Fukuoka

After a quick lunch at Okonomi-mura (a okonomiyaki mall with 28 stalls serving up Hiroshima’s revision of the Osakan dish), I board the shinkansen for the last time, bound for Hakata station on the island of Kyushu. I expect the industrialization to drop off a little as I approach Japan’s South West and I hope to get a glimpse of the Inland Sea. However, I find that - alongside the railway at least - there is no respite from developed Japan; or, eyelids heavy, perhaps I literally blink and miss it.

The train pulls into Hakata station and I put away my Japan Rail Pass for the last time. My hotel is directly opposite the station and I think - not for the first time - how nice it is that the train station is often the heart of the community here; surrounded by shops and restaurants, the station is often the most vibrant part of a Japanese town, rather than in England and North America where the crumbling relics of our once great train systems often occupy the least desirable parts of our major cities.

Hakata station is actually in the city of Fukuoka - its name being a relic from before the two towns were combined. I came here for a number of reasons, none of which really relate to Fukuoka itself. Firstly, it’s the western end of the JR line and since this tour of Japan was primarily a train journey, it seems appropriate to end it at this terminus. Secondly, I’m flying to Shanghai next and Fukuoka is a short hop across the East China Sea. Lastly, a good friend of mine once lived here and I think it’s always nice to see someone else’s stomping grounds if the opportunity presents itself. In discussions with this friend, I never got the sense there was anything in particular to do or see in Fukuoka, so I arrive here with no real itinerary or expectations.

I take the subway to Nishijin and follow one of the canals out towards Hawks Town and the impressive Fukuoka Tower. Next, I wander along the shore to Momochi where I find myself on a beach. It turns out, that to sit on a beach and look at the sea (that I will very soon be crossing) is exactly what I need at the end of this trip. I sit and watch my shadow grow and the sun set in the land of the rising sun and think back on what I have seen over the last ten days, the miles I have covered and the plans I made (and then hurriedly altered). I feel that I have done fairly well, really, and that Japan had been very good to me.

As I spend the rest of the evening eating and drinking in the hospitable districts of Tenjin and Canal City, I wonder if China could possibly be as good as this...

Hiroshima

I awake with an admittedly well-deserved hangover, that, coupled with the fact that this is my last full day in Japan, sees me in a melancholy mood as I board the shinkansen for Hiroshima. At the station kiosk I equip myself with Pocari Sweat, a can of cold coffee and a bag of peanuts labelled “The Best Traveller’s Friend” and wait for my train. As always, the train is on-time and the epitome of comfort and I am soon snoozing my way towards Hiroshima.

It’s another beautiful autumn day and the sky is bright blue as I emerge from Hiroshima station and begin my walk across town. My first stop, the Shukkie-en garden, is a circular-tour garden from the Edo period and its name means shrunken scenery. It uses a number of techniques to appear larger than its actual size. The original garden was created in 1620, but it was destroyed in the events of 1945 so has been lovingly and painstakingly reconstructed since. It’s a lovely walk on such a sunny day and before long, the hungover wretch that boarded the train in Osaka has been revitalized and is alive once more. I enter the Art Museum via the park and it’s virtually deserted, so I get the exhibits all to myself and can spend long minutes contemplating Dali’s Dreams of Venus.

I pass Hiroshima-jo and marvel at the reconstruction job. The castle, originally built in 1589 was utterly destroyed by the atomic blast, but
it’s hard to tell that from the rebuilt towers and moat that stand there today. In fact there’s little evidence that, just over sixty years ago, the ground I’m now standing on was scorched earth; that is until I reach the twisted wreckage of the A Bomb Dome. Originally the Industrial Promotion Hall, the skeletal dome has been maintained ever since the blast, at which it was at the very centre. Old photographs depict the scene: the dome stands alone with nothing but wreckage visible in every direction. It’s a basic and stark memorial, one that allows no softening or euphemisms; Hiroshima was once utterly destroyed and no-one here intends to forget it.

Across the street stands the Children’s Peace Monument, depicting a little girl holding aloft an origami crane. It’s a tribute to little Sasaki Sadako who folded the cranes in the hope that if she made one thousand of them, she’d be cured of the leukemia she contracted in 1955 as a result of exposure to radiation. Although she died before reaching her goal, her classmates continued the effort and her hopes are now immortalized in steel. Other memorials include a clock, stopped at 8:15 and surrounded by rubble from the blast and the Memorial Cenotaph, a smooth arch, through which the A Bomb Dome and Park are visible [pictured].

I make my way back the station, no doubt thinking the same thoughts that thousands of others have thought before, having witnessed Hiroshima’s dual testaments: to Man’s capacity for destruction, and to the power of hope and the ability to rebuild.

Minami

I emerge from the Namba subway into one of Osaka’s most vibrant districts - Minami. I head first to the market of Kuromon-Ichiba, where an incredible array of items are on offer from live fugu (blowfish) and crabs , to plastic food models, myriad sake flasks and bizarre looking utensils. From there, I take the narrow alleys of Hozenji-yokocho, for a small glimpse of Old Osaka before emerging onto the bustling Dotombori [pictured], lined with restaurants that are seemingly engaged in eternal competition over who can display the most extravagant animatronic models above their shopfronts. I note the location of Kani Doraku - easy to spot on account of the huge crab waving its pincers at the passersby - but I’m not quite ready for my crab feast so continue on into Amerika-mura, where it seems someone has gathered the top percentile of freakish Los Angeleans and dropped them on unsuspecting Osaka, where they peddle besloganed t-shirts, denim and leather. Suitably dazzled by the people and décor of Minami, I loop back around to Kani Doraku for my long anticipated crab feast.

After admiring the tanks of crab, I take my seat at the restaurant. Kani Doraku translates very roughly as ‘crab - enjoy as you like it,’ and the house specialty is a five course crab dinner. I opt for this and am not disappointed as the following delights make their way to my table: crab miso soup, crab tempura (expertly fried with the pincer still attached at one end), grilled crab (grilled by me at the table, less expertly), boiled crab, crab sushi (I’d have to admit to finding the crab sashimi a bit slimy, but the rolls were fantastic) and finally green tea ice cream. With the exception of dessert, everything about Kani Doraku is crab themed; the chopstick holders are crabs, the napkins depict crabs and scattered everywhere are little origami crabs [pictured, p41]. Suitably full on crab and more than a little sake, I emerge on the Dotombori and head into Kirin City, to sample some of the many excellent Japanese beers that never make it out of their homeland.

