the bridge on the River Kwai

...as seen on TV.

After lunch, it was off to the River Kwai bridge, made famous by both a book and a movie, which I've read and seen respectively. In actual fact, the tour turned out to be 50 minutes at the perplexingly planned and poorly cared-for Jeath War Museum, and about 10-20 minutes on the actual bridge itself. 

What does this have to do with British P.O.W.s dying horribly?

And the bridge wasn't even the "real" bridge—that got bombed out by the Allies during the war. (The museum had mistakenly depicted American jet bombers attacking the bridge in a large painting on one wall.) The bridge I stood on that sweltering Saturday of July 26, 2014 was built entirely by the Japanese as part of their war indemnity. 

The whole thing felt half-assed, to be frank. There were some cute little leopard cubs at a petting zoo nearby, so there was that. 

Hokkaido diary: Sapporo to Yamaguchi

Don't know where Yamaguchi is? Don't sweat it: I didn't either until February 6th of this year. Here's a little map for you.

And here's my diary entry for that day:

2/6:

5:23 a.m. Well, shoot. I thought I was being clever. Up at 4, at the station by opening time—5:15. I checked if the subway was open, but no dice. Ah well—it was only a 15-min. walk and there was no wind and the stars were out and it was sort of sexy, sneaking to the station in the predawn blackness. On the way I saw bonsai trees in people's yards, bedecked with a network of ropes to keep the slender branches from snapping under the weight of the snow. I saw great machines scooping up the enormous heaps of snow on the curbs and vomiting it into waiting dump trucks with a keening roar. In the dark, with their garish lights wreathed in snowy dust, they seemed like monstrous creatures locked in some kind of ponderous symbiosis. 

Normally-busy Sapporo Station, a ghost town at 5:15 a.m.

I got to the station to find that the ticket counter doesn't open until 5:40 and the first train for Hakodate doesn't leave until 7:00. So much for being clever. At this rate I won't reach Shin-Aomori until lunchtime. No wonder Google Maps said I'd reach Fukuoka at midnight tonight...

Statue of an Ainu man in Sapporo Station.

5:48 p.m. As I suspected—and I should have known—one cannot trust Google Maps in matters of foreign rail timetables. The fact that the earliest departure for Hakodate is 7:00 is the fatal flaw in my plan. The farthest I can go today is Shin (New) Yamaguchi. Granted, that's only 40 minutes from Hakata, but even so...here is my schedule. 

     Sapporo → Hakodate
     (7:00)           (10:31)                 Super-Hokuto 2

     Hakodate → Shin-Aomori
     (11:19)           (1:29 p.m.)        Hakucho 28

     Shin-Aomori → Tokyo
     (1:42)                (5:08)           Hayate 36

     Tokyo → Shin-Osaka
     (5:33)       (8:26)                       Hikari 523

     Shin-Osaka → Okayama     
     (8:40)                (9:52)            Kodama 765

     Okayama → Shin-Yamaguchi
     (9:55)             (11:48)              Kodama 767

Darn, lots of transfers. And I really don't like that I have only three minutes at Okayama to transfer. What if my train's delayed? Ah well—part of the adventure of it all, I guess. Just like where I'll sleep—or if I'll sleep at all—in Yamaguchi until the next morning's ride to Fukuoka. At least it'll be warmer down there. 

10:40 a.m. Just alighted at Hakodate, at the very extreme southern tip of Hokkaido. Started to snow heavily as we arrived; first snow I've seen (falling) all day. Dawn over the outskirts of Sapporo as we pulled out, with the sky blue all the way to the horizon and the pink and purple clouds reflecting onto the huddled buildings caked and glazed with snow, was the prettiest thing I've seen in a while. When the sun lifted itself above the clouds, I even saw a sun dog. As we got up to speed, a fine spray of snow flew from our passing, and when two trains met there was a veritable explosion of white dust, pure and clean as...well, driven snow. This island is a skier's paradise—not too cold but laden with tons upon tons of fine white powder. Incredible. 

I now have 35 minutes in this bleak, chairless, freezing station until the Super Hakucho for Shin-Aomori leaves. Think I'll eat some of my snacks. 

What I would have sworn was an active volcano just south of Sapporo.

The Super-Hokuto 2 in Hakodate Station.  

