to convince you that this other entirely unrelated novel might be a decent read. You may as well have adverts that say “You’ve enjoyed foie gras, now try cat food!”

I hesitate to take the piss out of published authors and of books I haven’t read, but there was a ad for a book so unrelentingly generic that I had trouble finding it on the web. The ad reads: “THEY STOLE MY LIFE. I WANT IT BACK. I WON’T GET MAD, I’LL GET” and then in red letters, separated from that seeming non sequiter, “EVEN” which is the title of the book, by Andrew Grant. Like I say, I haven’t read the book so I can’t comment on a novel which is about a secret agent racing against time and which has 3.5 stars on Amazon. All I’m saying is, read that strapline over again and decide if you really want to read that book. Is that the best a copywriter could come up with? They stole his life. He wants it back. I’ll hazard a guess and say that it’s rogue elements in the government or secret services that stole his life, and that he had a perfect wife and a perfect son (it’s never a daughter, is it?) and now they’re dead, I’ll postulate, and there will be a shootout and a car chase, I humbly hypothesise, and that there will be tender moments when he picks through the fragments that remain of his old life, I’ll put forward, and finally there won’t be closure, just a set-up for the next novel, but there will be a satisfying death of a minor villain, I will cautiously submit.

Like I say, I don’t like to snark, and I know airport fiction will always be this way, but I think I might have heard this plot two or three or sixty times before.

Anyway, we had a wander around Camden Town, then went back up to Rob’s where we a) ate lots of Chinese food b) played Super Street Fighter IV and Tekken 6 and Soul Calibur 4 c) watched Family Guy d) slept. We woke up. I had a scotch egg. Uh, that’s about it.

So yeah, London! It Wasn’t As Bad As Last Time. How’s that for a strapline?

It’s weird to think that my room’s still there.

Still the notches I cut in the fridge when slicing carrots. Still the ugly smudge on the window. Still the indentations in the lino from the fridge, right now, as I write these words.

It’s 8:39am in Tokyo right now, so the sun will very firmly be up and the light of dawn will be coming through the left-open curtains.

Packing seemed impossible, but somehow we halved the amount of crap left in the room, then halved it again, then halved it again until it was all either in the bin or in our bags. At some point it went from “stuff everywhere” to “a few things on the desk”. I moved the furniture back to where it had begun, then we scrubbed the floors.

We went to Musashi-sakai to cancel my phone. To my surprise, it was all very simple: three seconds on the computer, my credit card charged with my remaining bill, and I even got to keep my phone, no questions asked. We hunted for lunch and wound up at the nice little gyoza and ramen place. Seems strange that Chinese food has been my consistent favourite throughout the year, but Japanese food is sometimes just too fiddly when all you want is to fill up.

The last thing I packed was my speakers. I wonder if they’re still in the box where I left them downstairs? After a greatest hits package when we were packing, the final song I played – before bundling the speakers into their box and wheeling out the cases – was “Black Out Fall Out”, as hoped. I turned it up. I opened the windows and let the heady beats of youth flood the sports field where a few people were playing baseball. It sounded amazing.

音がない
なきやまない
ずっともうCRY OUT!
I know I know la la la la
もう止まらない!

And for some stupid reason we went the cheap way to Narita, which entailed lugging bags and bags and bags on a Chuo Line train, then a Sobu Line train, then a Keisei Line Local Train, then a Keisei Line Express, then another Express… Hot and sweaty it was, but luckily, it was a quiet Sunday night so the trains were pretty clear. I saw the beautiful towers of Shinjuku under a purple sky for the last time. We crossed the solemn river and left Tokyo for Chiba Prefecture; and the train kept going, and going, and – man, it took forever. I can’t believe how long it seemed to take to get to Narita Airport, but finally we got there … left the terminal and went to the bus stop for the hotel bus. I briefly panicked that we’d missed the last bus, but then it turned out I was reading the chart wrong. We waited as the big coaches for the Hyatt and Toyoko left … and then our titchy little Narita Skycourt Hotel minibus arrived. We squeezed on board and took the ten minute trip to our hotel.

The hotel was pretty cool. It was nothing special, but they had cup noodles and a funny shower and a machine that sold ready meals that you heated up by pulling a drawstring to activate a chemical reaction. We were thinking about staying up all night so that we’d sleep on the plane better, but after a few hours of snapping my Evangelion kit together (oh what a nerd am I) I was getting pretty sleepy, so in the end I got about six hours of sleep.

