Hokkaido diary: Tokyo Skytree and craft beer

As before, I'm trying the Paul Theroux approach to travel writing: no bloviating, no florid soliloquizing, no fluff. Just straight-up description. As Mary Chesnut wrote in her Civil War diary, "My subjective days are over."

I'm going to do something a little different this time around. Instead of just telling you blandly about my week-long trip to Hokkaido in the past tense, I'm going to include snippets from the journal I kept. Present tense is always more vibrant and visceral. 

So. Day 1.

Hokkaido diary
2/2 - 2/7

2/2:

• was almost late for my flight, but made it. Miss H saw me off. I sure do love that girl.
• nice sandwiches on board, though thin strips—Japanese style
• next time I'm taking the limited express to from Narita to Tokyo (¥1000, or $10) instead of the Skyliner to Ueno (¥2400, or $24)
• Looking at Chiba Prefecture for the first time in six months—still as gray in the sky, but browner in the grass. And not stinking hot and humid
• Checked into Capsule Value Inn Kanda. Met a very nice Finn named Manu (?)—talked about mandatory Swedish in Helsinki schools, idiosyncracies [sic] of the Japanese culture; his dad was a farmer, but he lusted for knowledge at a library 16 km away
• tried to go to Tokyo Skytree; cost ¥2000 to get in. I said "screw that noise, I've been up Tokyo Tower." Checked out the Minolta Planetarium, but cost ¥1000-¥1300 to get in. 
• went back to Kanda and ate maguroichibadon (sushi over rice) for ¥700
• found a craft micropub called Devil Craft nearby—tried microbrews with Mel, a foreign reporter for the Japan Times (and occasionally the Korea Herald)
• Sacked out in my capsule, reading Paul Theroux, hearing Finnish snores and Japanese farts

I'm getting to be an old pro at hopping back and forth between Japan. Getting to Incheon Airport was a breeze. I made it onto my flight with just five minutes to spare because I underestimated how much time it takes to get there and check in. The gate agent even scolded me, his face flat and impassive. But I made it, and that's the important thing. 

I did the same thing as I did last time: I cleared customs and immigration at Narita, exchanged my Korean won for Japanese yen, and then forked over ¥2400 of that precious wad ($23.42) to ride the blue Skyliner to Ueno Station in northeast Tokyo. Then it was a couple of stops down the Ginza subway line to Kanda Station, where, after a bit of poking through back alleys and some help from a good Samaritan (a shortish middle-aged Japanese fellow with his hair cropped close to his skull and a bellicose demeanor), I found my capsule hotel, the Capsule Value Inn:

I checked in and stashed my stuff in the lockers, retrieving only my camera. Then I went back downstairs. Passing the front counter, I bumped into Manu, a Finnish fellow with the look of a mean drill sergeant: buzz-cut hair, blade-like nose, his face all angles and hollows, hardly an ounce of fat on his body. His eyes were piercing gray-blue and his English was flawless. He'd never stayed in a capsule hotel before, and as he was leaving Tokyo the next day (like me) he thought he'd give one a shot. We chatted for half an hour on the hotel's front stoop before I headed off to see Tokyo Skytree. 

Part of my Tao of Travel (again, I'm ripping off terminology from Paul Theroux, but the man's traveled farther than most and he's got some good tips) is this: once I get to a city, at the soonest possible juncture, I find a high place and take a look down at the city from there. Get the lay of the land, so to speak. In August, on my way through western Japan, I did it with Tokyo Tower, Mt. Arashiyama in Kyoto, and Kumamoto Castle. I've done it several times in Seoul: Namsan Tower, the 63 Building, and Dobongsan. I've looked down on L.A. from the Mount Griffith Observatory, the Rim of the World Highway, and several others. I think it's nice to get a bit of an overview before you dive into something, you know? Like looking at a menu at a restaurant or reading the abstract of a scientific study.

But here's the thing: I'd already looked down at Tokyo in August. And I'd done it in the bright daytime, when the air was clear. A moist, slimy fog was stuck to Tokyo's back this night, and I doubted whether, even from the Skytree's Tembo observation deck a redoubtable 450 meters off the ground, I could have seen much of the city. Moreover, even though this was the tallest tower in the world and the tallest structure of any kind after the Burj Khalifa in Dubai, I wasn't up for paying ¥2000 ($20) to get in. The lines were humongous, the night was chill and foggy, and I was content just to stumble around at the tower's base with my head craned back, looking at the clouds swirling around the tower's 634-meter spire.