A long time later, I stumble elegantly out of Kirin City and start to make my way back to Umeda. I can’t resist partaking of one last Osakan culinary delight before I leave, so get some takoyaki from a stand. Takoyaki are deep friend balls of batter, smothered in okonomiyaki sauce and mayonnaise, with a little piece of octopus in the middle. The first one is delicious but finishing all six proves to be a challenge.

Back in Umeda, I return to the Multimedia Café to upload some more photos and - not quite ready to say goodbye to Osaka - I take the slow route back the hotel, stopping off for a beer or two and even finding room for some beef tataki.

Osaka is hailed as a paradise for those that enjoy good food. While I'm no gourmet, I certainly enjoy eating and have been treated to some unique and excellent dishes here. I never did get to see Osaka's castle, but when I really enjoy a city, it's my rule to try and reserve something for a subsequent visit. I'd be thrilled to return to Osaka one day and when I do, I'll keep my date with the indomitable fortress of Osaka-jo.

Nara

The next morning, my mouth still watering when I think of last night’s beef, I travel to Osaka's Namba station and board the train to Nara. It’s a beautiful day and I’m ready for more temples. Nara was Japan’s first capital city, founded in the 8th century and it contained many great monuments to Buddha before Kyoto even existed. Chief among Nara’s remaining structures is the great Buddha hall of Todai-ji [pictured], the largest wooden building in the world and home to the fifteen metre-tall Buddha Vairocana.

I start my walk at Kofuku-ji, under the shadow of its five storey pagoda before continuing on into Nara Park. The park is famous for its sika deer (regarded as messengers of the gods in the Shinto religion) and there are a number of them around the grounds of Kofuku-ji. Until I reach the tourist hotspot of Todai-ji, the full extent of the deer population is kept hidden, but - drawn to the tourists with their pre-package deer food - vast numbers of them mingle with people outside the temple. Most of the deer had their antlers trimmed at the recent festival I barely missed, but some specimens still exhibit impressive headgear and on one occasion I find myself in a quiet side street, face-to-face with a large stag. He passes nonchalantly by and I – glancing briefly at the sharp antlers - do (almost) the same. Apparently the Shinto gods had nothing to say to me today.

The Daibutsuden of Todai-ji, like so many of Japan’s monuments, comes complete with a lead-up that is pregnant with anticipation. The golden horns of the Buddha’s hall - just visible above the outer wall- catch the sunlight and guide you in like a beacon. The air is thick with incense even outside the hall and is almost viscous once inside. The whole scene drips with temple atmosphere and the only possible distraction is the animated monks selling souvenirs and postcards. The Buddha, with fingers the size of a human being, is an incredible statue even though very little of the original remains, having lost its hands and, more than once, its head to numerous fires and earthquakes since 1180. On my way out, I buy a Maneki Neko (lucky beckoning cat) in the hope that it is extra lucky, coming from such a hub of spirituality.

I spend the rest of the afternoon wandering the eastern hills, admiring the view from the terrace at Nigatsu-do and then making my way south to the shrines of Tamukeyama Hachimangu and Kasuga Taisha, before looping back around to the five storey pagoda and basking in the sun by Saruawa-ike, taking my lead from the numerous turtles perched on rocks there. Nara is an easy and entirely worthwhile day trip from Osaka and I board the train back to Namba with fond memories and lots of photos.

Kobe

The rain catches up with me as I make my way to Kobe. I pull into Shin Kobe station and, with the image of a mist shrouded Fuji fresh in my memory, I decide to skip the Rokko Arima ropeway with it’s promised views of Kobe and Mt. Rokko and head straight down into Kobe itself.

Wandering through the Old Foreign Settlement, I decide to seek shelter in a tea house. I suddenly feel very much at home, drinking my tea and looking out at western, brick buildings and - of course- the rain. I don’t normally seek echoes of home when I’m abroad, but this one was particularly comforting, being un-looked for, so I order a slice of cake to go with my tea and smile to myself when I notice that it’s four o’clock on the dot. I leave the warm embrace of the teahouse and make my way towards the Port of Kobe.

The first thing I find is the Earthquake memorial, where a section of damaged harbour is preserved, complete with split pavement, broken railings and leaning lampposts. I’m reminded of the twisted metal in Tokyo that stood as a memorial to that earthquake and I think of the cultural contrast between the western preference for statues and brass plaques, as opposed to the Japanese taste for memorials that are a little more visceral and thought provoking; not better or worse, just different.

Next I find the Kobe Maritime Museum and the Port Tower [pictured], which glow brightly in the gloomy evening and though the Maritime Museum is closed, there are a few outdoor exhibits. One of which is the Yamoto I, a silent, propeller-less boat that was created in the early 1990s by Mitsubishi. The magnetohydrodynamic drive (powered by a liquid helium-cooled superconductor) works by applying a magnetic field to a conducting fluid - in this case seawater - and contains no moving parts. The boat never moved beyond the prototyping stage as the engineers were unable to improve upon a top speed of 8 knots, but the idea of a silent powerboat is compelling and on this futuristic island nation, it seems perfectly at home.

After a particularly disastrous attempt at locating the guidebook-recommended A1 Steakhouse, I choose instead a restaurant named Kitayama for the most anticipated part of my trip to Kobe - Kobe Beef. Raised on a diet of beer and oats and given daily massages, the Wagyu cattle that produce Kobe Beef are arguably the most pampered cows in the world and the result is a tasty, well marbled, tender beef. Mine came in the form of a charcoal-grilled steak, served rare and absolutely delicious. Of course, I stumbled upon A1 almost the moment I left Kitayama, but it didn’t matter. I’d had my beef and it was good.

Himeji

It is still raining heavily when I leave the subway and I wonder what that means for my planned excursion to Himeji to see Japan’s most impressive feudal-era fortress: Himeji-jo. I decide to risk it, and jump on the shinkansen to Himeji. The rain is just easing off when I arrive at Himeji but it’s a bit of a grey day, so not ideal aesthetic conditions for viewing the ‘white heron’ castle. Upon arrival at Himeji, it’s easy to decide which way to go as the main street - Otemachi-dori - leads right up to the castle, which I can just about make out in the distance.

The kilometre walk from the station provides uninterrupted views of the castle, known as the White Heron because of the shape of its donjon. The countless souvenir shops are an intrusion, but I focus on the end of the street, at the monstrous structure. As it looms larger in the distance, I recall countless images from samurai films that used the castle grounds and, of course, where James Bond trained to be a ninja in You Only Live Twice. Again, I feel like I’m leaving modern Japan behind and returning to an older time, but instead of the philosophers and monks of Kyoto, it’s a time of warriors and castle keeps, of sieges and feudal lords.