We had breakfast in the morning. I struggled with the Asahi newspaper. With little to no fanfare, we got the bus to the airport, entered Terminal 2, and checked our bags – despite all the anguish over weight limits and how many bags I could bring on no one, it seemed, gave a damn. (My checked luggage was 32kg, a full 12kg over the JAL limits.)

The others disappeared – Jade and I wandered around for a bit and then found Rob, who had brought his entourage along. Together we checked his bags and paid the date change fee (that’s 15,000 yen I’ll never see again). Jade had to go return her rental phone.


Our group sat around for a bit, not wanting to say our goodbyes quite yet. Rob led people individually away for a final chat – well, that’s Rob for you. I think it was easier for us going home than the others staying – well, as Michael Stipe sang, it’s easier to leave than to be left behind. I played mandolin. We chatted.

Security wasn’t too hard. I got my liquids through, which I was glad about. Our friends waited for us as we queued, and as we went through, and as we reassembled ourselves afterwards, and as long as it took for us to be out of sight entirely, and then that was the end.

Jade and I loaded up on souvenirs, coming back with a huge bag of matcha Kit Kats and assorted booze. They called our rows. We lined up, presented our passports, and with a “Hello” and a “Thank you” we were suddenly on the jetway and in the Triple-Seven and sticking our bags in the overhead storage compartments. I was next to Rob and our friend James (Jade had, somehow, been bumped up to Premium Economy) with a pretty decent window seat.

It occurred to me how my fear of flying was pretty much completely gone now, after fourteen-odd flights. No longer did I quiver when presenting my passport or going through customs. I laughed in the face of turbulence. I sensibly had brought some eye drops and nasal spray on, so desiccating wasn’t a problem even in the dry cabin air. I watched the Wire (aargh like crack it is), Darling wa Gaikokujin (the film adaptation of the popular manga series about a woman whose boyfriend is – shock horror! – a foreigner (is there any country in the world where this is still an issue, except for Japan?) which was sort of funny and sweet and had some nice views of gaijin culture, but was entirely predictable – Jonathan Sherr was great, though – actually let me just take offence at the English character who says how Japanese girls are all easy, and who thinks manga is just for kids, and is really rude to Saori – obviously those people exist in Japan (I’ve been unfortunate enough to meet them) but the character in the film is made out to be an ex-pat, fluent in Japanese, and let me tell you, no real Japan ex-pat could have such disdain and such a rude attitude towards Japan and still be tolerated by his fellows) and kept up the eyedrops and oh shit

It’s Monday. I’m flying back to England, so I get in at 4pm on Monday. Not the next day.

Booked my tickets back from London for Tuesday, didn’t I.

Ah well. Nothing I could do on the plane but catch a little sleep, watch Green Zone (dull, stopped watching it) and Toy Story 2 in Japanese. And take photos.

Brrckkk! We land! We disembark! And fuck, are Brits grumpy. All the Japanese JAL staff smiling and waving and thanking us, and then some grumpy-faced fuck in a florescent jacket looking like he wants to die and like he wants us to die too. No “hello” or “welcome to England” or even a smile, mate. God, I hate London.

You know, only if it had been raining could our reintroduction to Britain have been worse. No one came to pick me and Jade up from the airport, so we haul our baggage through dirty British corridors onto cramped, dirty British trains built in 1976 (christ, JR have been through about six different train classes since then). There’s a train stuck at Piccadilly Circus, please just stick with us for a few minutes. Oh, now there’s another train stuck, seems like someone pulled the emergency brake, we shouldn’t be here long. It’s weird not to hear a Japanese voice with an English translation. It’s weird that it’s just English on all the signs, no Japanese. I am worried about the train tickets and if I can change the date. Well, it shouldn’t be too hard, should it?

“Um, I booked the wrong date and is it possible to maybe change them?” (I know this is my fault, but maybe you could help me out?)
“How much did you pay for your tickets?”
“Um… about eight quid?” (Something like that.)
“Eight quid?”
“Yeah.”
“How much did you pay for your tickets?” (You stupid customer, you no-good pointless waste of my time, give me a straight answer!)
“About eight quid.”
“Well, there’s no point then. I’d have to charge you the cost of today’s tickets minus the price you paid plus a ten pounds admin fee.” (What a fool you are, not knowing this!)
“Oh. Thanks.” (Thanks for nothing, you miserable fuck.)