Then I headed back to Kanda. I was in the mood to just sit and have a beer and reflect on the long, exciting journey ahead of me tomorrow. By some cosmic stroke of luck, there was a brewpub just around the corner from my capsule hotel. It was called Devil Craft, one of only two in Tokyo, run by a trio of American expatriates, crewed this night by two handsome and bantering Japanese fellows and filled with foreigners. I fell into conversation with one of them, an Englishman named Mel, who looked almost exactly like Richard Attenborough in The Great Escape and wrote for the Japan Times. I sipped the Miyama Blonde (by Shiga Kogen Beer), Rogue Brewery's Yellow Snow IPA, and Left Hand's Fade to Black, a rye ale. All were supremely delicious. Mel and I chatted away as we drank. He asked me about living in Korea, I asked him about working for a newspaper in Japan. The man had quite a long list of interesting things he believed: he'd interviewed Paul McCartney for 20 minutes and said he hated him; he disliked the Irish and thought the Potato Famine had been faked (just another example of Irish self-victimization); he felt the whole Dokdo/Takeshima possession dispute was bollocks; he avoided films and had no idea who Sir Ian McKellen was. He'd served as a parachutist in the RAF during the Iraq War and had broken both his legs, being sent to Australia to recover.  Japan was a stopover on the way back to Britain, but Mel had liked it so much he'd stayed. He'd married a local and gotten into newspapers, and would be interviewing Lionel Richie on that musician's Japan tour in a few weeks. Right now he was collecting man-on-the-street interviews about the upcoming Tokyo mayoral election and whether the Fukushima incident should factor into it. He wanted to interview me, but I demurred; I wasn't sure how much my job would be worth if Sejong University learned that one of its junior professors had shown up in the Japan Times yapping about Tokyo elections and nuclear meltdowns. No matter; Mel had plenty of bites. He'd already interviewed one of Devil Craft's waitresses and, shortly before I arrived, had become engaged with a foreign-born Japanese man and his Russian wife. Lots of fish in the sea. Mel and I parted as friends, though I did not share his views on the Irish.

Then, my head reeling, I wobbled back to the Capsule Value Inn and spent an hour reading the rest of the Tokyo Andagarundo chapter in Theroux's book. I set an alarm, turned out the light, and waited to see what fortunes the next day would bring me.

Get ready for Day 2: Tokyo to Sapporo. 

changing trains...in Hiroshima

What more is there to say? I got the heebie-jeebies when I booked my Shinkansen ticket at Kyoto Station on the morning of August 6th and saw this:

WHERE am I changing trains?!

I couldn't go directly from Kyoto to Kumamoto. I would be switching lines at some point, from the Tokaido and Sanyo Line (Tokyo to Hakata) to the jurisdiction of JR Kyushu. How lucky was I that the switch would take place in Hiroshima?

I won't bore you with pictures from the rail journey between Kyoto and Hiroshima. There honestly wasn't much to see. I'll just leave you with the pics of Hiroshima Station, and my new train (Sakura this time, not Hikari) down to Kumamoto.

This pic and the four preceding it were all I could capture of the city of Hiroshima itself.

The interior of the Sakura-type Shinkansen reserved-seating car. Only four seats across instead of five, and each one like your grandfather's favorite armchair. Hoopy!

A cup of coffee, a sandwich, and you-hoo...

This was after we'd come out of a long tunnel. Yep, we're definitely in Kyushu now...

Next up: Day One of Kumamoto. First, I do some hardcore historical stalking at LAFCADIO HEARN'S OLD HOUSE. Don't know who that is? Good, tune in and learn something.

Kinkaku-ji

Most of the people I've spoken to who've been to Japan tell me that they liked Kyoto the best. Why? Well, it's just plain beautiful, for one thing. Green hills surround the city, and there's no skyscrapers to muck up the vistas. The whole place has a quaint, unassuming, relaxed feel to it.

Part of Kyoto's beauty stems from the fact that it's packed to the gills with temples and other examples of old-style Japanese architecture. One such example is Kinkaku-ji, the Golden Pavilion.

