Edo

The day before my birthday was spent in outragous style, beginning, as ever, with a fabulous breakfast of coffee et des gateaux! Our former haunt having a genuine lack of custard, we were in search of vanilla, eggs and cream. The end of our odyssey was a fabulous wee bakery right near the entrance to Shinjuku station. European style pastries, bread and cakes of so many varieties were available along with pizza slices, croque-monsieur and croque-madame.

Ian loves to indulge in a bit of croque from time to time, so took advantage of this opportunity. No dead pig can ever enter my mouth, but lots of custardy cakes can! Cake after cake, choc-full of custard, fruits, chocolate...! Heaven on a plate and all washed down with a most creamy cappuccino! The Japanese really know how to create good coffee!

I'm sure the staff in the bakery/coffee shop must have been muttering things like, "Fat, greedy pigs!" under their breath, though, to our faces, they were beyond helpful and polite. The other customers, all exclusively Japanese, sat down to beakfast with a small glass of water and a tiny bread roll. Lord above us! The penny's just dropped. Do you think we were in the midst of a POW camp rôle play group?

Before leaving for Japan, I'd actually hoped we could make it to the Tokyo Edo Open Air Architectural Museum. Like walking into the past, apparently, and they even have a sento for visitors' use! Sadly, it was a wee bit out of town, quite a journey away, so we opted for the Edo Tokyo Museum instead. In a way, I'm glad we did.

The museum was like a journey through time and to my relief and amusement, contained very few pots. I hate museums crammed with pots. Pots, pots, pots and more pots. What is the bloody point? Oh, great, in the fifth century BCE, they drank out of this kind of clay pot with squiggly markings on it. Two hundred years later, the markings were square. Really? How interesting.

There were pots in the museum, yes, but were few and far between. Also, many museums, particularly in the west are more a commentary on leaders, whether they be kings, queens, queens, presidents or prime ministers. The Edo Tokyo Museum dedicated itself to old Edo, its people, their way of life and how they've changed from the days the first people pitched a tent to today. Wonderful, fascinating, enlightening. At points, I felt I was unconscious, in a dream-like state, in a trance, part of the fabric of the building. Everything else faded away, melted beneath my feet. I was in a four hundred year old theatre or polishing rice with a stick or rebuilding my home after earthquake and floods or tuning-in my first portable radio.

Everything was laid out before me. From above, from a reproduction bridge, once could see all of time and space. From below, the journey began... While Anne of Denmark was crowned queen of Scotland, Japan was united by Toyotomi Hideyoshi and Edo's story began.

Totally fabulous.

After our tour of the museum, we took lunch in the Japanese restaurant. Any British museum sees tourists as a foolish and captive audience. They're baffled with numbers, prices and currency conversions and are prepared to pay twenty pounds for a plate of greasy chips. Such abuse does not take place in Japan, at least, it's never happened to me. Ian and I enjoyed a most delicious meal of local delights freshly prepared on our giving the order and at a reasonable price, too.

The maître d' was an outlandish mary with a George Michael style beard. I'm sure there was a wee bit of westerner inside him. And hey, if there wasn't, I'm sure he'd take some. Nudge, nudge. Wink, wink. I have a notion, and Alan thought it too, that if Japanese men are able to grow beards, they do so. Some kind of showing off. Peacocks, as my Mother might have said. But really, dear reader, I don't mean to bitch about the man. He was very kind to us, asked if we needed a knife and fork and showed suitable facial expressions of surprise and delight when we turned his offer down and used the chopsticks provided. A battle of language, though, soon ensued. He was very keen to show off his impressive english skills, we were keen to use what little japanese we did know. Our first lesson of the day came, on leaving, when I said to our man, "Oishii!" which is japanese for delicious.

He corrected me, with a wry smile, "Oishii kat-ta des."

Obviously, these are probably very poor attempts at spelling, but the phonetics ring true.

A delightful man, really. We left with him smiling, saying, "Good-bye," and throwing a wink. To be frank, I'm surprised he didn't blow us a kiss. I'm really not being rude or sarcastic, he was such a nice guy. His kiss would have been genuine.

Marys have an uncanny way of recognising one another. Don't ask me how or why, and let's not get into the gaydar debate, but a knowing look reciprocated with something similar is all it seems to take, regardless of language or location.