I walk outside and tell Jade and curse this motherfucking country and its stupid fucking monopoly train lines and tight-assed customer services and I know that if this was Japan the problem would be fucking sorted with a smile and an apology. But what can you fucking do? It’s London. Shit piles up so fast you need wings to stay above it. I go to the ticket machine and deposit sixty quid in National Express East Anglia’s coffers and buy two off-peak singles to Norwich.

Fuck you, National Express East Anglia.

What an awful country, I tap on my iPod. What a load of shit.

Well, we go for burger and chips in Burger King and finally escape awful London. The Gherkin recedes in the window. It’s eight-o-clock and it’s still so bright outside! I listen to music and can’t quite shake the feeling that I’ve finished the novel and now I’m just flipping through the blank pages at the end.

What do I feel? Nothing much. My rage recedes; the oddness of England dampens. Do I miss Japan? I don’t think so. I’ve already forgotten everything I learned there. I have so much to do. Just loads of things to do.

And money. I have no money. I owe a lot of money.

Last time in my exciting tales, I was on a bus coming in to park outside the Subaru Building in West Shinjuku. Will I survive to catch my plane on Monday? Can I finish all the odd jobs I have left to do? Will the mysteries of the Nagano Sword be finally revealed? HERE I TELL ALL

We got back earlier than expected, so Jade and I got back to my room pretty early. She caught some kip; I caught up with the latest happenings on the interwebs and fretted about the impending rent payment and tried to work out how I was going to put the contents of an entire room and ten months of life into one suitcase and two bags.

We took a run to Musashi-sakai for gyoza and ramen with our friend Hime, who was sadly headed back to Korea that day, a few days before we headed home. After goodbyes we headed back to TUFS where I managed to get my rent shit sorted

Sort of. I mean, no one really seemed that bothered that I’d been given a day to pay £500, but I guess I was lucky not to have to pay it there and then. I’ll have to make an international payment which will cost me £7.50 out of me own pocket and christ, I don’t know.

Anyway, I asked myself: if I had one last free night in Tokyo – which I did – where would I go? The answer was, of course, the New York Bar at the Park Hyatt.

Haha! Who would believe that a penniless student loser like myself would sort of become a regular at the New York Bar? Some English tourists asked me for directions, and I was like – oh, it’s just up here, and you take a lift to the sky lobby … It must have been my fifth time, actually, and screw it if a martini costs £12 because there’s no bar more incredible, with that amazing view of Shinjuku and beyond out the window.

I came in shorts. There was a dress code. They sent a man to get me some black trousers to change into. Only in Japan.

Anyway, we had a drink and because we aren’t ridiculously rich (yet) we got out of there and rolled on down to Hanbey in Kichijoij, which is sort of the polar opposite of the New York Bar – noisy, cheap, and completely out of date. We managed to drag Katy out too, had a few beers and yakitori and a frog leg, which I’d actually got used to. And that was it. Last Friday night in Japan.

The next day, I finished off my year abroad report for Leeds. 2,000 words is actually quite a lot, although if Leeds hadn’t asked me to do it I probably would have written a blog post to the same effect anyway. Long story short: had some ups, had some downs, came away with a better understanding of myself. And a better understanding of how I study, too. Jade went out into town for a final wander, but I had no such luxury: after feeling strangely emotional listening to Marisa Stole The Precious Thing I caught the train to Fuchu. Technically I live in Fuchu City, but it’s a lot easier to get to Koganei City from TUFS, and so I’d only been to Fuchu twice: once at the start of the year for administrative procedures, and once in December to go see Avatar.

I was there to cancel my phone and return my health insurance card, but the more I thought about it, the more sense it made to cancel my phone the next day. So I headed down to City Hall for to settle my national health fees and return the card, as is required.

City Hall.

On a Saturday.

It’s only open weekdays.

So continued the miserable story of my attempt to leave the country.

Thus foiled, I gave up and went for curry one last time, then wandered down to the Fuchu shrine we visited all those months ago. I washed my hands at the trough, wandered inside. It was quiet. Went up to the shrine, tossed a few coins in, awakened the spirits. Asked for a safe trip home. Bowed, turned around, headed back to the modern world.