The castle was never captured and, as it towers above me, it’s easy to imagine why not. It’s quite a climb to the top and there are plenty of little alcoves and platforms from which defenders could fire arrows or pour boiling oil. Slightly incongruous is the West Bailey building, which acted as the Princess Sen’s quarters during the mid-seventeenth century and has a much more comfortable appearance than the utilitarian castle, with its gun racks and hanging samurai armor. The view from the top of the castle is spectacular, even on such a grey day, and the forbidding, misty hills provide a taste of what might have made a sentry shiver as he kept watch from the walls so long ago.

Presented with such a massive structure, it’s hard to notice the details, but almost every stone of the castle has a story to tell. Successive daimyo (lords), often had problems finding stones for their castle expansions and in some places you can see their imaginative solutions, such as using coffins and grave stones or - in the case of more popular lords - millstones donated by the general populace.

As I work my way back down the zigzag path from the keep, I marvel that, while the surrounding area was devastated during World War II, this fortress remains to tell us its long and - thankfully- continuing story.

Sea Creatures

It’s pouring with rain when I wake up, so I’m somewhat fortunate that my plan for this morning is to visit the aquarium. Having mastered the subway, I arrive at the aquarium to find a notice pinned to the door warning that there will be approximately four thousand school children inside today. It’s a considerate warning, but I decide to brave the aquarium anyway, mainly because the weather argues against doing much else.


The star of the Osaka Aquarium is undoubtedly their whale shark, and the aquarium is designed around the monster’s tank so that whenever you emerge from an exhibit there’s a chance to catch a glimpse of it. I'm lucky enough to see it at feeding time, and a two storey-tall fish, suspended vertically in the water while it's fed from above is quite a sight. I also enjoy the crab exhibits and, diabolically, my thoughts start to drift ahead, to my planned crab feast at Kani Doraku later in the week. Feeling quite hungry and struggling against the rising tide of school children, I decide it's time to move on.

I extricate myself from the now overrun aquarium, looking for somewhere to get breakfast where the ratio of adult to child is a little more balanced than 1:250. The nearby malls are out of the question, so in the end I settle for a can of cold coffee and some more onigiri before getting back on the subway.

Sunset in Osaka

I arrive in Osaka with most of the afternoon already gone and the fortress of Osaka-jo will be the likely casualty of my extended stay in Kyoto. Since Osaka will be my base for a few days, I take the time to unpack and unwind with a cold beer, somewhat shocked by the realisation that - much as I liked the ryokan of Hakone and Kyoto - I'm glad to be back in a hotel and close to such amenities as beer-vending machines.

I’m staying in Umeda, so decide to explore the local area. It’s strange to be in such a modern city considering that just a few hours ago I was surrounded by eight hundred year-old temples, and while Osaka is ancient, it’s hard to appreciate that when looking at it today. The contrast is amplified considerably when I find myself at the base of the Umeda Sky building [pictured]. I decide to ascend to the Floating Gardens observatory, where - 170m above the ground - I get an excellent bird’s-eye view of the city, not to mention a fantastic sunset. It seems like Osaka goes on forever and I fancy that in the distance I am looking at Kobe and other towns that have been swallowed-up by the sprawling Osaka, so that they have now become suburbs. I start to think of Osaka as a massive octopus, sitting in the Kansai plains and reaching out to swallow up its neighbours.

With the sun duly set, I return to ground level. I’m carrying a significant amount of photos now and think it’s time I found somewhere where I can upload them. Wandering around Umeda I find the excellent Multimedia Café. A few minutes later, I’m settled in a comfy leather armchair uploading several GBs of images and taking the opportunity to review my trip so far and share it with friends. If I had time to kill, this café would be an excellent place to do so. It’s sort of a DVD-library/video game arcade/internet café. Basically, if you can do it with a computer, you can do it here and in very comfortable surroundings - even a private booth, if you so desire. But, with my photos now stored online, I head out into the Osaka night in search of food - specifically okonomiyaki, which is one of Osaka’s specialties.

My early efforts are frustrated and in one food court I’m told that “No, we only have Japanese food here,” but, about to give up, I stumble upon Fugetsu in the upper levels of a mall. Initial signs are good; it's very busy and - with the description of "it's a sort of pancake, pizza thing" as my only reference - the food being prepared here could be feasibly be the elusive, fabled okonomiyaki. I sit down at a grill-table and wonder how much of the preparation of this meal will fall to me; am up to the challenge? Luckily, I just have to sit back and enjoy the sizzling as I opt for a squid okonomiyaki (mainly because it’s the only set of characters I recognize in an all-Japanese menu).

The final product - made from an omelette-like mixture of shredded cabbage, egg and squid - is delicious and goes extremely well with the Japanese malt lager that I've grown rather partial to. It’s been a fabulous day, what with the successful Kinkaku run this morning, great views of Osaka at sunset and then okonomiyaki for dinner. I go to bed eager to wake and find out what else this octopus has to offer.

Golden Pavilion

At this point, I don’t know very much about the Golden Pavilion. I wonder if I should just get on the train to Osaka as planned, with nothing but the memory of my failed attempt to see Kyoto’s most famous sight. I look at the postcard that - prematurely, perhaps - I bought yesterday. It looks impressive enough: it’s gold, it’s a pavilion, but do I have the inclination to travel to the other side of town and, more importantly, do I have time? Since I have to check out anyway, I do that and delay the need to make a decision by heading to the station, which is roughly on the way to Kinkaku-ji and a good place to get a bus.

En route to the station I continue the debate: years from now, will I be saying "I'll never forget the Golden Pavilion" or - just another box checked on a list of things-to-see - will I say "Hm, what's that? Golden Pavilion. Yes, I've done that". Finally, I make a decision. Sort of. I reason that if there's somewhere I can leave my bag, I'll give the pavilion a second chance; if not, it's on to Osaka.

I arrive at the station and look around for luggage lockers. I find them. I get confused. There aren’t any English instructions or any indication of how long I get for the indicated 200 yen. Finally, despite visions of my locker springing open when the money runs out, or of my bag being lost forever in some incomprehensible Japanese Lost and Found organisation, I close the locker and head to the bus stop.

Under the shadow of the obstinately modern Kyoto Tower, there are huge queues at the two stops where the buses for Kinkaku-ji pull-up and I start to get anxious, but after half an hour a bus arrives and - miraculously - we all fit on board. It’s not the most comfortable bus ride I’ve ever experienced, but an hour later I emerge at Kinkaku-ji, glad of the fresh air and the fact that I didn’t bring my luggage with me.

