Sons of Loki

Following the conclusion of my mid-term exam, I decided to hit Tokyo again. Of course, all too soon, going to Tokyo will be a lot more difficult than hopping on the Keio Line from Tobitakyu station, and words like “Semi-Special Express” and “Keio West Entrance” will be distant memories – like a dream, even.

I hit my usual places in Shinjuku – a few rounds of Beatmania IIDX and Drummania (the latter I’m getting better at, the former I fail hugely at), the game store where I never buy anything (I only go back because I saw Drummania for sale there once, but didn’t buy it, and now I regret it) – then thought I’d check out this exhibition at the Tokyo Museum of Modern Art in Chiyoda, something about architecture that I’d read an article about in Metropolis.

Regrettably, it turned out to be closed on Mondays, but no worries: instead I enjoyed a relaxing stroll around the perimeter of the Imperial Palace, which is closed to plebs like me.
After a quick burger and a bit of kanji study in a Ginza Lotteria (about the least classy meal you can have in ultra-classy Ginza) I came to Tokyo Station (probably my favourite station in all of Tokyo; an important hub like Shinjuku, but not as inhuman and impersonal) and wound up, like I so often do, back on the streets of New York City, a dope fiend, a slave, then prison; then the madhouse; then the grave Akihabara.

Ah, I’ll miss that fucking place (I imagine in decades to come, travel guides to Tokyo will open the section on Akihabara with a quote from me along those lines). The hobby stores. The bizarre proliferation of home security stalls. The game shops, of course; the myriad electronics meccas, the maid cafes, the KFC, the Coco Curryhouse; the corner which valiantly tries to ignore the rest of the place by having trendy cafes and a Muji and a pâtisserie but lets the side down by including a (ridiculously popular) Gundam Cafe; the streets and alleys which I shamefully know like the back of my hand.

In Yodobashi Camera I listened to their hi-fi equipment, because I’ve got it into my head that, as a music-loving nerd, my room next year will not be complete without some big-ass floorstanding speakers and the cheapest best-sounding amplifier I can buy (probably the Q Acoustics 1030is and an amp from the Cambridge Audio Topaz range at the moment, he says, pretending he knows something about hi-fi systems). I thought I spied a bargain on a Marantz amp, but it turns out I can get it cheaper in the UK and it’s a bit pants anyway, so that saves me posting a 7kg amplifier back home.

So. 東京、また逢う日まで (until we meet again, Tokyo)…

I got into the Teriyaki Boyz recently, this Japanese rap supergroup comprised of Nigo (founder of A Bathing Ape), a dude called Wise, Verbal from M-Flo, and Ilmari and Ryo-Z from j-rap superstars RIP SLYME. I thought I’d expand my burgeoning interest in J-hip-hop by checking out Rip Slyme, who I was vaguely aware of before. So, first of all, listen to this. Listen to that synth bassline when it kicks in at 0:30. Isn’t that just the best thing you ever heard? Don’t you want it injected into your blood to harness the supreme sunny glory of that synth? Don’t you want it to be played from all the rooftops of all the houses across the land?

Saturday I was thinking about heading down to Shibuya to check out the BAPE store (as a child of 00s hip-hop rather than 90s rap I have been subtly brainwashed to buy designer clothes rather than shoot cops) but I ended up doing the complete opposite and shopping Akiba for DVI cables and cheap monitors (you can pick up a second-hand TFT one for 2.5k (£15), which is nuts). After that I met up with the guys in Shinjuku for nomikai, literally “drink-meet”. We found a izakaya which we thought was deliciously cheap. However, we had been burned. The izakaya was not offering cheap nomihoudai, as represented. It was some kind of gypsy grifter establishment … sorry, I’m channelling Philip K Dick here. Anyway, we ended up with a lot of food we didn’t want and a bill for 3,500 yen each and some dangerously watered-down cocktails. I wanted to use my gaijin smash to escape, but in the end decided to save it for another day.

Luckily, the club we went to was free.

We decided – well, the girls decided – to take Miles to his first ever gay club. And the place for gay clubs in Tokyo is Nichome in Shinjuku, so that’s where we went.