BOOM! KAPOW! We stumbled out of Asakusa station into a warzone; police marshalling traffic, explosions in the sky, the distant sound of mortars firing, the street streaming with refugees. Except it was the Sumidagawa Fireworks Festival, and we were dressed like this:


You can’t see the bow I tied in Jade’s obi. I was proud of that. It looked pretty bad, but it was the first time I’d even tried tying an obi, and the instructions were all in Japanese, and it may not have looked exactly proper but it was damn good for a first try, I reckon.

The place was packed, and we weren’t even at the actual site. And we were late (due to obi complications). And we were trying to meet up with Satomi, but it dawned that in the streets heaving with people in a neighbourhood neither of us knew, with the phone service overloaded in some parts and impossible to talk on due to GIANT BOOMS, meeting up wouldn’t be possible.

I got quite flustered, but then I realised – hey, しょうがない, and then tried to enjoy what was left of the fireworks. I mean, we couldn’t actually see anything because of the buildings, but I seen fireworks before. What was more exciting was the atmosphere.


There were a lot of girls wearing yukata – the only guys in them were boyfriends and a handful of gaijin like us, dressing up for the night. An old man turned to us and gave us a kind 「かわいい。」, which was sweet. Frenzied street sellers sold takoyaki, screaming 「サンビャク！さんびゃくえん！！」 at festivalgoers. I bought some cus – well, it’s what you do at festivals, right? – and it was delicious. We managed to avoid the crush of people leaving by walking down to JR Asakusabashi station – buying some highballs on the way – and got the train to Ogikubo to see Risako and Rob. What with it being our final night in Tokyo, we decided to go to McDonalds.

The next day, we left. And that’s a story for another day.

So on Monday, I had my final exam, the one that I got a crappy mark on last time and led me to retake the module. I’d done a bit of revision, and I was feeling pretty confident after we finished the paper. As we went to take the oral test on the PCs there seemed to be a technical problem; after a few minutes our teacher just decided to dismiss us all, and with a cheer and a round of applause Integrated Japanese 300 was over.

To the beach! Jade really wanted to hit the beach in Japan, and I sort of did too, what with the beautiful weather we’d been having. No one else was around to come along, unfortunately, so it was just the two of us getting on the Yokosuka line down to Kamakura. We got there about 3:30pm, so I assumed the beach would be full, but thankfully it wasn’t too bad; a smattering of youths and worryingly tattooed fellows, plus surfers. Lots of surfers.

The tourists come to Kamakura for the temples and giant Buddha, as what I have previously writ, but the surfers come for the waves generated by the cove. So it’s not really a beach to go paddle in.

So we bought loads of food and found a spot and got sand everywhere and in our valuable electronics (hence the lack of photos, not willing to get my camera covered in sand – luckily I wasn’t stupid enough to bring my laptop), then rented an inflatable alligator and hit the waves. Big, big waves. Bobbed around, had a swim, dodged surfers, tried forward rolls as the waves rushed towards us. Great fun. We bought watermelons (which the big ass ravens devoured happily when we were in the water). A guy got buried and a dog sniffed at him. A group of young people played that game where you blindfold someone and hit a watermelon (something like that, it’s a Japanese tradition). As the sun went down, I dug a trench and stared up at the sky. Bliss.

The next day, we got our results. I passed with 80/90 or something, having made some silly mistakes, and my grade for the year came to a B, which …
I’ll be honest, I didn’t really care. I realised very soon during my year abroad that I wouldn’t be learning anything of value from classroom work, so I don’t know what that mark means. It was my second time round, so I probably should have done better. But I feel like for the amount of work I put in, it was a pretty good mark. In the end, all I really care about is actual language ability, not marks.

So, that was the end. We went out in the afternoon to Nakano Broadway, where I picked up a few souvenirs and presents, then went out that night to Shinjuku with Rob and a few friends for monjayaki, where I astonished all with my amazing monjayaki skills (having done it, um, once before).

That night we would be taking a night bus to Osaka, so we had an hour to kill. I fancied a bit of final karaoke (it did turn out to be the last karaoke I went to in Japan) so we went to the cool-looking Karaoke-Kan on the corner near the Shinjuku Center Building and sang a bit of Kimura Kaela and Utada Hikaru, before stocking up for the journey and catching the Willer Travel coach.