The platforms at Hakodate. Snowing like the dickens. 

Bleak, cheerless, chairless Hakodate Station. 

The Hakucho 28, ready to leave. 

11:13 a.m. Sitting on the train and waiting to get going. Feeling a powerful sense of melancholy which I can't account for, which began last night. The trip nearing its conclusion? The gray skies? Missing Miss H (and knowing that I won't see her until late tomorrow night)? Approaching the climax of Dan Simmons's The Terror, and knowing that his book puts my own paltry, puerile manuscript to shame? Musing that I'll be 28 this year and have the creeping sense that I've accomplished nil in all that time? The persistent feeling that I'm not really traveling, just picking first-world countries and cities on a map and booking tickets on line? The tallboy of Sapporo Gold I just cracked open? 

All of them, probably. This is going to be an unpleasant introspective two-hour ride to Honshu, I can tell. Oh well. Let's hope some more sightseeing out the window and a bit of music will put me to rights. 

1:45 p.m. Back in the land of bullet trains. I have a comfy, spacious seat and a porthole to myself again. But confound the Hokkaido JR! We were seven minutes late pulling into Shin-Aomori. I made the Hayate 36 with literally a minute to spare. Not cool. The Hakucho from Hakodate came to a complete, inexplicable stop TWICE during the two-hour run. Rrrgh. Makes me mad. At least I have a huge, delicious, green Hokkaido apple to console me. 

2:05 p.m. Dang, that was a tasty apple. 

The skies are clearing—we went through some blinding snowstorms on the last stretch to Aomori. There's a lot less snow down here, though I've seen snow-devils whirling and dancing in empty fields. I hope it stays clear through Honshu—and I hope I'm on the right side of the Osaka train so I can finally see Mt. Fuji (speaking of apples, heh heh). I didn't see it the last time I came this way. 

I am SO going to miss my connection at Osaka—no, I mean Okayama. I'm calling it right now. 

2:36 p.m. Morioka is a very pretty place when it isn't snowing. Blue snow-covered hills and cloud shadows. 

3:30 p.m. Gathering a boatload of passengers at Sendai. Last time I got a JR Pass they gave me a map with it. I expected it this time, but they didn't give me one, and I neglected to bring any. I'd love to be able to track our progress. We're more than halfway according to my watch, at least—though we did sit pointlessly in Morioka for 10 minutes or so. Hoo boy...well, the snow is all gone. No slush, even—just moist earth and wet pavement. I wonder what the weather will be like in Kyushu. 

4:49 p.m. Between Omiya and Ueno. We'll be at Tokyo Station in 20 minutes. Shades of night are falling fast; it'll probably be too dark to see Mt. Fuji. I've been traveling for 10 hours and have another 7 to go. 

6:13 p.m. Okay, I think I've got it figured out. If by some miracle I make my transfer at Okayama, all well and good. I'll moon around Shin-Yamaguchi Station all night and take the first train to Hakata in the morning. 

If (as I suspect) I don't make it, no biggie. I have ¥27,000 ($250-$260) left, which should cover a night bus—or train, if there is one. Or I might just say to hell with it and moon around Okayama. It's just one hour between there and Shin-Yamaguchi, and the ticket agent in Sapporo told me it's just 40 minutes more to Hakata. I could catch the 7:00 train from there and be in Hakata by a quarter to nine. When I get to Okayama, I'll have a look at the timetables. 

I have a really unhealthy lifestyle, you know? All I do is sit—and read, or write, or play computer games, or ride trains. No wonder I'm fat and blind (well, overweight and eyestrained). 

7:55 p.m. Just finished The Terror by Dan Simmons. If anything it's shown me what marvelous fruit an exhaustively researched and (as one ecstatic critic put it) "fully textured" historical novel can bear. Subsequently I've begun to believe that my own attempt at a historical novel, Mugunghwa (and perhaps Book One of my magnum opus, Revival, which is a historical/science fiction adventure tale) may be woefully under-researched, under-developed and inadequate. What'd make me feel better is if I had my computer with me so I could start making a list of written resources I've used (and need to look up as well), and begin tweaking both manuscripts again. The Tokaido-Sanyo Shinkansen has wi-fi, but I don't have my laptop. Shazbot. 