Man, it was gay. Nary a woman in sight. Bars with hilarious names. Men holding hands. Sunkus (truly the gayest combini chain). It was kind of exciting, in a gay way, like I imagine San Francisco to be. We met a Australian girl with her male friend (gay, no doubt) who was trying to find the same gay club as us (“Arty Farty”, which sounds pretty gay). Eventually we found it, went inside, and bought our mandatory gay drink (mine was a gay Vanilla Mule). Unsurprisingly, the place was packed with men. From what I hear, Arty Farty is the only place to attract a sizable gaijin (or should I say “gay-jin”? no, perhaps not) crowd, so there were quite a few foreigners about. And so we drank our drinks and entered the gay dancefloor, fittingly as “I Will Survive” came on.

And you know what? It wasn’t bad. No, actually, I had a really good time. There was just a different vibe to other clubs; everyone was there to have a good time, not to get pissed or start a fight or hook up with girls. (Uh, you know what I mean.) The music wasn’t too bad, and it was a whole lot cheaper than other places in Tokyo – and you got access to their other branch for free, which means basically two clubs for the price of none.

Today I went to the Tachikawa immigration bureau to get a student work permit. It was my first interaction with the machine of Japanese government bureaucracy by myself, so I’m surprised it went as smoothly as it did. I brought my documents and the form from TUFS authorising me to work, waited patiently for my number to come up, went up, was told by a scary man to fill out a form, filled out the form, waited for my next number to come up, went back up and – yes! – hadn’t done anything wrong. Japanese efficiency applying to everything but government, I should receive my permit in three weeks.

It was quite interesting, the ethnic mix in the waiting room. I know it’s not so, but always I tend to assume that the majority of gaijin in Japan are Americans, followed by Europeans, but that’s a colossal mistake. Of the zainichi (from zainichi gaikokujin, lit. “living in Japan foreigners”) the vast majority are ethnic Koreans and Chinese, who have quite an interesting place in Japanese society – they were born in Japan, have lived in Japan their entire lives, speak only Japanese and are to all intents and purposes Japanese, and yet just … aren’t. It’s an interesting subject.

On Christmas Day I unwrapped my presents – ah, precious books! in English! – and caught a train to Shibuya for a bit of a wander and a hunt for lunch. A good roast was out of the question, so I decided to settle for a big old katsu kare – only to find that there were no kare joints to be found. Eventually I settled for katsu rice with a big old bowl of noodles, which is hardly traditional Christmas fare, but filled me up good.
I kept seeing other gaijin in the streets: wondering why they were alone in Tokyo today, wondering if they were thinking the same about me. (Ah, the loneliness of the long distance Tokyo ex-pat.)
Luckily I curtailed this aimless wo/andering with a trip to Akiba to meet up with my dear buddy James, up from Kobe Konan for a few days. We hit one of the multi-floor games stores, where I debated for a looong time whether to buy a “junk” second-hand PS2 for ¥2000 (£13) before ultimately deciding I should save my money, because it probably wouldn’t work.
Having shown James what the inside of a games store looks like, he asked me if there wasn’t anywhere more interesting to go in Tokyo, and so I finally settled on Odaiba for want of anything else.
Oh, crazy Odaiba. We went to Venus Fort, which is a recently-refurbished shopping mall and destination for a squillion couples who were enjoying a Christmas Day date (the traditional yuletide activity in Japan). Oh, and me and James. We’re totally not a couple. Ahahaha.


After a wander about and gunning down a few zombies on the Silent Hill arcade shooter (is it zombies in Silent Hill? I confess to never playing the games) we headed along to the excitingly named TOKYO TELEPORT, which in my mind very strongly reminds me of some Halo level. It looks like arcs of blue plasma should be pulsing from the top, don’t you think?


We got the train from TOKYO TELEPORT! back to the Shinj, where we met Satomi and went to the Tokyo Metropolitan Building’s free observatory deck (the perfect place for skint people like myself to bring visitors!). And so Christmas Day wound up in an izakaya with Jay and Si (my Leeds coursemates, also at Kobe), a plate of chips and some dirt-cheap gintoniks. Heavenly.