The journey was a little hellish. I’d gone for the Standard coach, whereas before I think I’d splashed out on the slightly nicer one with better seats, so sleeping was pretty much impossible. I tried listening to Brian Eno’s Apollo and remember thinking something about how ambient music soaks up the mood and feeling of whatever situation you’ve listened to it in. Something like that.

Jade was a little worse for wear from the trip, and when we arrived in Osaka at oh-dark-hundred I wasn’t feeling fantastic either. Luckily, shortly before either of us crumbled and died we found the one damn cafe open at 8:30am and got some coffee, and after that we felt more up to tackling the day.

For some reason or other we decided to go hit Kobe, so off we went to get the Hankyu line, which comes in ornate varnished mahogany.

Kobe was nice. The last time I went it was pissing it down, so it was nice to explore the old foreigners’ district of Kitano in the sunshine.



Then we took a wander down to the port. I really wanted to visit the Maritime Museum one more time, but time was not on our side, alas.

For lunch, what else but…

Kobe beef?
We found a little restaurant above a butchers that did sukiyaki and something else (a kind of shabu shabu?) for 1,500 yen, which is well cheap for Kobe beef. Suspiciously cheap, actually, but it looked like a classy place.

After that we got back to Osaka and visited the lovely castle and environs. At the nearby stadium crowds of fans waited for some talentless boy band, waving those damn fans. Man, I’d hate to be a girl in Japan.

I fancied heading back to the Osaka Aquarium I’d been to in 2007. I was slightly worried about how long we’d have, but seeing as it was summer it was open until 8pm, and we also lucked out with the After 5 Pair Ticket which meant it was only 1,700 yen each, not 2,000.

It’s a really good aquarium, with some fascinating creatures and habitats there.



They had interactive audio guides supplied in the form of downloadable DS software, which meant just switching on your DS and connecting to the aquarium’s wi-fi. Neat.

As the aquarium closed we were politely chased out. Consequently, we headed down to Dotonbori, the big canal that runs through downtown Osaka (and gives the place a very different feel to Tokyo). I wanted to get some photos for my visual novel Yoshida, it being set partly in the section of the canal where the infamous events of one night in 1985 took place.

After getting photos of the amazing Glico man (and being tutted at by some snotty-nosed local!) we found some little eatery for curry rice and wound up back at the Capsule Hotel Asahiplaza for a well-deserved sleep. I had a nice soak in the baths, struggled through a few pages of Kacho Shima Kosaku, then retired to my capsule for the night.

The next day, we hit Kyoto! Ah, Kyoto … First time I visited, in 2007 I spent several hours straight off the shinkansen lugging all my worldly goods around for the best part of an evening, searching for a hotel and eventually winding up in a capsule somewhere. The key lesson being, of course, book your accommodation in advance. Anyway, while I love Tokyo, and sort of like Osaka, Kyoto’s always been a bit more complicated.

My main goal was to visit the famous Kinkakuji, the Temple of the Golden Pavilion, but first we went to Daitokuji. Well, I think we did. It was pouring down with rain that cold morning, and I was about to turn back in wet misery when we found the tiny entrance to a group of five Zen gardens. The woman on the door was very kind, bringing us towels to dry our wet feet. Well, kind, or just not interested in having wet foreigners drip over everything, which is certainly understandable.

So, Zen.

I like Zen. As a school of philosophy, it really seems to hit the nail on the head.

It occurred to me that with these rock gardens, the monks had captured the uncapturable, from a ripple in a pond to a rolling landscape – all frozen in moss and rock and gravel.

I was really looking forward to Kinkakuji. Since I read The Temple of the Golden Pavilion (and seen part of Mishima) I wanted to see the beauty that obsessed Mishima and drove one young monk to burn the place down in 1950 because true art, as everyone knows, should burn down at least once.

I dunno, it was sort of a letdown.

It’s just a gold box. A tacky gold box. Surrounded by tourists.

We went for matcha and cake, though, which was nice. I’ve never had proper matcha before, and it was delicious. Hot and bittersweet and frothy.

Then Fushima Inari, again, and the beautiful little outlook over Kyoto, again… No cat this time, though.

Back to downtown Kyoto, and we stop for a coffee. I get a phone call asking me to pay 70,800 yen by tomorrow. It appears that TUFS have failed to take my rent out of my account for the past four months. Or I’ve failed to pay them for four months but they haven’t told me. Either way, I have a day to pay. This is ridiculous. This is straight-up bullshit. They’ve been nothing but helpful for ten months and then they totally screw me over.