A lot of people visit Kinkaku-ji. I’m not sure of how else to put it; it’s popular. As I progress through the queue and ticket booth and join the path that leads to the pavilion, I become part of a single, shuffling mass. There is a tangible sense of expectation and, as the first golden twinkle appears from within the trees, there is a collective intake of breath that is expelled forcefully when we round the corner and are presented with the full glory of the pavilion. It hits you - not once, but twice, as its reflection shimmers in the Kyoko-chi (Mirror Pond). I can’t believe I even entertained the notion of skipping this. There are some things in this world that a photograph cannot do justice and I’ve just been privileged enough to see one of them: a three storey building, plated with gold and gleaming incongruously in the middle of a forest. It's bizarre, it's opulent, it's definitely not just a checked box on an itinerary.

As the touristic mass separates to visit tea rooms, gift shops and the like, I return to the bus and make my way to the station. I arrive to find my bag safe and sound within the still-locked locker, just as it was three hours ago. I board the Thunderbird Limited Express to Osaka and wonder if I’ll see anything else as captivating as Kinkaku on this trip.

Here we go again…

Just this morning, I made my mad dash across Hakone to spend a few minutes with Fuji-san. Now, in Kyoto, I’m presented with a similar scenario. It’s been a long day, but I’m leaving tomorrow and doubt that I’ll be able to fit in the Golden Pavilion before catching my morning train. I jump on a bus and travel to the other side of town, hoping to catch the Golden Pavilion before it closes. On the bus, I meet some Canadians who are on a similar mission and together we spend a tense thirty minutes, talk about our respective Japanese adventures to-date as we squeeze through rush hour traffic towards the Northwestern outskirts of the city .

Had our intention been to arrive at the precise moment that the temple grounds close, we couldn't have timed our arrival at Kinkaku-ji better, but - despite attempts to enter via the exit or to obtain a view from atop a wall - we are denied a glimpse of the golden prize we sought. Disappointed, we shake hands and depart company. I have a chance of seeing the pavilion tomorrow, but my temporary companions are leaving Kyoto sooner so, sadly, will have to go without.

I make my way back across town towards Gion and my hostel. It’s dark by the time I arrive and I fear I might face some difficulty in locating my hotel amid the ubiquitous two-storey, be-lanterned Old Kyoto residences. In the end, I find my way home by happy accident while attempting to find a good spot to photograph the Yaska shrine in the moonlight. I change and then head back out into Gion in search of Kyoto’s culinary highlight: the kaiseki. I find a promising establishment, and seat myself at the bar. The kaiseki is fabulous, comprising of a variety of dishes including smoked duck, eel, several kinds of tofu, some sort of bony fish soup, some excellent sashimi and a lacquered cabinet containing all sorts of goodies, such as rice, tempura, pickles and a kind of vegetable jelly. Washed down with considerable quantities of sake, it’s a meal fit for a shogun and once again I am glad I ordered without trying too hard to decipher the menu. I spend the evening wandering around Gion and the Yasaka shire, admiring the lanterns before returning to the hostel.

I wake early and wander around the nearby Kodai-ji temple grounds and admire the Ryozen Kannon - a huge Buddha-esque Goddess of Mercy build in the 1950s as a memorial to Japanese victims of World War II. Then I turn my thoughts once again to the Golden Pavilion of Kinkaku-ji…

Philosopher’s Path

I arrive in Kyoto around lunchtime, after another relaxing ride on the shinkansen. I’ve not given myself a huge amount of time in Kyoto, so I drop off my bag at the ryokan and head straight out to gorge myself on temples in Kyoto’s historic east: Higashiyama. Within minutes of leaving the ryokan, I stumble into Chion-in, a busy temple complex with huge halls and a multitude of tourists. Chion-in was founded in 1175 and is the home of one of Japan’s most popular Buddhist sects: Jodo, or ‘pure land’.

Wandering through Marayuma park, I find a statue of Sakamoto Ryoma and Nakaoka Shintaro [pictured] - legendary samurai who contributed to the Meiji restoration but were murdered in Kyoto before they got to see their dreams of a modern Japan realised. The sheer weight of history in this part of Kyoto is almost oppressive.

As I make my way north to Ginkaku-ji and the Philosopher’s Path I decide to limit myself to one temple visit so choose Nanzen-ji, the head temple of one of the Zen sects and home to the famous Leaping Tiger garden, as well as several masterpieces of the Kano school including Tanyu Kano’s screens of tigers in a bamboo grove. I'm clearly not enlightened enough to see the tigers in the rocks of the Leaping Tiger garden, but I can appreciate the balance achieved by the combination of busy vegetation and the dry expanse of raked gravel.

After leaving the serenity of Nanzen-ji, I join the Philosopher’s Path - a hillside walk named after Nishida Kitaro. It’s a very pleasant stroll and I can imagine that before the intrusion of modern life and the bustle of tourists, these moss-covered stones and the tranquil setting inspired many a great thinker.

Before long I am approaching Ginkaku-ji and the Philosopher’s Path joins a wide, commercial street, flanked on both sides by souvenir shops and cafés. Inside the temple grounds the gardens are dominated by a large ‘dry garden’ containing a huge cone of silver sand (Kougetsudai) designed to reflect moonlight during the frequent Moon Gazing festivals that occurred at the temple. The path then continues to Ginkaku, the Silver Pavilion.

Although inspired by Kyoto’s more famous Golden Pavilion, Ginkaku is a simple building; small and dark, it waits for your attention, rather than grabbing hold of it the moment it comes into view. Whether or not the legend is true (that money run out before the pavilion could be covered in silver), I’m left with the thought that the mountainside retreat and moon temple of Ginkaku is just as it should be - blending in with its surroundings, rather than dominating them.

Hakone

I get to the ryokan and my traditional tatami room is ideal. I sink into a chair, pour some tea and struggle with the idea of getting up again and going out for some dinner. I ask at the desk if there’s a restaurant nearby and am pointed in the direction of a local ramen place. Unfortunately it’s closed, so I stop at a convenience store and get snacks. Cheese sticks, nori crisps and jerky - not exactly what I had in mind, but I’m so hungry now it seems like a delicious feast. I pick up a six pack of Japanese beer as well. On the way back to my room, I’m forced to explain my questionable dinner to the lady at the front desk. She’s sorry that the ramen place was closed, but I smile and say it
doesn’t matter. A short time later, she brings a bowl of instant ramen to my room and I’m overwhelmed by this simple act of kindness. It’s been a pretty mixed day, but after a bit to eat and a dip in the onsen I’m feeling a lot better about Hakone.