One more stop and then it's Shin-Osaka. That stop, incidentally, is Kyoto—one of my favorite cities in Japan. Sure is a shame I can't stop and play in it while I'm here. 

Okay, enough melancholy. I have my work cut out for me when I get back. For now let's just focus on getting to Okayama—and Shin-Yamaguchi, if possible. 

8:41 p.m. It's frustrating knowing that the train I'm in is sitting on the same rails that would take me all the way to Hakata—but can't, not tonight. What's also frustrating is that the train left the station five minutes late (either because it was tardy in arriving here or the cleaners took too long or both). That leaves me one measly minute to transfer at Okayama. 

Yeah. Right. It ain't happening, not unless the Kodama 767 at Okayama is also late in departing. Time will tell. 

9:09 p.m. Nishi-Akashi. Why are we just sitting here?!!

9:14 p.m. Finally moving. Jesus. That was easily 10-15 minutes. This didn't happen the last time I was here. Is Japan crumbling? Nah. A country shouldn't be judged by whether its trains run on time. Not solely, anyway. 

Young couple across from me are dozing together. Her head's canted at a 90° angle to rest on the dude's bony shoulder. Both are dressed in identical shades of gray, black, and white—NE Asian thing, couples dressing to match; the Koreans do it all the time, much to Miss H's disgust and my amusement. These two got on at Osaka. As I've wondered so many times while traveling on planes, boats, or trains—who are they? What were they doing and where are they heading?

9:55 p.m. I really can't believe it. I made it. The Kodama 765 pulled into Okayama at 9:53, and the 767 was right across the platform waiting for me. I jumped on without even looking to see what number it was—only reassuring myself with a tentative peek out the still-open door. I am Shin-Yamaguchi bound. 

Gotta hand it to Japan Rail. I had to admit I doubted 'em there for a minute. This is like a novel where the author looks like he's going to kill off your favorite character in the most contrived and ignominious way possible, only to save 'em at the last minute and have them execute a bold and brilliant counterattack which eviscerates the threat. 

First priority when I hit Yamaguchi at midnight—timetables. Second—a map. I want to see where in flaming hell I am. The western tip of Honshu, I'm guessing. 

So let's see here—setting aside that the Sapporo-Hakodate-Aomori run was by express train and not bullet train, I've nonetheless traveled from central Hokkaido to western Honshu in—what's it been—15 hours? WHY don't we have high-speed rail in the U.S. yet??

No, wait, scratch that. I'm not in western Honshu. Jumpin' Jesus—I haven't even passed Hiroshima yet. That's where I changed trains to go to Hakata when I was here in August. 

Dang. Gotta see if I can find a map in Yamaguchi. 

10:46 p.m. About an hour out of Yamaguchi and thundering toward Hiroshima—I hope. I just finished Paul Theroux's Ghost Train to the Eastern Star. Feelings are too effervescent and profound to describe. All dark outside the train windows. It really is like being a bullet in the barrel of a gun. What'll we hit? I miss Miss H. Need water—or beer. 

11:10 p.m. Brushed and flossed and ditched my trash while we were passing through (and stopping at) Hiroshima. How many times am I going to sneak through this town without stopping and seeing it?

No idea what the weather's like out there—temperature, I mean. People are still wearing long coats. At least there aren't any hats, gloves, scarves, or earmuffs. 

11:34 p.m. Tokuyama—last stop before Shin-Yamaguchi. Some people actually got on. Still no clue about weather—I can tell it's windy and that's that. Heavens—did I really leave Sapporo nearly 17 hours ago??

I hate to stop there, but that's the final note in my journal for February 6th. I'll fill you in on what happened that night after I got off the train at Shin-Yamaguchi tomorrow. I'd also like to add, here and now, that this train trip was the first time I'd ever seen a sun dog, a snow-devil or an active volcano. Oh mama, the places I've gone and the things I've seen...

30 Days to a Better Man, Day 20: perform service

Two-thirds done!

Another caveat: you don't actually have go to out and perform the service on this day (unless, of course, the opportunity presents itself). But you should take time to at least schedule some volunteer work.

A soup kitchen in the Warsaw ghetto during World War II.