Yesterday James, Miles and I made a long overdue visit to an Akihabara maid cafe.
Okay. Maid cafes. You go there, pay a 500 yen cover charge. The staff are all cute young girls dressed as maids. They speak to you in squeaky voices and very polite Japanese and call you “master” and bring you drinks and stir your coffee (“stir your coffee” – I believe this calls for a Pythonesque nudge nudge) and make pretty ketchup designs on your omerice. You can have your picture taken with them.
All this will ring alarm bells for most people – Westerners at least – and I have to say I was really put off by what I thought was the sleaziness of these places. Until, that is, I read up a little more on them, and finally felt slightly more comfortable about visiting one. You know what? They aren’t really that sleazy at all.
Yes, a lot of the customers are otaku, but there were more than a few girls there. One guy had brought his girlfriend (or had she brought him?). The overriding aesthetic (at least at the place we went to) is cute, not sexy. Everything is so sugary sweet that the impressions of some kind of weird hostess bar couldn’t be further from your mind. It is moe, more a pure appreciation of cute kawaii femininity than a leery, pervy lust. At least that’s how I saw it.
I got a cake with a bunny rabbit drawn in chocolate and strawberry sauce. When we ordered pizza, we had to do this ancient Japanese purification ritual (possibly) of making the heart shape with our hands and waving them about while chanting in Japanese. Someone ordered a cocktail, and the poor guy got dragged up on stage while the maid sang a mixing song, waving a cocktail shaker around.
(I had this awesome idea for this Densha Otoko-style romance called Daidokoro Onna – Kitchen Girl about a plain-looking girl who works in the kitchen of a maid cafe and falls in love in one of the patrons, an unusually hunky otaku, but because she’s too ugly to work as a maid she never gets to talk to him until Episode 6 when she has a makeover and in ancient anime tradition merely has to take off her glasses and immediately becomes gorgeous and the rest of the series is about them falling in love and then there’d be a second series but it would be crap.)

With our wallets considerably lightened we met back up with the guys and girls and headed back to Odaiba along the lovely Rainbow Bridge.


We ate at a weird restaurant in Venus Fort, apparently themed in a vague 1930s Hong Kong style with crumbling brickwork and flyers pasted over the walls outside and a kind of Orientalist red-and-black interior. Food was alright, though my portion of chicken and cashew nuts was tiny. Later, ice cream, and then Miles and I said our farewells and got the train back to Shinjuku. I can’t wait to head to Kobe to see those guys in their native environment.

Playing a stolen guitar along to an old Brian Eno track, and it is Christmas! Tokyo has gone in for it in a mildly big way: there are lights everywhere, and Christmas cheer, and Mariah Carey bellows forth from every shop. The day itself here is more of a thing for couples to get together and go down to Odaiba or Shibuya or wherever, which is kind of sweet, even for hopeless singles like myself.

So while my stomach has been grumbling for roast pig and potatoes and stuffing and gravy and carrots and maybe peas and trying to cram ourselves round a tiny table in a room that is slightly too cold with 60s Christmas hits playing and everyone’s wearing hats and reading out lame jokes before the customary slouch in the living room watching whatever crap’s on and gorging on more food – ah, Christmas! – my friend Zo’s been visiting from Leeds and sleeping on my floor and other people have come in from other parts of the country and it’s been an exciting and very expensive week.

Saturday saw a trip to Shinjuku with Rob and Zo, where we dined on fine okonomiyaki (Japanese omelette-y fried noodles … like a pancake … or maybe pizza but not really anything like pizza) in a fine-enough department-store food-court establishment. My coursemates Hugo and James had made the trip up from Nagoya, and our friend Emily was in from England staying with her relatives, and then Kaz turned up, and it was like old times.

You wouldn't like Rob when he's angry.

Then up to 5F in a nondescript tower to a branch of Hub to meet up with Zo again, who was with a few of his friends – Hosei graduates who came to Leeds a few years back. Zo’s been at Leeds for six or seven years now on various degrees, so he’s like a constant Methuselah of the Japanese Society, familiar with many years of graduates.
I couldn’t help but be amused by an incident in the lift as we left, when it stopped on 3F and we were confronted by a Hooters-style semi-girlie-bar, with scantily-clad waitresses and two Japanese men waiting for the lift. There were a few comedic seconds of silence at we stared at each other, each bamboozled by the scene before our eyes – the apparent respectability of the two men, the half-naked waitress, the lift packed with gaijin sardines – before both sides of the divide erupted into astonished conversation and the doors mercifully closed.