After lunch and a telephone call, we made our way to Azamino to meet up with our delicious friends, Alan chan and Jun Kun. Arriving slightly early, we popped into Tully's (nothing to do with Susan) for a coffee and, quel surprise, a cake. My fourth or fifth of the day, I think. Fat pig!

Smoking is a popular hobby in Japan! I noted, though, that this seemed to be the first eatery in which I'd been where there was a designated smoking area. Most other places, if not all, were crammed with people smoking wherever they liked. As a reformed smoker, I should object to eating in a blue haze, though I actually don't. I don't mind it at all. Unlike most former smokers, I don't whine on about smoking or comment on how unhealthy it is. I'm not trying to blow my own trumpet, really, I'm not, just making a comment. Why it doesn't bother me, I'm not sure. I wondered if all this passive smoking might make me reach out for a packet of fags, but not once was I tempted, though I will admit to considering it, chiefly when I'm looking for something to do. And asking Junya for a draw on his smoke did flash through my brain, though a feel of the scar on my tongue with my teeth put pay to that.

After clearing my plate and drinking down my cappuccino, Ian and I left and waited for perhaps only thirty seconds to a minute for Alan and Junya to arrive. Perfect timing. Off to the sento we went.

Edit - in checking out some links, I came upon this. It's fabulous. The first thing a sento azamino google search throws up is Alan's Travelpod blog!

A taxi to the sento from the station was all of a fiver. Not a bad price and another arrow in my qiver, more ammunition to contradict the, "But Japan's so expensive..." argument. I'd pay the same price for a taxi ride here in Edinburgh, perhaps more.

A sento, basically, is a public bath house, a place where one will go not to swim, but to wash, in the time-honoured Japanese style with strict rules to follow. One washes with soap and water; either running water or by throwing bucket loads over oneself. After the washing and complete removal of soap, soaking takes place in very hot water and in a variety of forms: bubbles, waterfalls and even an electric current passing through l'eau! Sexes are separated, though I have, from time to time, seen young girls in the male areas with whom I presume to be their Fathers. This may be a big deal in the west and although I was uncomfortable with it, the Japanese have a wildly differing opinion to the naked body. Although the genders are separated, the naked form is not seen as something dirty, nor, I think, a thing of beauty. It's just a naked body. No big deal.

Nudism. Yes, and the ability to dispell yet another myth! Japanese men come in many different shapes and sizes, as do their cocks! We saw average ones, big ones, massive ones and tiny ones! In fact, one was so tiny, it looked like a hole! Yes, Alan and I do admit to taking a closer look from time to time. Strictly for educational purposes, of course!

After the sento, we got dressed and took a drink. My fluid intake must, I'm sure, have replaced the ounce I'd lost while bathing. I plumped for melon cream soda (it was strange) while Alan went down the traditional route with a wee bottle of milk. Milku?

From the sento, we returned to the port area of Yokohama through Sakuragicho station, met up with Alan and Junya's pals, Dan and Masumi - then went off for okonomiyaki! My favourite! Delicious! And, antibiotics all finished, washed down with copious amounts of sake!

Dan and Masumi are husband and wife; a very interesing couple and very funny. I loved chatting to them and hearing Masumi's English accent. "Who farted?" and "Home James, and don't spare the horses!" I actually thought Hyacinth Bucket was in the room!

From the okonomiyaki restaurant, we headed out to the water to watch the fireworks, part of the Perry celebrations. Very impressive. Just like the Edinburgh Hogmanay fireworks, but went on for about forty five minutes instead of the ten to fifteen I'm used to.

The colourful display over, we headed to an izakaya for drinks and nibbles. Sadly, I forgot the playing cards. I was very much looking forward to playing Scabby Queen and Cheat. We've had such fun times in Japan in the past, playing cards and drinking sake. I was really up for a repeat. Alas, ne'er mind, with the outragous company and free-flowing booze, cards were not needed for a good time. I really had the time of my life.

Our journey home was peaceful. Surprisingly few people on the train to Shinjuku. I sat, in quiet meditation, thinking of the day that had been, the day that was to come and wondering what my friends and family might be doing, scattered all over the world. Some sleeping, some going to bed, some just getting up. My birthday was only an hour away, yet at other points on the earth, it was almost a day away. Without going off on a tangent, I would like to say my mind seems, ahem, to have a mind of its own at times. At the most inappropriate times and in the most inappropriate of circumstances, I can sometimes think the most inappropriate things. I began to wonder about the mysteries of time and space, the idea that time does not exist, that it's just an invention by we humans to measure distance between events. I found comfort in that. In my vanity, I realised I wasn't going to be thirty five years old at all in the next hour, and even if I were, somewhere on the earth, I would be thirty four. Perhaps somewhere in the universe, I'd be thirty three. I'd be a time-traveller. If time exists, of course.

