06 August 2006
Postcard from Tokyo - July 2005
If Heathrow airport were as far from London as Narita is from Tokyo, it would be on the outskirts of Portsmouth. It’s hardly the ideal spot for the Japanese to build the airport for their capital city, evidenced by a “Down with Narita Airport” protest sign we see on landing. Tight security around the airport is apparently more about keeping the local irate farmers out – who perhaps had hoped to be growing rice rather than watching 747s take off – than any kind of conventional airport security.
We are staying at Shinjuku – near the headquarters of my former employer Phoenix’s Japanese offices – and described by the guidebook as “neon-induced schizophrenia incarnate… low life heaving with sex and sleaze… a serene skyscraper city… and consumer heaven… but for sheer sleaze Shinjuku wins hands-down”. I have no idea why Phoenix chose this area for its offices, although I understand the new management has been thinking about changing location because of its dubious reputation.
My birthday party in the evening is hosted by Jun Fujine, former head of Phoenix KK, and David Everett. There are 8 of us, including Jun’s daughter, a friend from NEC and his son; Betsy and George. We eat Shabu-shabu – Japanese fondue – with very thinly-sliced beef cooked in a broth. It’s in a private room at a restaurant at the top of one of the nearby skyscrapers, and feels very special. It turns out that the man from NEC and David are old golf adversaries, and there is some excitement around the presentation of some golf balls to David as a gift (I think David must have lost last time they played: “try these balls David, you might play better” seems to be the message).
As Pamela points out on the phone, this is the first time we’ve been apart for my birthday since 1979 (when I was in the depths of the African jungle in Gabon). Poor substitute to being together perhaps, but this party is nonetheless fun and it is great to see Jun in such good form and enjoying his new job at Yahoo Japan.
George and I have done nothing about organizing the Japan leg of our trip, as we have focused on China and HK. Apart from our hotel in Tokyo, nothing has been booked. There’s a travel agent in the hotel and, having poured over the maps and guidebooks – creating a destination shortlist of Kyoto, Okinawa, Shikoku, Miyajima and Hiroshima – we descend on them to sort out the trip. We were taunted the night before that it would be “too difficult” for us to stay in anything other than the main tourist centres and in western-style hotels, so we are determined to be brave. We insist on train travel and staying in Japanese hotels. We promise each other that, from now on, we will eat only Japanese food or drink. It feels like a schoolboy dare (one I hope will not turn out to be immensely foolish). We decide on Kyoto, Miyajima and Hiroshima by bullet train, staying in Ryokans (traditional Japanese inns). We read up on the protocol, it seems to be completely different from any hotel we have stayed in before. The only concession we make is to ask for a Ryokan “with toilet” (how can a hotel not have a toilet?).
Talking loos, the one in our hotel is a daunting computerized job, with instructions in Japanese threatening to do all sorts of bizarre things when all you want is a quiet session with the newspaper (it took me a while to realize that a sign with a rounded “W” above a dotted fountain symbol (think about it) was not in fact a Japanese character but the sign of a bottom being squirted by water from below. My advice: don’t touch any of the buttons).
We visit the old town of Tokyo – Asakusa – where the Thunder Gate sports an enormous red lantern and is protected on either side by statues of the Gods of wind and rain; a Shinto temple; a tall pagoda and an alleyway full of shops with goods ranging from the necessary to the frivolous. From there we go to Akihabara, the Tottenham Court Road of Tokyo, with all the latest gadgets, games, computers and phones. Tokyo is so large and our time so short that we have to take in other sites from the back of a taxi.
It’s been a hard day and we are looking for a drink, preferably water. We spot a vending machine with a clear liquid in a blue-labelled bottle, brand: “Aquarius”. It must be mineral water, we think. But it smells of fish and tastes of melon, which is at least better than the other way round. Somewhat to our surprise, we drink it anyway.
It’s the Everetts’ last night, and we decide on a Korean BBQ. The menu is only in Japanese so ordering is a struggle. The waiter finds us so incompetent that he cooks the food for us. It’s good, with the beef going particularly well with the traditional pickled cabbage. George and I end up in the sleazy part of Shinjuku, shaking off Nigerian and Greek pimps to find a nice bar where we finish the evening playing pool and drinking a couple of whiskies. Japanese, of course.
If it were not for the fact that China post-1949 effectively disappeared off the world stage for 30 years, I think it would be an easier country for Europeans to feel comfortable visiting than Japan. In the eyes of many Chinese, there is still a glint of excitement having foreign visitors in increasing numbers (and a chance to practice their English), making us feel special. The Japanese have got used to foreigners staring and photographing everything, and generally just ignore us.