I wake up early. The sky is bright blue this morning, a far cry from the grey of yesterday. I’m supposed to leave for Kyoto now, but I start to think about having another shot at seeing Fuji-san. I’m looking at two fifty minute bus journeys then a hurried check out and race to the train station, but I believe I can make it. I hurry to the bus stop and wait impatiently for the bus. I see the first hint of cloud gathering and start to wonder if this is such a good idea. The bus arrives and I get on. The next fifty minutes are quite stressful as I try to work out which direction the rapidly multiplying, though wispy, clouds are travelling in. Then, as the bus pulls into Moto Hakone, I'm stunned by the sight of a huge, symmetrical volcano that was definitely not there yesterday. It's so completely unexpected that in the time it takes me to realise that this is the view of Fuji that I had hoped for, the bus pulls off and continues on to Hakone Machi.

My eyes are locked on the mountain and when we arrive in Hakone Machi five minutes later, Fuji is still visible, but the covering of cloud known as Fuji’s Jacket is climbing higher. I get off the bus and take a good look. I was indeed looking at a little piece of Fuji yesterday, but - although this is the Free Pass recommended Fuji viewpoint - I am convinced that the better view was back at Moto Hakone, so I decide to head there before catching the return bus. I’m now racing against Fuji’s rising jacket, so jog through the Hakone Barrier, then run down the ancient cedar avenue.

I emerge from the trees at Moto Hakone and Fuji is almost wearing his full cirrus jacket now, but it’s still a fantastic sight, with the red of the Hakone Shrine bright against the trees and its reflection vivid in the lake. This was why I came to Hakone and I can forgive Fuji-san for his earlier modesty as – having had to work a little harder for it – seeing him now seems to be much more of an accomplishment. With my quest completed, I’m smiling from ear-to-ear for the entire bus ride back to Hakone Yumoto, and then the train to Odawara and the shinkansen to Kyoto.

Old Tokaido Road

The first part of the road is very pleasant. I see fellow travellers and the going is easy, but after a while it becomes harder work; the light fades fast, the English language signs (which were quite prominent before) have all but disappeared and there isn’t another soul in sight. Every few hundred metres there is a sign in Japanese but without a translation. After another kilometre-or-so of rugged path, I’m rewarded with a sign that says “Amazakechaya 0.4km”, so I carry on, now looking forward immensely to the restorative properties of a cup of amazake.

A few hundred metres later, I see the now familiar Japanese sign, but this time it has a translation beneath it: “Be careful because a wild boar appears!,” this is a little unnerving as I’m not sure of the procedure when faced with a wild boar, but I must be near the tea house now and assuming that all those previous, similar-looking signs warned of the same danger, I’ve been well into boar territory for a while now and not seen one. A little further on, I turn a corner and emerge into what can only be described as a building site. With burgeoning disappointment, I struggle with the thought that a teahouse that stood for hundreds of years has now been demolished or is being renovated to coincide with the particular day that I visit.

I resist the urge to collapse, rag doll-esque to the floor and decide it’s time to get the bus home. Luckily the old road joins the new road just up ahead and a little later I reach the bus stop. The timetable suggests that I am now past the teahouse, so I have to assume it was indeed the building site or (and this seems more likely) the teahouse was moved onto the new road and in my preference for the rugged, historical trail, I missed some of the history.

It’s twenty minutes until the next bus (also, the last bus of the day) but since there’s no pavement on this side and it’s getting darker, I decide it would be best to wait on the other side of the road. I can see a fair way back up the road, so when the bus does come, it should be easy for me to cross over and flag it down, especially as the road seems deserted.

Exactly twenty minutes later a stream of traffic arrives, with the bus right in the middle. I can’t get across and just have to wave and hope it stops. It doesn’t. My spirits fall as I contemplate the 6km or so walk that is ahead of me. I’m about to set off when a taxi pulls up beside me, so I jump in immediately and only then do I let myself think about dinner and a hot bath at my ryokan.

The Search for Fuji-san

Well-rested, I make my way to the Tokyo JR station in order to activate my JR pass and reserve a seat on the train to Odawara - my first shinkansen journey. The Kodama 569 pulls into the station, waits for a couple of minutes then leaves at precisely 11:00am, as scheduled. Twenty-eight minutes later we’re in Odawara and the shinkansen has proved to be as clean, smooth and efficient as advertised. At Odawara, I pick up my Hakone Free Pass which will cover all my travel needs for Hakone - an area renowned for its hot springs, walks and views of tautological ‘Mount Fuji’. A train, cable car, funicular, boat and bus join routes to create the Hakone loop which takes in the major sights of the area, providing three established Fuji viewpoints that - weather permitting - give you an opportunity to gaze at Japan’s famous mountain.

For the first time since I arrived in Japan, it’s damp and overcast, so I set off with little hope of seeing the mountain, save for a chance break in the cloud cover. Without the views of Fuji-san (or of anything at all in the case of the cable car), the Hakone loop isn’t much more than a series of well-connected gift shops, but when the cable car descends from the mist into the “hell valley” of Owakundai, I am impressed by the inhospitable, volcanic landscape that seems to match my mood so perfectly, following the disappointment of a hidden Fuji.

I board the cable car again and the heady combination of sulphur dioxide and altitude helps me pass through the next Fuji viewpoint fully embracing the Japanese concept of kore wa, kore wa. I can't offer a reliable translation, but I imagine it means something akin to que sera, sera. Resolved that whatever will be, will be, I board a boat for the trip across Lake Ashi, which offers the last chance to see Fuji.

It’s still not clear enough to see much, but when our boat docks at Hakone Machi, I can just make out a small, grey cone. A few people are pointing at it, so I attempt to comfort myself with the knowledge that I’ve now seen Fuji, even if it’s not quite the majestic spectacle that I’d hoped for. With that, I move onto the second reason for visiting Hakone: the Tokaido road.

The Tokaido road was a major route into the city of Edo and at Hakone Machi, stands the Hakone Barrier, a checkpoint that allowed the shogun to have travellers searched. After passing the checkpoint, users of the road were treated to a cedar-lined avenue, providing shade from the sun (or shelter from snow) and 2km of this ancient cedar avenue remains today.

From Moto Hakone, the road continues for another 11km to Hakone Yumoto, the traditional start and end point of the Hakone Loop and where I'll be staying the night at a traditional Japanese inn (ryokan) complete with hot springs (onsen). I decide to follow the road for a while, as I can always switch to the bus later and I’m intrigued by the prospect of stopping at the Amazakejaya teahouse, where for hundreds of years, travellers have rested and enjoyed a cup of amazake - a milky, sweet, alcoholic rice drink.