Or is thirty five just a number?

Back at the hotel, I took a shower and climed into bed. Indeed, in strictest terms, after looking at the clock, I was thirty five. Though I thought nothing of it and drifted, very rapidly, off to sleep.

Rainy

I'd heard that the first day of June sparked the beginning of the rainy season in Japan, so was prepared for a week of wet 'n' warm. Unsure, even now, if Japan's weather is as unpredictable as Scotland's, Friday 1st June came as a surprisingly sunny day. Damp and overcast in the morning, a few clouds before lunch and an afternoon and evening of clear skies.

Breakfast was taken in Shinjuku station. Three wonderful cakes, none, sadly, containling custard; coffee. I adore Japanese food. Really, I do, but for some reason cannot stomach it first thing in the morning. Fish and pickled plums does not a morning feast make. Breakfast in the UK, for me, consists only of liquids as a rule. I convince myself that I'm not addicted to it, but a coffee-free morning is hellish. Raw milk makes me feel physically sick, so breakfast cereals are avoided at all costs. Toast should be easy, but it's not. Bleary-eyed and heaving the toaster out from the cupboard first thing in the morning is not for me, dear reader. Mole hills are mountains within the first hour of Minge's day. So, as a rule, breakfast is coffee and nothing else; a multi-grain bar if I'm feeling hungry, which is rare. Hunger is not a rare morning feeling in Japan! The omnipresent European bakery/coffee shop is a delight and I pack in as many calories buring breakfast as I normally do during the course of an entire day, I'm sure.

After breakfast, we headed over to Ginza for a stroll around the Sony Building. Sadly, we were there far too early. It opened, along with most other shops, at either ten or eleven o'clock. What's a girl to do, out on the street of a morning - find a coffee shop for a slice of cake and a cappuccino, Kath!

I love Japanese people and their language. It's strange, wild and exciting. In the coffee/cake shop, I found myself intrigued by something which looked decidedly cheesecakey. The poor wee boy behind the counter could see I was puzzled, so attempted to help me with, "Caku."

Nice.

But what kind of caku? And dare I ask?

When the japanese borrow a word from another language, they kind of japanise it. Is that a word? It is now. A borrowed word ending in a consonant will usually have an O or U bunged on the end. But was caku a borrowed word or a a japanese word I'd never heard before? To save any further problems or embarrassment, I simply nodded and said, "Hai."

It turned out to be pumpkin pie.

Later, perhaps even the next tday, on telling this story to Alan, he told me how the Japanese even reverse the borrowed word rule and remove the final vowel from western words ending in them. The funniest example he gave was of a woman telling him she wanted to go to Toront.

While finishing my coffee, Ian scrambled about in his bag for my address book. Shit. It wasn't there. How were we to call Alan and Junya to confirm our time of arrival without their telephone number? Well, we couldn't. But contact could be made via email - so off we trotted to the Apple Shop! It's not really a shop, though I'm sure people buy things there from time to time. Each and every computer has a westerner in front of it, looking up news from home on the internet or emailing friends. It's a massive cyber café - and totally free. I emailed Alan and told him we'd be there between one and two o'clock as previously arranged. Then just hoped and prayed he'd check his email and not be worried over the lack of a telephone call.

From Apple to Sony and The Sony Building. Amazing. Just like any traditional museum replete with museum shop, though filled entirely with electronica! Everything from ancient old computers to the tiniest of MP3 players. We must have spent a good couple of hours in there, playing around with gadgets and wondering how the hell we got by with the most massive and slow PCs.

The way to Alan and Junya's house in Yokohama seems straightforward for a sheep like me. I just follow whomsoever's leading, whether it be Alan, Junya or, indeed, Ian. JR, Yokohama Metro, Tokyo Subway and Tokyo Metro route maps are just too much for my tiny brain to cope with, so I find it's best to just look away in fear of popping. After three visits, some stations and place names do now ring bells, though they rarely make any sense to me and orientating myself between stations is impossible. I recall Azamino, Shinjuku, Sakuragicho, Shibuya, Shin-Yokohama and the Den-en-toshi line, but that's about it. Names, names, names. Just words.