I swallow my rage and we go in search of old Gion.

I don’t know if we found it or not, but we had a fun wander around Kyoto, hitting Book Off and dodging past the dodgier places. Rain fell, occasionally. No geisha, but we did find some of the old timey wooden houses, which was nice. And so once again I left Kyoto, sort of forgiving it for screwing us over in the morning. We went to the train station, found the one cafe left open for a quick coffee (feeling like an inconvenience on the staff the entire time), drank lots of water and sat waiting for the bus with all the young peeps and backpackers. It made me smile to realise that while the rich and the old ride the shinkansen, the young and the poor get the nightbus. Solidarity of the youth, innit.

Some asshole was sleeping in our reserved seats. The old me would have sat somewhere else, but the new me was very angry with TUFS, and slightly angry at this man. I talked to the driver. The driver talked to the 邪魔. He moved. We sat down, and I swear he glared at me for ten minutes, but I was probably imagining it. The trip back to Shinjuku was a lot more comfortable, that time.

The weekend before last – christ, the weekend before last! – Jade and I took a trip out to Hakone, one of my favourite little destinations easily reached from Tokyo.

I’d been ill most of the week before, and I prayed it wouldn’t spread into the next week, my final week in Japan. For some reason we went out on Friday night and slept outside the Nomura building and then, when a guard moved us on, outside Shinjuku Keio station waiting for the last train (always a fun experience), so we only got to Hakone at 4pm-ish, leaving no time for sightseeing. Still, we had a wander about Hakone in the beautiful late afternoon/early evening.

Down by the river we joined a few other sightseeings in dipping our feet in the water and watching fish flutter past. It was a very peaceful scene.

Back to the ever-excellent Fuji-Hakone Guesthouse where I met up with Yuuka, one of the staff who I knew from last time. I guess I’m sort of getting to be a regular there now, this being my fourth time back there.

Down to the Susuki Fields, just up the road, where they filmed a few scenes of Neon Genesis Evangelion. (I kid, but this particular field was the inspiration for the place where Kensuke and Shinji camp out in an early episode.)

Then ramen and gyoza at China House, this reasonably-priced restaurant just down the road, and back to the guesthouse for those unsurpassable Hakone hot spring onsen. The heat! The calm! The aroma of the volcanic waters! I realised it would be the last time I visited an onsen for a long time.

After a great night’s sleep on the guesthouse’s futons, Jade and I had breakfast, said our goodbyes to Yuuka and the staff (promising to come back when we were able), and set off for a day in beautiful Hakone.

I wanted to find the point in that episode of Evangelion where Misato and Shinji look out from the heights of Mt Kintoki, but the closest the bus got us was a golf course, and in the heat of the day I didn’t really feel like going for a hike.


So we got the bus back to Togendai, boat across the lake to Moto-Hakone. All very familiar, but still fun. Seeing as it was summer and I wasn’t on my own, it seemed like I finally had the chance to do something I always enjoy doing: get a boat.

“There is nothing – absolutely nothing – half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats.”


It was fun, though a pedalo can’t exactly hit a great speed, and there were a few hairy moments where we got caught up in the wake of one of the big tourist boats and wobbled precariously with several hundred pounds worth of camera equipment around our necks. Nevertheless, somehow we survived and got back to dry land, heading up to the lakeside torii and the nearby shrine.



Then the boat back across Ashinoko up to Togendai, at the north end of the lake.

君が代は
千代に八千代に
さざれ石の
いわおとなりて
こけの生すまで

At Owakudani, we bought the famous black eggs that add five years to your life, and I scoffled a few down, having eaten enough there to give me a few hundred years of extra living (if the cholesterol doesn’t get me first). Fuji was invisible, regrettably.

I bought a folding screen of the cover of Pinkerton Hiroshige’s Night Snow at Kambara. As we went to get the ropeway back down to Gora, the tannoy thanked us for our continued patronage. And that’s when I realised: four times, I’ve been there. Hakone’s not the prettiest place in the world, but somehow it just feels right. It’s far enough from Tokyo to be out of the smog and the bustle, but close enough to be convenient; there’s always something different each time you go, whether it’s ice and rain or sun and clear skies. I really like it there. I hope to head back there soon enough.