From tomorrow our trip will get harder, and perhaps more exciting, as we venture away from the capital and its concentration of foreigners, to Kyoto and beyond.
We are staying at Shinjuku – near the headquarters of my former employer Phoenix’s Japanese offices – and described by the guidebook as “neon-induced schizophrenia incarnate… low life heaving with sex and sleaze… a serene skyscraper city… and consumer heaven… but for sheer sleaze Shinjuku wins hands-down”. I have no idea why Phoenix chose this area for its offices, although I understand the new management has been thinking about changing location because of its dubious reputation.
My birthday party in the evening is hosted by Jun Fujine, former head of Phoenix KK, and David Everett. There are 8 of us, including Jun’s daughter, a friend from NEC and his son; Betsy and George. We eat Shabu-shabu – Japanese fondue – with very thinly-sliced beef cooked in a broth. It’s in a private room at a restaurant at the top of one of the nearby skyscrapers, and feels very special. It turns out that the man from NEC and David are old golf adversaries, and there is some excitement around the presentation of some golf balls to David as a gift (I think David must have lost last time they played: “try these balls David, you might play better” seems to be the message).
As Pamela points out on the phone, this is the first time we’ve been apart for my birthday since 1979 (when I was in the depths of the African jungle in Gabon). Poor substitute to being together perhaps, but this party is nonetheless fun and it is great to see Jun in such good form and enjoying his new job at Yahoo Japan.
George and I have done nothing about organizing the Japan leg of our trip, as we have focused on China and HK. Apart from our hotel in Tokyo, nothing has been booked. There’s a travel agent in the hotel and, having poured over the maps and guidebooks – creating a destination shortlist of Kyoto, Okinawa, Shikoku, Miyajima and Hiroshima – we descend on them to sort out the trip. We were taunted the night before that it would be “too difficult” for us to stay in anything other than the main tourist centres and in western-style hotels, so we are determined to be brave. We insist on train travel and staying in Japanese hotels. We promise each other that, from now on, we will eat only Japanese food or drink. It feels like a schoolboy dare (one I hope will not turn out to be immensely foolish). We decide on Kyoto, Miyajima and Hiroshima by bullet train, staying in Ryokans (traditional Japanese inns). We read up on the protocol, it seems to be completely different from any hotel we have stayed in before. The only concession we make is to ask for a Ryokan “with toilet” (how can a hotel not have a toilet?).
Talking loos, the one in our hotel is a daunting computerized job, with instructions in Japanese threatening to do all sorts of bizarre things when all you want is a quiet session with the newspaper (it took me a while to realize that a sign with a rounded “W” above a dotted fountain symbol (think about it) was not in fact a Japanese character but the sign of a bottom being squirted by water from below. My advice: don’t touch any of the buttons).
We visit the old town of Tokyo – Asakusa – where the Thunder Gate sports an enormous red lantern and is protected on either side by statues of the Gods of wind and rain; a Shinto temple; a tall pagoda and an alleyway full of shops with goods ranging from the necessary to the frivolous. From there we go to Akihabara, the Tottenham Court Road of Tokyo, with all the latest gadgets, games, computers and phones. Tokyo is so large and our time so short that we have to take in other sites from the back of a taxi.
It’s been a hard day and we are looking for a drink, preferably water. We spot a vending machine with a clear liquid in a blue-labelled bottle, brand: “Aquarius”. It must be mineral water, we think. But it smells of fish and tastes of melon, which is at least better than the other way round. Somewhat to our surprise, we drink it anyway.
It’s the Everetts’ last night, and we decide on a Korean BBQ. The menu is only in Japanese so ordering is a struggle. The waiter finds us so incompetent that he cooks the food for us. It’s good, with the beef going particularly well with the traditional pickled cabbage. George and I end up in the sleazy part of Shinjuku, shaking off Nigerian and Greek pimps to find a nice bar where we finish the evening playing pool and drinking a couple of whiskies. Japanese, of course.
If it were not for the fact that China post-1949 effectively disappeared off the world stage for 30 years, I think it would be an easier country for Europeans to feel comfortable visiting than Japan. In the eyes of many Chinese, there is still a glint of excitement having foreign visitors in increasing numbers (and a chance to practice their English), making us feel special. The Japanese have got used to foreigners staring and photographing everything, and generally just ignore us.
From tomorrow our trip will get harder, and perhaps more exciting, as we venture away from the capital and its concentration of foreigners, to Kyoto and beyond.
# posted by DavidF @ 14:50 