However, by (my) luck and (Ian's) judgement, we managed to propel our way from Ginza to Alan and Junya's house without much trouble. It was glorious to see them both and their delightful young family; a son, Yamato; a daughter, Himiko.

By this point, I was welling up. Sisters, sisters, never were there such devoted sisters. Once I'd managed to pluck my finger out of Alan's surprisingly tight bum-hole, we enjoyed the most delicious mochi and green tea served up by Junya. I adore mochi. Little mouthfuls of heaven - and this year, new varieties! We were introduced to a pink one and one wrapped in preserved cherry leaves. Most delicious! This Minge is a greedy wee boy and I shamelessly ate two. Though perhaps the second I shared with the equally greedy Alan. He can pack a lot in, I tell thee!

After filling our faces with japanese goodies, the six of us headed out for a wee walk around Alan and Junya's local trolling ground. The boys themselves were careful not to give the game away, though the poor dogs were not so wiley and let the cat out of the bag by heading straight into the first cottage we came upon. I bet if I'd gone in there I'd have seen Alan and Junya's mobile telephone numbers on the walls of the lock-ups.

Our walk in the park was fabulous. Japanese people, in some respects, are terribly British. We met fellow dog walkers and graciously exchanged compliments with them, though, to be frank, we were totally false as Himiko and Yamato were by far the prettiest kids on the block. I'm deadly serious. We also saw a group of elderly women painting scenes of cottages and a duck pond; queens mincing; children fishing.

We walked the long way back home with Alan and the children; Junya, the short. He had an interview to attend later and needed to ready himself. After meeting up with him once more and calming the darlings down to an evening sans people, the adults popped out to a fabulous suchi restaurant where we devoured an absolute ton of barely dead fish and rice. I'd have drunk some sake with my food, but still being on antibiotics, I decided it was better to be good, to be patient.

I'd bought some pills earlier in the day from a man in a chemist shop in Shinjuku. With my non-existent Japanese and his very basic English, I'd hoped I'd made it plain I'd like something to help me bring the phlegm off of my chest. Phew. Thanks to Junya's excellent translation skills, I'd got what I wanted and not the birth control pill or ground up tiger penis. I still have the tablets, actually, and will use them if ever the necessity arises again. They worked wonderfully.

From the glorious sushi restaurant (where we learned it's socially acceptable to eat it with your fingers), Junya headed off to Tokyo for a job interview while Alan, Phyllis and I headed off to the port area of Yokohama to enjoy the celebrations commemorating the opening up of Japan to trade, all thanks to Admiral Perry.

I felt a strange sense of homecoming on seeing Landmark Tower. It's the tallest building in Japan and just around the corner from Alan's first proper home in Japan, a flat he shared with an outrageous lesbian called Eleanor.

Cosmo World (a theme park) was a riot. Alan and Phyllis went on some bizarre rides taking them round and round and upside down. I refused. However, I did agree to go into the haunted house (where I was GRABBED!) and on an god-awful lof flume ride where I thought I was going to die! Scream? I thought I'd ejected my lungs from my body. I hated it, though in a weird way, the way in which I enjoy a horror film. I kind of got off on the fear and will admit to having had a boner as we hit the water. In my love/hate confusion, I lost a nose pad from my spectables. Alan is a kind man and spent what seemed like an hour helping me to find an optician in order for me to be able to wear my vision aids. I simply can't get by without them, see. Well, I can, I can see, sort of, though will siffer, without much delay, a violent headache. Also, I will trip up and many cups, saucers and plates will end up smashed on the floor.

From the optician, we went back to Cosmo World and took a trip on the ferris wheel from where we watched the fireworks. The fireworks came as something as a surprise as Alan had been told they weren't going to be set off that night. I love nice surprises. A nasty surprise would have been an earthquake at that point. The ferris wheel would have toppled over and we'd have all died horrible deaths. See, being a pesimist makes me happy.

How I was convinced to go on the ferris wheel and the log flume thingy, I'll never know. But there was worse to come, much worse, but that's another story and something for another day...

Oh! I nearly forgot the dancing dragons! Did we see them before the ferris wheel or after? And the frozen yogurt! Did we enjoy that (I had NY chessecake flavour) before or after the optician? Was I drunk? No! Just over-excited!