Its official name is Rokuon-ji, or "Deer Garden Temple." Tucked away against a hillside, surrounded by woods and filled with quiet ponds and flower bushes, it doesn't belie the name. There must have been deer wandering through the grounds by the truckload back in the day. The temple is also considered to be the pinnacle of Muromachi-style garden design, which is itself thought to be the high-water mark of Japanese gardening culture.

The building's history is a bit complicated, but Kinkaku-ji as we know it dates from 1397, when the estate it sits on was purchased by a powerful shogun called Ashikaga Yoshimitsu, who took the original pavilion and decked it out in thin gold leaf. Why? "To mitigate and purify any excessive negative thoughts or feelings about death," according to informed sources (i.e. Wikipedia). Besides the symbolic significance, the Muromachi style was heavily dependent upon "visual excesses." (In fact, there's another pavilion not far away in Kyoto called Ginkaku-ji, or the Silver Pavilion. Unlike its golden brother, however, it was not finished.)

Anyway, the original pavilion was burned down in 1950 by a crazed monk who then attempted to kill himself on the hillside behind it. In 1955 it was rebuilt and re-gilded, though there's some doubt as to whether there was quite so much gold on the structure then as there is today: o.5 micrometers instead of a mere 0.1 (big whoop).

But I don't know jack-diddly about that stuff. The pavilion just looked pretty to me, regardless of when it was built or how many micrometers of gold were on it. So I went to go see it. After I got off the Keifuku Randen train and hopped Bus 205 (¥220) up the hill, I was in a mood to see some gold winking at me under the sun.

I had to jump through a lot of hoops to get in and see it. There was the entrance fee of ¥400 at the front gate. Then, after a U-shaped bend in the footpath, the pavilion came into sight. I stopped to take a picture, but a stern-faced guard with a stentorian voice barked at me to keep moving. So I edged a few feet away from him and finally got some pics.

Mirror Pond and its extensive landscaping were about as pretty as the pavilion itself.

A level path meandered around the temple and the pond before it. I got shots from as many likely angles as I could, feeling like a moronic tourist but deciding not to care.

Forever proving what a sucker I am, I blew ¥600 (more than the entrance fee) at the souvenir stand halfway along the path. I obtained a Zen Buddhist charm made of balsa wood rumored to confer health and good luck on a family. As I'd proposed to Miss H only a few days earlier, this purchase seemed prudent.

I blew another six yen trying to toss the light, surprisingly aerodynamic ¥1 coins into this jar. I was unaware of what karmic prize the gods would bestow upon me if I made it. Perhaps a pet tiger.

I walked by yet another temple on the way out. I stopped, threw in ¥10 (ah, what the heck) and finally made a correct prayer, with hand-washing and loud bell-ringing and everything.

I had to wait around another hour to get the 101 bus back to central Kyoto (¥220), and then another ¥420 for the subway back to Shijo Station, but I arrived back at my hotel room satisfied and confident of a day (and an absurd amount of money) well spent. I felt so good that I went back to the Karasuma Kyoto Hotel and had myself a bento (boxed lunch) to celebrate.

Not content with that, I adjourned next door to the izakaya, ordered up the fatty meat snack plate and a beer (for ¥2500!) and feasted to my heart's content.

Sorry this is so foggy. Walking from an air-conditioned hotel lobby to a humid street brings on the ol' condensation.

If that ain't a slice of fried gold! I was such a pig. Technically this should be for at least two people to share (hence the humongous portion of rice). But it was my last night in Kyoto, I'd been walking all day and I was starving. So I got stuck in and finished the lot.

For it was a farewell feast. Upon the morrow I would repeat my accustomed routine: get up, drag my crap to the station, and board a bullet train south. My destination: Kumamoto, way down on the island of Kyushu.

But that's a tale you shall hear tomorrow. CHANGING TRAINS...IN HIROSHIMA.

the Keifuku Randen tram

You should know by now that I'm nuts for trains. And not just the kind that go 200 miles per hour, either. I'm especially fond of old-fashioned trains (again, that should have been a no-brainer; look at my obsession with old-school warbirds). This not only includes steam engines but also trams and trolley cars. One of the only things that would attract me to San Francisco (besides the seafood and driving down Lombard Street) would be a free year-long pass on the cable cars.