On Monday we all met up again in Akihabara, for some serious geekage. In Yodobashi Camera, I played an electronic guitar with no strings (verdict: the most pointless instrument in the world) and made Bach-aficionado Hugo play the JR station jingles from a book of sheet music we found in the keyboard section. Then a wander round the hobby section, where the rows and rows of Gundam models stirred some long-forgotten otakuness in me, but ultimately failed to cause a relapse of my condition, thankfully.

We then headed to Odaiba, the Tokyo waterfront area, which I must admit is growing on me. We had a wander around the shops, a gaze at the skyscrapers of Minato Ward glittering across the Bay, and then (in bitterly cold windswept conditions) watched the waterfront lightshow, which was pretty cool (even if it is essentially a sprinkler on a pier with a projector pointed at it).

Tuesday saw a trip with Zo to the famous Starbucks over Shibuya Crossing for a eclair latte thing(?).

After I bought a polarising filter for my camera, Zo split off to elsewhere and I met Emily and the guys to watch the new One Piece film with the guys in Shibuya (coincidentally at the very same cinema I saw Evangelion 1.0 at two years ago). Knowing absolutely nothing about One Piece, and knowing not so much Japanese either, I wasn’t sure how much I’d get but it was an enjoyable romp, for sure. The others didn’t seem to like it so much (being One Piece fans, I imagine they find that the franchise is running a little out of steam) but I’m looking forward to starting on the manga that sits upon my shelf.

After that we met back up with Zo and assaulted a local game centre, where much fighting occurred and I played Taiko no Tatsujin (high score!) and Drummania (sort of getting the hang of it, even if I got a ‘E’ on “Through The Fire and Flames”).


We also bought some cream shoes (I am entirely unsure of the proper name, but that’s the katakana for you) in Shibuya, which are basically incredibly unhealthy cream puffs sold from a place by the station which cost ¥150 and are oh god so delicious, so sugary on the outside and so pastry-y in the middle and then so sweet sweet cream on the inside.

Finally, Zo, Miles and I wound up in Kichijoji to meet Kaz, who has a car, and promised to drive us aimlessly around Tokyo until the wee hours. He sped off on his Triumph to get his car:


while we loitered dangerously in a local Family Mart and laughed at the merchandise.

Kaz came back with his Toyota and we drove into Shinjuku – so cool – and picked up Rob and went barrelling downtown just as “All The Small Things” came on and it was sweet.


Tokyo was being gorgeous as ever, the endless streets, endless stores, endless people on their errands – it occurred to me that there are oh so many stories in the naked city – and I realised that you don’t really get as good a sense of the sheer mindblowing size of the Chiba-Tokyo-Yokohama megacity from a train as you do from a car, where it’s obvious just how it keeps going, and going, and going, and every street you cross over at a junction has its own shops and homes and people just like the one you’re driving down, and then there are a hundred other streets after that one; and you slowly begin to build the resulting grid of streets up in your mind and you realise that this city is the biggest place you’ll ever see and it is beautiful. It made me go all funny inside, to see the salarymen and the taxi drivers and the couples flashing past in an instant, like I wanted to find the words to describe the beauty and the lonely existentialism of the night as we flashed across the Arakawa but just couldn’t. We put on the Akira soundtrack, which was great as the skyscrapers went by, and then the Teriyaki Boyz’ “Tokyo Drift” as we got into Ginza, which was good dumb fun, and then bellowed “LINDA LINDA!!” along with the Blue Hearts as we headed down to Yokohama. Yokohama seemed pretty nice: surprisingly different to neighbouring Tokyo, more open, more modern.

Today is 文化の日, which means Culture Day, which means another day off school for our lazy asses.

I went to Yoyogi to try to find the Kinokuniya bookstore to get an English copy of this Japanese textbook, J301, but I wound up in a dead neighbourhood with no bookstore in sight (although I did find the curiously quiet site of the NTT DoCoMo Yoyogi Building). So instead of wandering around there (it was cold and windy and I stupidly hadn’t brought a jacket) I made yet another trip to damn Akihabara to buy a camera.