I selected Itaewon Global Village Center. They have several different volunteer activities that they do. You can pass out food to the elderly or infirm, or do the same for the poor little waifs at an orphanage, among other things. I'm curious about helping the poor while I'm here, as poverty is a taboo subject in Korea (thanks to Confucianism). The homeless and destitute are generally swept under the rug. But for the amputees panhandling in the subway station or the wild-haired bums scrounging through garbage, a foreigner might believe that there aren't any poor people in this country. And I've been wanting to volunteer at a Korean orphanage ever since I saw this.

So! I sent IGVC an application form today. I'll let you know when I get a reply from them. This is the moment when taking on a challenge like this really starts to pay off. I've always been lax with volunteering. I didn't do it enough, and I'm fairly certain it knocked me out of the running for several jobs. It left a black stain on my conscience, too. I haven't volunteered since the last balloon launch with NKP. (I'm actually in that video, by the way, at 14:10; the guy with aviator shades and the fedora, obviously.)

Be that as it may, it's high time I did something to help the South Koreans. This country's been good to me. I need to pay them back.

Stay loose for Day 21.

30 Days to a Better Man, Day 18: find your N.U.T.s

That there may be no speculation, "N.U.T.s" means "Non-negotiable, Unalterable Terms."

They're related to your core values, which we discussed during Day 1 of this challenge. The example The Art of Manliness article gives is this: if one of your core values is fitness, then one of your N.U.T.s could be "I will work out six times a week, no matter what." As the article so adroitly states, "N.U.T.s are the things you’re committed to, the things that matter more than anything else: your kids, your career, your primary relationships, yourself, your purpose, your spiritual practice, your hobbies, your integrity, your morals and your psychological well-being."

Before we start, take a look at this picture, here:

That's Hiroo Onoda. He was in the news recently, but not because he has way too many Os in his name. The guy was a Japanese soldier in World War II, left behind and isolated on a Philippine island in 1945. He had been ordered by a superior to keep fighting. So he did. He refused to believe the war was over. He dismissed the newspaper and radio reports. Even when his own people dropped leaflets on him telling him to surrender, he thought they were Allied propaganda meant to demoralize him. He slept in a hole and lived off the land, waging a shadow war with the local Filipino population. He had some squad-mates with him in the beginning, but two of them surrendered in the 1950s and the other was killed in a skirmish with Filipino militia, I believe. Onoda finally capitulated in 1974, 29 years after the war ended. After a Japanese student found him in the jungles of Lubang Island near Luzon and sent his picture to some government bigwig, Onoda's former commanding officer (now a balding librarian) was flown in from Japan to personally order the steadfast soldier to stand down. Onoda handed over his sword and left the island. He then lived out the rest of his life as a peaceful citizen of his native land. He died yesterday at the age of 91.

Now, don't get me wrong. The Imperial Japanese Army doesn't have the cleanest rap sheet. Onoda may not have personally had anything to do with that, but he did kill some innocent Filipinos during those three decades as a holdout. I don't admire him for it.

What I admire him for is that unshakable sense of duty which led him to (literally) stick to his guns for 29 years, despite the whole world telling him to throw in the towel. Think about that for a second. Reach way down inside yourself. Is there anything you believe in so strongly that you'd be willing to give up 29 years of your life for it? Even then, do you truly think that you've got the determination and the stick-to-itiveness to do so? 

Onoda believed so hard in his duty as a soldier and a subject of the Emperor that he did just that. He put his money where his mouth was. He gave up thirty years of his life fighting a war he didn't know he'd already lost. In 1974, when he was discovered, Onoda's rifle was in perfect condition despite sitting in a jungle for three decades. He had stockpiles of ammunition and food which he stole from the locals. He was a literal one-man army, and he did it 'cause he felt he had to do it. Voices must have whispered to him a thousand times, a million times: stop, desist, stand down. He must have been tempted to listen to the news reports. To believe the rumors he'd heard. To turn himself in and go home. But he didn't. He never gave up. Something down deep in his soul, something made of furnace-forged steel, compelled him not to quit until his commanding officer told him otherwise.

If that isn't a N.U.T., I don't know what is. There's a reason Onoda's on this list of real-life Determinators.