Kabuki

Back in Ginza, I hunt down 30s-era beer hall, The Lion and plan my next move. Was it really just this morning that I enjoyed fresh sushi in Tsukiji? It feels like days ago. The cafeteria decor of The Lion isn't quite my style (though on the way out I notice a much more comfortable-looking lounge area off to the side) so I down my beer and decide to give the Kabuki a shot.

The theatre is not closed on Mondays, I’m pleased to say, and this time (being one of a drizzle of tourists instead of a deluge) I get plenty of help in selecting a ticket and performance time. I see the second act of Kaidan Botan Doro, which is the ghost story of the peony lantern and was adapted from a Chinese story back in the 19th century by Sanyutei Encho.

The Kabuki is a fantastic experience. Armed with an English synopsis of the play, I avoid the earphone guide so I can concentrate on the performance. There are many features of kabuki that distinguish it from the theatre we are used to in the west, but two in particular stand out to me.

First is the use of the mie, which is essentially a powerful glare that the actor will adopt in a particularly climatic moment and then hold it for several long moments. The second is the behaviour of the audience, who will periodically call out the actors ‘house name’ when they make an entrance or in appreciation of a particular line or pose. I try to come up with a parallel to describe these chants (called kakegoe) but the closest match I can think of is the way sports fans sometimes call out an opposition player's name in a sort of jeer, but it’s the opposite case here, as the chants are meant as a sign of respect. I wonder what it would be like to try and introduce this in London’s West End, shouting “McKellen-san,” if I'm ever fortunate enough to see Sir Ian on the stage.

People start to shuffle out from the cheap seats before the end of the performance, but despite a considerable amount of walking on a lamentable amount of sleep, I’m feeling wide awake again. When the story of the peony lantern ends - following a well choreographed and musical slaughter of the principal characters - I’m ready to squeeze the last few hours I can out of Tokyo, so revisit a few of my favourite spots from two nights ago, before washing down a baked lobster with a few flasks of sake. By the time I get into bed, I’m able to fall asleep instantly and stay that way for the next ten hours.

Tokyo Bay

After some difficulty in locating the monorail platform in Shimbashi station (due to some uncharacteristically poor signage or perhaps some characteristically poor vision on my part), I eventually board the train for futuristic Odaiba in Tokyo Bay. The island hosts some impressive and innovative architecture, including the Rainbow Bridge, Tokyo Big Sight, the Fuji TV building and the ship-shaped Museum of Maritime Science (normally open on Mondays, just not on this particular one). Not so innovative is the replica of the Statue of Liberty and Japan's take on the Eiffel Tower - the red Tokyo Tower near Roppongi (back across the bay but visible from the Rainbow Bridge).

The island development is made of up of several malls and I can imagine spending a lazy sunny day here. As it is, the place is largely deserted and though I find a nice microbrewery with a fantastic view across the bay, the compulsory buffet of pizza and pasta puts me off. I’m not quite ready to eschew Japanese cuisine in favour of more everyday stuff and – more to the point – I’m not even hungry. As I make my way towards the Rainbow Bridge, ready for the 40 minute stroll across it and the promised magnificent views across the bay, I perceive a lack of activity in the ticket booths and get a premonition that the theme of “closed on Mondays” is about to unleash its third strike. Lo and behold, the pedestrian promenade is closed today only; it’s time for a drink.

Imperial Palace

Back at the hotel, I realise a change of clothes is in order as - perhaps unsurprisingly - I smell quite strongly of fish. This is my last day in Tokyo and there’s lots left to see. Starting with the Imperial Palace (in daylight this time) and the Nijubashi [pictured], I take the anti-clockwise route around the vast palace grounds. The first highlight is Fujimi-yagura, one of the watchtowers of the former Edo castle.

Disappointingly, the Higashi Gyoen (east garden) is closed on Mondays, so I have to take a longer and less interesting route around the north east of the palace, with the walls and moat to my left and a main road to my right. In my weariness, I take a wrong turn and cut through the grounds, meaning I miss the northwest corner containing the Budokan and the controversial Yasukuni shrine. I'll probably regret it later but, with my vigour at its lowest ebb, I decline to turn back and continue to circle the palace.

On the west side, I emerge by the Hanzo moat and continue my walk, past the National Theatre, before breaking away from the Palace and heading towards the Diet. This time, there are lots more people visiting the Diet and I join the gathering at the gate to peer at the seat of Japanese government. After a well earned rest amongst the trees in Hibiya-koen - Tokyo’s first European-style park - I press on to Shimbashi station.

Tsukiji

My alarm goes off at 4am. For a moment I’m confused, but then it dawns on me: fish market. I feel in the need for some deep seawater, so stock up at the vending machine before taking to the pre-dawn streets of Chuo-ku, en route to the reclaimed land of Tsukiji. There is not a soul around and, as I walk in the gloom, I feel like a lunatic . A little later, I pass Denny’s and although there are signs of life inside and 4am is ideal Denny’s-time, I have a rendezvous with the world’s freshest sushi, so keep going. I walk zombie-like for a few more blocks before I am surrounded suddenly by activity. The streets are lined with the stalls and noodle bars that indicate I have reached the outskirts of the market.

When I get into the market itself, things just seem to be getting started. Away from the epicentre of the market, people are sleeping, reading the paper, cleaning their 'meat saws' or otherwise occupying themselves before the action begins. Closer in, the ta-ray mini trucks are zipping around with their loads of seafood; everywhere, polystyrene crates are stacked high. People are working hard under an abundance of artificial light as I blink my bleary eyes at the spectacle of so much fish. This is a busy, working market and I feel like an intruder as I take my photos of silver tuna, oversize shellfish and coiled octopus, whilst trying not to get in the way or step in the larger of the many puddles. There are plenty of other tourists wandering about, but most are hanging around by the sushi stalls and queues are forming outside what I assume are the most popular ones.

At around 5.30, I happen to be standing outside a stall just as it opens and I’m hurried inside by the owner. I order the set meal and within minutes the small eatery is full of people. After a warming clam and miso soup, I am presented with a sushi and sashimi sampler containing: tuna belly, squid, tuna, sea urchin, eel and one other white fish that might be snapper. It’s all delicious. The eel is my favourite; it’s not at all dry as eel can sometimes be and I put this down to the freshness of the fish. I’m then given some fish-egg and tuna rolls and the moment these are consumed the chef indicates that I should pay and move on. I know he has a sharp knife, so don't argue, especially considering that I’m just one of sixty thousand people who will want feeding at the market today and most of them will have done more to earn it than simply roll out of bed a little early.