It is a Sony A300 with a 18-70mm zoom lens. It is lovely.

(There was a fun exchange in the shop. There I was, actually using practical Japanese in my conversation with the clerk, and I heard a tourist behind me ask a flummoxed shop assistant, in English, if there was a toilet. The assistant seemed bamboozled, so I stepped in and, cool as a cucumber, translated. “There’s no toilet, I’m afraid,” I said, before going back to my purchase. Oh yeah.)

So what better place to try out my fancy new camera than the Tokyo Jidai Matsuri, a uniquely Japanese parade of history from Asakusa to nearby Tawaramachi? I met up with Fran and Ella, and after a quick Mos Burger we staked out a spot. Oh, the things what we saw!

So after that we caught the metro to Asakusa (pointlessly, as we found out – would have been easier to walk) and headed to Sensoji temple to meet our (now mutual) friend Satomi. Sensoji has a special place in my heart, being one of the final places I went to before leaving Tokyo forever last time. Fulla tourists, but that’s pretty much the course.

The temple gate. (The temple itself was covered up for refurbishment or something, probably.)

It was pretty dark inside, but the A300 was up to the task.

And then a wander through the little shopping alleys and into Asakusa proper, Tokyo’s 下町 – literally “downtown”, but more “Altstadt”.

Asakusa's famed "golden turd", atop the Asahi beer building.

Friday we had the big ol’ welcome party #2, which was fun. Spoke a bunch of Japanese to a bunch of people, leant my speakers (possibly unwisely, although they survived in the end) for Tom to do some DJing (must learn Ableton), was ridiculously excited when he put some Shinichi Osawa on (apparently he’s gonna be appearing in Shibuya sometime next month, which is a must-see) and was going to go to that holy-of-holies WOMB Shibuya until I realised that the increasing fatigue would not see me through ’til 5am. So I went to bed, which was probably the more sensible option.

In the morning I watched a game of American football from my balcony, which was actually rather fun to see. I don’t know why I harbour a secret love for gridiron – the action and aggression, the intricate chess-like strategies, the relative unpopularity of it in the UK, or the whole homoerotic machismo thing of it all – but I wandered down on my way to the supermarket and got a few action shots.

Later, after making a tuna pasta salad thing (is tuna expensive or what?) I decided, what with a free afternoon, to head to my old haunt of Akihabara and check out the prices on second-hand DSLRs. I’m realising that after two years of loyal service and one river dunking, my trusty S3 IS just isn’t as good as it was, and given how much I enjoy photography, it only makes sense to upgrade to a proper SLR. Judging by the cameras in the second-hand stores, I can get some nice kit for a reasonable price – currently I’m torn between the Sony a300 for 37,000 yen, or a real bargain: the Olympus E-510 for 26000 yen (which will probably be gone soon). Or I can head upwards to the mid-low-range SLRs, like the Canon EOS Kiss F (EOS 1000D in the West) for 44,000 yen – a little expensive but I do trust Canon for good cameras.

It was raining yesterday. Tokyo’s always best in the rain.



(blergggh, ISO noise)

I was in Yodobashi Camera when Rob gave me a ring, saying that they was hoping to head down to Odaiba to visit this onsen (Japanese bathhouse) with Kazuhisa (whom we know from Leeds last year), so I made a miserable journey in the rain down to Shimbashi station and caught the train with them across the Rainbow Bridge (upon which it was pretty bright tonight*) to Odaiba, the weird artificial island/waterfront district.
The onsen was pretty cool, though obviously more commercial than the little traditional ones. You got a choice of yukata and, like my beloved Seoul jjimjilbang, they had a communal area with restaurants and shops and amusements and such. (Not as good as the Dragon Hill Spa, but then what is?) The baths were extremely pleasant. We chilled/boiled in the outside bath, our bottom halves at a scorching ~40 degrees, our top halves pelted by the rain – consequently, we were quite comfortable overall. I took a plunge in the 20 degree pool (I can stand cold much more than hot, apparently) and then wound up with five minutes in the nicest bath of all, the one that was … just right.

Then ice cream. A lovely trip (even if it did bankrupt me).

* Belle & Sebastian, “Wrapped Up In Books”