So! Here are my N.U.T.s. You may think I spent a lot of time agonizing over these, but I didn't. Truth be told, I've already done this challenge. This was a separate AoM article before it was part of this 30-day challenge, and I saw it, and just for kicks I brainstormed and wrote some ideas down. I couldn't find the notebook I wrote them all down in, but I remember them pretty well. I've reproduced them here for you: 

1. I will not refrain from doing something just because my mind thinks it's scary.

2. I don't trust first impressions. I'll try anything twice.

3. I don't need to justify my choices or my actions to anyone but myself.

4. I see things through, but only if I decide that there's a good reason for doing so.

5. I say nothing about anyone behind their backs that I would not say to their faces. 

6. I accept jokes made at my expense with grace and good humor.

7. I never lie: I say what I think and I mean it.

8. I will never be satisfied with the man I am, and constantly strive to top myself. 

9. There is never a wrong time to learn. 

10. Skills can always use improvement. 

11. I waste minutes and hours, but not days: every day I write, move, live, and experience.

12. Everyone, no matter who they are, has something they can teach me.  

13. I judge movies, books, and albums by their covers, not people.

14. There is more to life than my life. 

15. I am aware of my bad habits and I combat them actively.

16. Humanity will remember me for something. 

17. I will leave this planet a better place than I found it. 

This is only the first draft. I'm going to refine these during the final weeks of January. Something should probably be thrown in there about my commitments to others: my job, my family, the love of my life, etc. But for starters, this is what we've got. What do you think, dear reader? Are these good-lookin' N.U.T.s? 

beardly updates

As many of you may know, I'm trying to grow a beard. I grew a paltry, thin one last spring when the cherry blossoms were blooming (why should they have all the fun?) but shaved it off shortly thereafter. I sculpted the remains into a Van Dyke, which has sustained me ever since.

But with the approach of No-Shave November this year, I decided I wanted more. A month without shaving would be the perfect chance. That scraggly thing I'd had on my face in spring wouldn't suffice to knock "grow a beard" off my bucket list. I'm aiming for a real beard this time around. Something that would make a mountain man proud, or at least refrain from calling me "pilgrim."

But first, a confession: I have been a bit unfair. I quit shaving halfway through October, and it's halfway through December now, so my nascent beard is obviously a bit longer than it should be. My facial hair grows really slowly, you see. Dang genetics. None of the Post men can grow beards. I suppose my Germanic/Viking ancestors were like cats: they got to the warm, sunny New World and started shedding. The big, bushy, manly beards must've been the first things to go. Accordingly, I had to hedge my bets a little. So I started earlier than everybody else.

This is what I've got now:

These were taken, incidentally, under the Gwangjin Bridge, on the eastern shore of the Han River, during a lovely December day. That's my new Stanwell pipe clenched between my teeth.

I'm going to let nature run its course through Yuletide, January, and the ensuing February. After I get back from Hokkaido on February 9, I'll do another post and show you all what my new-and-improved beard looks like. I've come to terms with the fact that it'll never equal the thick, woolly thing Robert Redford had stuck on his face all through the film Jeremiah Johnson, but I think I've found a suitable middle ground: Jürgen Prochnow from Das Boot.

Minus the weary, haunted look of utter despair. 

I frickin' love that movie, not just for the drama, the splendid acting and the gritty realism, but for the epic beards that the crew sprout over the course of the film. Submarines and submariners have always fascinated me: the camaraderie they necessarily had to have, the insensate dangers they faced on a daily basis, the physical hardships of life in a metal tube, and their downright slovenliness (sanctioned under the circumstances). There was an enthralling article called "Sweat and Rum" in the BBC News Magazine a couple of days ago. It centered around the crew of the HMS Ocelot and other British submarines of the 1960s. "The Queen's Pirates" they were called. Feckin' awesome.

Anyway, Prochnow—who is one of my favorite actors on the basis of Das Boot alone—and I have a lot in common in the facial hair department. His beard runs along his jawline and flows down to his neck, steering clear of his cheeks. Mine does the exact same thing. So that manly chinwig you see in the picture above? That's what I'm going for. Sans blood and sinking submarines, of course.

See you in February... 

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.

cocktail review no. 71 - Hotaru

Today's a red-letter day, folks: I'm reviewing one of my own creations. Not since the Potion F have I created a cocktail, much less posted a semi-objective review on this here blog. Feel privileged.