Shinjuku

Leaving Ryogoku, I head out to Shinjuku for the evening and from the moment I get off the subway, I feel like I’ve stepped into Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner. Shinjuku is where Tokyo keeps a good proportion of its neon lighting - not to mention its black market and red light district.
It’s also where around 2 million commuters arrive each day and the station complex, with its sixty exits, is exactly that: complex. I get to street level as quickly as possible.

To the west, Nishi-Shinjuku is a showcase for modern architecture and very much in keeping with the literal meaning of shinjuku: modern lodgings, but it is in Higashi-Shinjuku, the seedier east-side where I spend my evening. I start by looking for a conveyor belt sushi restaurant that I’ve heard of. This first attempt to deal with Japanese addresses is an utter failure, so in the end I pick a snack bar and enjoy some gyoza, edamame and another excellent Japanese beer.

I wander Shinjuku for a while, admiring the neon before finding myself in Shomben Yokocho, a small cluster of bars and restaurants. I see a group of shirtless Australians who seem to be debating whether the translation of Shomben Yokocho - Piss Alley - is an invitation. Giving them a wide berth, I duck into a place called Vagabond and am rewarded with a delightful, atmospheric piano bar.

I take a seat at the bar and drain a few bourbons while enjoying the live jazz. I manage to strike up a conversation with two middle-aged ladies to my right (Vagabond attracts a mature crowd, I gather). They tell me that they like to come here because it reminds them of the 40s and it’s easy for me to imagine this very western bar filled with GIs in the post-war years, although tonight I’m the only foreigner in the house. The pianist wraps up his set and I head out into the Shinjuku night. This time I head west and weave between the soaring skyscrapers, before reaching the metro station and returning to my temporary home in Ginza.

I've got about three hours before I need to be up again to catch the famous Tsukuji fish market. A sensible part of my mind proposes sleep as the best way to spend these hours, but it is apparently overruled by a desire to lie wide-awake and think about sleep, about how nice it would be to be asleep and a variety of other thoughts that get in the way of actually achieving sleep. At some point, however, sleep prevails and I doze off.

Sumo

I'm quite fortunate in the timing of my visit to Tokyo, as the Grand Sumo Saikyo Ketteisen - a one day, sumo tournament - is taking place today at the national sumo stadium - the Kokugikan. Due to my little excursion to Roppongi, the sumo tournament is well underway by the time I get back to the stadium; but there are no queues now, so I walk straight in and am pointed to the information desk, where someone kindly walks me to my seat (well in the gods) and hands me an English crib sheet, explaining some of the customs of the event and a time table. The best seats in the house - the ones that you need to queue for - are at ringside. I imagine they are a bit of a challenge on the knees for a westerner. My seat is more of an armchair and I am very grateful for it, as I’ve a sneaking suspicion that my body clock thinks it’s time I was in bed. The day’s wrestling is divided into two events: the Makuuchi Tournament, which features the highest ranking wrestlers and the Juryo Bout, which is a competition between the East and the West divisions. I arrive just in time for the final of the Juryo event, so my first taste of sumo is an important match featuring top wrestlers.

The wrestlers pace around the dohyo, throwing handfuls of salt on the ground as an act of purification before they squat down for the face-off. There then follows a battle of minds, as it can be a long time before the actual wrestling begins. One or both of the wrestlers might break the face-off to pace around the ring or throw down a little more salt. This can happen three or four times and it is done to keep the opponent off-balance, so they don’t know when the critical first impact will come. Once the wrestling begins, the sumo must force his opponent out of the ring, or cause him to touch the ground with a part of his body (other than the feet), and do so without the use of hair-pulling, eye gouging, kicking or punching. It is allowed to grab the mawashi (the sumo’s loincloth) for leverage, but not where it protects the ‘vital areas’. If a sumo loses his mawashi, he loses the bout, although the gyoji (referee) will try to pause the match if he sees that such a thing is imminent.

After several false starts the bout begins. It is quickly over and I’d like to tell you who's won, but both wrestlers are wearing purple mawashi so my only method of identifying them is rendered useless. Following the awards ceremony, there is a form of half-time show, featuring kids’ sumo and Shokkiri, or comic sumo. Initially I had assumed that the kids’ sumo would be youngsters battling each other, but instead it’s three or four eleven year-olds taking on one full-sized wrestler. They don’t really stand a chance and it’s no surprise really; as it says in the sumo guide: “size is certainly a factor which can work in the wrestlers favour” [!]. On the subject of size, the guide also contains some less self-evident truths, such as the fact that a sumo wrestler’s fat ratio is actually lower than that of an average, middle-aged business man. It makes no comment, however, on which of these professions offers the best opportunity to throw one’s weight around. I stay for the first hour of the Makuuchi tournament then take my leave in order to sample the traditional sumo meal of chanko nabe.

Ryogoku

The subway is a dream and I alight from Ryogoku station with the announcer’s pleasant sing-song phrase ringing in my ears: "re-oh-g'koo, re-oh-g'koo"; it stays in my head for the rest of the day. I head to the sumo stadium first, as I want to get an idea of how it works: ticket prices, entry time, whether there are truly huge queues from the early hours.

It's a bit too early at the stadium - no sign of the legendary queues and it looks like the wrestlers are just arriving, so I head over to the nearby Yokoami-cho Koen, a park that houses a memorial to the victims of the Kanto earthquake and a monument to the victims of the air raids of World War II (a huge semi-circle bank planted with flowers [pictured], with a small room in the centre containing the names of 100,000 victims). Next I visit the Edo-Tokyo museum, which chronicles the history of Tokyo in impressive detail, using full size replicas, dioramas and ancient maps and documents. I cross a replica of the Nihombashi (bridge of Japan) and on through old Edo with its Kabuki theatres, shops and residences, before getting a glimpse of 1868, when Japan opened its borders to the rest of the world and foreign settlements began to spring up around Tokyo.

Last night’s pub crawl exhausted my initial supply of yen, so my next task is to replenish the coffers. I have traveller’s cheques, but on a Sunday and in a small district like Ryogoku, they are fairly useless. I try hotels and larger stores, but none of them are able to cash the cheques. Plan B is to find an ATM, but I struggle to find a cash machine that both accepts overseas cards (essential) and has English instructions (highly desirable). At the same time, the crowd is growing at the sumo stadium and my plans to join it are in jeopardy, as I don't have the ready cash for a ticket.

Disheartened, I decide to visit Roppongi, where I hope that the modern Roppongi Hills cultural complex - with its 230 shops - will house a western bank. It turns out to be a good plan, and I am able to withdraw cash and convert my traveller’s cheques. I do both and am glad to see the back of the (almost useless) traveller's cheques. Now back to Ryogoku and the Sumo stadium.