What a fabulous day, a fabulous night. After all that fun, we went our separate ways. Alan headed off back home, Ian and I back to Shinjuku and the Tokyo Park Hyatt, though to be frank, I think I'd have preferred to have gone back to Alan's place for the fun to continue.

Still, I had something to cheer me up... In-between alighting the train in Shinjuku station and finding the hotel, we came upon a Lawson's Station, a fabulous convenience store, part of a chain found all over Japan. Each and every one sells crème caramels in abundance. I bought one, a pack of Pocky, some crisps and headed off to bed.

Look at the day, dear reader, from Alan's angle - and click here.

Japanese

These are the last of the photographs taken during our 2006 trip to Japan, dear reader.

We spent our last evening in Kyoto at our favourite onsen...



...and then on to the Korean barbecue at the end of the street. Ian's a tongue fan.



Next morning, we checked out of our hotel. I was a little sad to leave as we were treated really well here, staff bending over backwards to be helpful. Still, we had Tokyo and its environs to look forward to and duly made our way to Yokohama.



Last time we stayed with Alan and Junya, they lived in a small flat near Landmark Tower. Since then, they moved out to the 'burbs and now live in a fabulous wee two bedroom house. They even have their own drinks automat in the garden!


The next day - and a trip to Kamakura.


We went to see the Great Buddha...



...by bicycle.



Later that evening, we made our way to Yokohama to experience our first sento.



And on the following day, Tokyo beckoned.



Cheeky man!



Condomania.



WTF?



It's the 1950s again.



Minge and a Harajuku girl.



Lots of Harajuku types, taking part in the filming of The Ramen Girl...



...starring Brittany Murphy. I'd never heard of her. Click here to see some of what was happening.



Some Harajuku girls are outrageous!



Some Harajuku girls are not girls at all!



We left Harajuku and Yoyogi Park and made our way to the Park Hyatt Tokyo.



We wanted to have a look around as Ian and I are staying there for a week this coming June.



The day ended in a Tokyo Izakaya. This is Mikiko and I. She is the wife of one of Alan's former work colleagues. What a fabulous evening we had. I got quite drunk and stole all kinds of things from the table like ashtrays and drinking vessels.

We missed the last train back to Alan and Junya's neighbourhood. Bugger! So we got a train as far as we could in the right direction and then took a cab the rest of the way. Junya brought one of his workmates back. He slept on the living room floor. He sellotaped lots of magnets to his body because he suffers with a bad back.



The next morning... Ian had no hangover whatsoever. Junya, not a drinker, was also spared. Mine was only mild. Alan looked dead. So Ian and I headed off into Yokohama to do some shopping. Junya would wait at home until Alan woke, hopefully to join us later that afternoon.

First port of call, Sogo department store.



The crabs they sell are so fresh, they're still alive!



Time for an ice cream break and, according to Ian, the best he'd ever had!



Alan was still feeling tender in the afternoon, so we made our way back home, had a cuppa, a chat, freshened up and then headed out to another sento. Feeling clean, relaxed, hungry... Time for shabu-shabu!



It was delicious.

Our last night in Japan. Sadness took hold. But we were ready to go home. Three weeks was a long time and we'd packed a lot in. Time to go home - for a rest!



So the next day we took the Narita Express to the airport.



Got off at the wrong stop (our terminal having changed without us knowing), took the bus to the correct terminal, checked in... And remembered to breathe.



This is the last toilet I used in Japan and it's of the traditional variety. Thank your lucky stars, dear reader, that this is the before picture and not after.



The journey home, however uneventful, was long and exhausting. Time zones. Messing with your body clock. Hunger. Sleepy? Not tired... Aaarrrggghhh!

It took us weeks to get over the journey and just as long to finish unpacking. The clothes weren't such a big deal: out of the case, into the laundry basket, the washing machine - and you know the rest. But the stuff we bought...! That took some sorting out, I can tell you. But sort it out we did. Eventually.

I love Japan. In simple terms, because it's so different from anything I've ever known before. It's the next best thing to travelling to another world. I can't wait to go back.

Between now and June, all I have are emails from Alan and Junya - oh, and Kelly Osbourne's Turning Japanese to keep me sane.

Download two songs that will always remind me o my 2006 trip to Japan, dear reader:

Japanese Boy

and

Harajuku Girls

But be quick! Seven days or one hundred downloads - whichever comes soonest and they're gone!