To my knowledge, nobody has (officially) crafted anything like this before, nor named it what I've named it. Don't fret, I'll explain the title presently. But before we do anything else, let's have the recipe:

• 1.5 ounces soju
• 1 ounce triple sec
• 1 ounce lime juice
• 1 lime wedge

Pour the soju, the triple sec and the lime juice into a cocktail shaker half-filled with ice cubes. Shake well and strain into a cocktail glass. Garnish with the lime wedge.

Does this sound familiar? It should. It's practically identical to a kamikaze. The only difference is that soju stands in for the vodka in the original.

The taste, if I may be so bold, is marvelous. The soju performs the same function as the vodka would, soaking up the flavors of the orange liqueur and the lime juice. However, it is milder and sweeter than vodka, so even great prominence is given to the citrus flavors. And yet, the soju adds just a hint of the exotic to the mélange. You know, right away, that this isn't a vodka drink. The overall flavor was akin to a glass of orange limeade, with a mild kick afforded by the base liquor. It was infinitely refreshing and delightfully tangy. And as always, it's customizable. If you like sweet more than sour, just minimize the lime juice and add more triple sec. If you wanna pucker up, just do the reverse.

The inclusion of soju in this cocktail had a great deal to do with my choice of the name "hotaru." Hotaru is the Japanese word for "firefly." It's also the name of a film about—get this—Korean kamikaze pilots.

Tak Kyung-hyun, a Korean who gave his life as a special attack pilot for the Japanese in WWII.

Yes, they existed. I was shocked, too, believe me. But historical research has shown that a dozen or more ethnic Koreans (taking Japanese names, as per the prewar Soshi-kaimei ordinance which Japan imposed on the Korean peninsula) served as kamikaze pilots in World War II. This news story from 2008 talks about a memorial for one of these fellows, Tak Kyung-hyun, being erected in the city of Sacheon. Naturally, there was quite a bit of controversy. Some Koreans think these dudes were pressured or coerced into flying suicide missions for Japan, and therefore deserve some posthumous sympathy; while others insist that they were collaborators of the worst sort, and their memories should be stricken from the history books.

Anyway, the movie Hotaru, which came out in 2000, is about a Korean kamikaze pilot who dies in combat. His two Japanese buddies survive the war, and one of them winds up marrying his deceased friend's Japanese fiancée, and there's some awkwardness there or something. Sounded like it might be worth checking out.

Anyway, I chose the word hotaru for this beverage because "Korean kamikaze" sounded boring and basic (even if it is alliterative). I wanted something more poetic, and I found it.

Try it, sample it, roll it around your tongue for a while (both the name and the drink) and then tell me what you think. I dare you. Your personal reviews might just save my future bar. Oh, and in case you're wondering, I'm working on a couple of other recipes at the moment. I hope to bring my total of alcoholic creations up to four before the year's out.

Stay put and stay tuned, and you'll get some free samples.

Zōjō-ji

Day Four of Tokyo:

Did you know that Ulysses S. Grant went to Japan once? I didn't.

But let me back up here.

This was my final day in Tokyo. Now that the girls were gone, I was back to sleeping in a capsule hotel...and since Miss H had taken my huge rolling suitcase back to Korea with her, I was traveling more lightly. That meant I could stuff all my crap into the provided lockers and have a restful night's sleep. It did me a world of good, and I arose on the morning of August 3 refreshed and ready for an expedition to Roppongi.

(I do recommend the First Inn Kyobashi to anyone wanting to stay in a capsule hotel; just don't go in the height of summer like I did. The floors can get a bit warm, and while there are both wall-mounted and portable A/C units, they might not reach you or work particularly well. So either bring a fan you can plug in or go in autumn sometime when the weather's milder, and the steamy bathroom on the first floor will feel more equable.)

So far in Tokyo, I had hit most of the central neighborhoods: Asakusa, Ueno, Akibahara, Shibuya. I skipped Odaiba, Ikebukuro, and Shinjuku because they were all rather remote and out of the way. I had wanted to see some things in Shinjuku, but I nixed them because of the time involved. I had overestimated how long it would take to see the stuff on my grand to-do list and ultimately I had to make some cuts. So I elected to skip the Japanese Sword Museum and some other parks and museums on my itinerary. Instead, I chose to focus on famous landmarks, picturesque temples, and any other points of interest.