Well, boy—was I in luck. My chosen route across Kyoto to the Golden Pavilion of Kinkaku-ji involved me taking the Keifuku Randen Line. I assumed that this would be an actual train, similar to the one that had conveyed me to Arashiyama on the Hankyu lines.

I was wrong. It was the cutest little purple trolley-car you ever did see: 

The charm didn't stop at the exterior, either. I got in and it was everything a little boy dreams about when he's a kid: a jangling bell, rattling wheels, wood detailing, a uniformed conductor, and a throttle with a brass knob that made a cranking, dinging noise when he turned it.

And the conductor was even round and jolly-looking. What more could you ask for?

I recorded a minute-long video of the ride, but Blogger's being stupid and won't let me upload it. So you'll just have to go to Kyoto and ride the damn thing yourself, I guess.

The stuff going by the windows was entrancing, too: rows of neat houses, tiny alleyways (which nonetheless had little safety gates with yellow and black stripes, no matter how small), shops, streets, and cars and bicycles and people going to and fro. The trees dipped so close to the tracks that I'd swear we brushed a few branches aside. Not for the first time, I figured I'd come to Japan during the wrong season. Had it been spring we would have been making our way through a corridor of exploding cherry blossoms.

Like this (not my photo):

From Wikimedia Commons

All too soon, the ride was over. We'd arrived at Kitano-Hakubaicho Station, a short bus journey from my next destination: KINKAKU-JI.

But that's a tale for another day. I just wanted you to geek out with me about trams, particularly Kyoto's. (I'll have more for you when we get to Kumamoto, just you wait.)

As always, stay tuned...

Sagano bamboo forest

You know how there's a scene in every worthwhile martial arts film where the protagonist and an army of mooks (or just one persistent boss) have a duel to the death in a bamboo stand? The greenish trunks go up all around, and the floor is littered with their narrow leaves, dyed beige in death? Usually some of the bamboo trees will be heartlessly severed in twain by a wild stroke of an adamant sword, and the fight will move into the realm of fantasy and conclude in the upper canopy, with the contestants walking on air.

Well, if you've ever wanted to feel what that would actually be like, you gotta head to a bamboo forest. And fortunately, that's just what the quaint, archaic little community of Arashiyama (also known as Sagano) has tucked away in its western depths, near the River Hozu.

I could have gotten into a rickshaw at the foot of the Togetsukyo Bridge and had the driver take me to there, but (a) I didn't know what the word for "bamboo" was in Japanese, and (b) I felt far too sweaty to sit on those red velvet seats and muck 'em up. So I just hoofed it. It wasn't a long walk.

It wasn't a long walk through the forest, either: just a few hundred yards. But in that meager space is packed a lifetime of exotic and delightful imaginings: tigers leaping out of the underbrush, sweating swordsmen—perhaps even the venerable Miyamoto Musashi, who plays a central role in the next stage of my Japanese journey—yelling and swinging their swords between the trunks, white-clad kung fu masters leaping and kicking about in the canopy.

Uh-oh...should I be following this guy?

This is my favorite picture.

I strolled until I reached a T-junction and figured that was enough. It was hot and still in the bamboo stand and I was sick of being soaked. For the umpteenth time I cursed myself for not doing as the Japanese do and traveling everywhere with a hand towel at my collar to sop at my neck and forehead. I made my way out the same way I'd come, noting the proliferation of gravestones, a Buddhist temple and a host of other foreigners (no doubt here for the same reason I was).

Back out to the main street, and I was finished with my expedition to Arashiyama. I felt quite regretful as I bought myself a soft-serve soybean ice cream cone at a shop window and made my way east to the Keifuku tram station. Western Kyoto was the prettiest and most culturally rich thing that I'd done in Japan thus far, and I was loath to leave. Someday I'll go back and eat there, and drink tea, and buy a lot of crappy souvenirs that will sit on the shelves of my man-cave and collect dust, and then I'll feel like I've explored the place properly.

Some random temple off the main street. Sure wish I'd explored it.

Across town lay the next item on my to-to list: the Golden Pavilion of KINKAKU-JI. Before I tell you about it, though, I want to say a few words about THE KEIFUKU RANDEN TRAM. Trust me, it's worth your while. Tune in tomorrow...