On a 'vender'

On my way up to bed, I stop off on the second floor of the hotel to take a peek at 'Vending Corner'. The variety of produce available from the sizeable array of machines exceeds all my expectations of Japan's vending machine culture. I am not surprised to find beer on offer, but the whiskey machine is quite unexpected. I give the food machines a wide berth, though I admit to being fairly curious about them. I eventually decide on a bottle of ‘deep-seawater', because it comes with the recommendation that it should be drunk before going to bed and that's a principle I agree with heartily.

I wake up early, but refreshed. It could have been the deep-seawater; it certainly did no harm. I head straight to the subway as I want to get out to Ryogoku and see about getting a ticket for the sumo.

For breakfast I visit a 7-eleven and am impressed with the Japanese version of convenience food. I pick some Onigiri that are wrapped in a most ingenious way that keeps the seaweed sheet away from the rice until you remove the wrapper. There's a trick to it, and it's not unlike whipping a table cloth from under a dinner service; just less expensive if things don't go the way they should!

To wash down my Onigiri, I select ‘Pocari Sweat’. I'm not sure what a pocari is, but its sweat is delicious and refreshing. In contrast to the Pocari Sweat's comprehensive English description, I have to rely on pictures when selecting my Onigiri. I can’t really determine much from the pictures, so just guess in the end and it’s a nice surprise when one turns out to be tuna and the other shredded beef. Again, I’ve gotten-by choosing food with little indication as to what I'll be getting until the first bite. I hope it lasts! Next, the Tokyo subway - let’s hope I find that similarly easy going.

Under the tracks

I leave the Sony building and its gadgets behind and continue on towards the Imperial Palace. It's dark now, but I wonder whether the palace will be floodlit and decide to keep going that way and find out. On the way, I pass through the Tokyo International Forum with its incredible roof [pictured] and pause to admire the red brick facade of Tokyo station, which faces the Imperial Palace and Babasaki moat.

I follow the moat into the Imperial Plaza and stumble upon Tokyo's jogging mecca. There are bags, towels and shoes on every available park bench and no one seems at all worried about leaving their belongings unattended. It's also very dark in this part of the city (the palace being decidedly un-floodlit) and I think for the first time of how wonderful it must be to live in a city where the fear of crime is virtually non-existent; where you can leave your shoes, go for a jog around the park at night and be safe in the knowledge that both you and your shoes will get home safely. Not being a jogger, I think I get a few funny looks as I walk around the park, as there's not much to see at this time of night and at one point I find myself utterly alone and approaching a security hut; time for an about turn.

Being a slow learner, I decide to make for the National Diet building in case that is lit up in the same way that the palace is not, but again I'm disappointed and this time I fancy I get some downright suspicious looks as I wander round the government buildings and try not to look lost. At this point I decide to head back towards Ginza and am rewarded with some fantastic reflections in the Babasaki moat.

I stop for a snack- yakitori and a fine Japanese beer - in one of the many snack bars that exist under the raised train tracks. It's a great atmosphere under those tracks, with the lanterns glowing and the grills sizzling. The first beer goes down very well indeed and is followed by many more as I work my way back through Ginza, loving Tokyo more with every sip. Satisfied with my first day’s efforts and more than ready for bed, I return to the hotel.

Ginza at night

En route to the hotel I had passed a restaurant that smelt amazing, so I backtrack and go inside. This is my first meal in Japan and since food features so prominently in my plans for this trip, it's a significant event. There's no English menu but there are pictures, so I point at something that looks good. A short time later a sizzling skillet emerges from the kitchen. I agree to whatever it is that the waitress asks me and she gives the skillet a good old mix and leaves me to shovel the meat and rice into my mouth. It's absolutely delicious: sukiyaki with wafer-thin, tender beef, sticky rice and vegetables and a good amount of caramalised bits on the bottom of the skillet. It's not the most adventurous choice for my first Japanese meal, but it's exactly what I wanted; needed, even.

Next, I stroll to the Kabukiza as my plan is to spend the afternoon taking in an act of traditional Japanese theatre. The building is impressive, but there are huge queues outside and I have some trouble figuring out what's going on at the box office. My main concern is that I get the right ticket. A Kabuki performance goes on for several hours and is, of course, all in Japanese. The single act ticket is great for foreigners as it provides a sample without committing to the entire play. I come to the conclusion that - feeling quite tired - this isn't the right time to get to grips with the ticketing process and is definitely not the right time to sit in a darkened room. I opt instead to explore the bright lights of Ginza and hope that the night air will wake me up a bit.

I take Harumi Dori towards the Imperial Palace, visiting the birthplace of Seiko (now the Wako department store) and the Sony building. I'm already enamoured by the Sony building as it proved so useful to me in finding my way to the hotel and now - up close - the gigantic PlayStation-esque building is as enticing as the gadgets inside.

Arrival

Having landed safely at Tokyo-Narita airport and swept through customs and baggage claim like a katana through silk, I find myself on the JR Narita Express train to Tokyo. The immediate danger is the soporific combination of a comfy seat, an incredibly smooth ride, and the after-effects of a twelve hour flight. This, coupled with a distinct lack of knowledge regarding the journey ahead makes it easy for me to visualise myself awake with a start, confused, speeding past my desired station and into the alien suburbs of Tokyo. But the fear proves unfounded on both counts.

Too excited to sleep, I gaze out the window as paddy fields, apartment blocks and the occasional temple speed past, and as my eye wanders the interior of the carriage, I see for the first time the amazing technology that will prove my saviour: a digital display showing the current position of the train on a network map, complete with station names in Roman characters. Nice. That wonderful train, the scenery that passes by and the helpful use of technology all feature prominently in my embryonic opinions on what constitutes this place called Japan.

I arrive at Tokyo station and, imbued with high spirits, I decide to walk to the hotel, having absolute faith that I will find my way through Ginza. It is as I study my map, rucksack on back, that I notice I'm standing near the golden statue of a fellow traveller, similarly laden and studying a book. In my imagination, passersby appreciate the parallel, chuckle to themselves and walk on smiling, but I think the joke is mine alone and probably a product of tiredness. After a few missed turns but helped enormously by the distant Sony building, I arrive at my hotel. My reservation is found and promptly dealt with (doubtless a product of my printed confirmation rather than the mumbled 'Boroton des... er....yoyaku sh’ta' that comprised my first attempt at spoken Japanese).

It's now lunch time and I am famished, tired and in need of a shower, but I have an ambitious itinerary for my first day in Tokyo, so deferring all but the shower, I issue forth into Ginza; sleep must wait.