Today was the day I hit my last neighborhood: Roppongi. It's on the southwest side of town. It has, or had, a seedy reputation. This is where U.S. servicemen would go to blow off steam during the postwar occupation, if you know what I mean. Nowadays they're trying to clean the place up: shopping centers such as Roppongi Hills and glitzy apartment complexes are attracting upscale movers, and the sultrier bits are getting swept under the rug.

But I didn't give a darn about that. Roppongi had two things I was interested in: Tokyo Tower and Zōjō-ji.

The main hall (see below) with Tokyo Tower in the background.

Zōjō-ji, the first temple I saw in Japan, was much like any Buddhist temple I had seen in Korea...except larger. The main temple hall was downright enormous. Later I found out why: the temple's main claim to fame is that it was the personal temple of the Tokugawa family. In case you're not up on your Japanese history, the Tokugawa shogunate was the last one to rule over Japan before the Meiji Restoration (the period between 1868 and 1912 that saw imperial rule restored to the emperor and a major social and technological overhaul of Japanese society). They were powerful people, the Tokugawas. The shogun, a fellow named Ieyasu, had a lot of clout. Zōjō-ji had originally been built in the Chiyoda area of town (where the Imperial Palace stands) but Ieyasu had it moved, first to Hibiya (home of the Godzilla statue) and then to its current location. It was Ieyasu who had the ginormous hall in the following picture built so he and his family could have a suitably grand place to worship.

See the ladies there in yukata at the top of the stairs?

You wanna know how big a deal Tokugawa Ieyasu was? I'll tell you. Blogger's spell-checker actually recognizes his name. That's how much weight he swings.

Anyway, like most stuff in Tokyo, Zōjō-ji was badly damaged during World War II (we may have accidentally sort of dropped a few fire bombs on it, whoopsie) but was lovingly restored.

Zōjō-ji has some other notable features, but I'll get to them in a minute. First I have a funny story for you.

Now, I'd done extensive research on how to pray at a Buddhist temple in Japan. And when I say "extensive research" I mean that I paid close attention whenever a character in an anime I was watching did it. There seemed to be certain steps to it. First, toss a coin into a collection box with a slatted cover; this is your "offering" to the gods (and the temple's tithe). Second, ring the bell. This is so the heavens can hear you, sort of like ringing a cosmic doorbell or something. Then you pray, hands folded, eyes closed. After that, if you so desire, you can clap your hands a couple times: again to make sure the gods heard you.

The incense and burner are in front, the slatted offering box behind. Inside the temple there wasn't much going on; just a couple of monks pottering about and a great gigantic Amida Buddha with all the trappings behind them. I didn't take a picture because there was a sign saying not to when there was a ceremony going on.

 At Zōjō-ji, there was one more step: there was no bell to ring, so visitors plucked some incense flakes from a bowl and sprinkled them on hot coals, sending oily plumes of aromatic smoke upward into the hazy air. Guess the gods will smell the prayers coming.

So I done it. I flipped a 100-yen coin (one U.S. dollar; I was serious) into the box, sprinkled the incense, prayed for Miss H's future happiness with me, clapped my hands, and left.

Now, that was all well and good. But I came into Zōjō-ji from the side entrance. If I'd come through the front gate, I'd have remembered to purify my hands at the basin there before entering the temple grounds and praying. So what the gods got was a dirty, smelly, grimy prayer only slightly gussied up by the incense. Rats. I did it wrong. Well, hopefully there'd be time to rectify that mistake.

Here are some other shots from around the temple grounds:

These little guys are called Jizō, and they protect children. The offerings of flowers and pinwheels you see here are, in the case of Zōjō-ji, offerings to unborn children, whether miscarried, aborted or stillborn, to help usher them to the afterlife. Small stones placed near the Jizō help to ease the trials and tribulations of the journey.

I just adore the work of their landscaper...

Close-up of a Jizō.

 

This is one of Zōjō-ji's other claims to fame: the cemetery of six of the 15 Tokugawa shoguns. 

I have no idea who this feller is, but he sure earned himself a nice plot.

I was on my way out toward the main gate when I spotted this sign.

So I stepped back and got this shot. Dang. Big tree. And planted by old Unconditional Surrender Grant himself. I had no idea Ulysses S. Grant went to Japan, did you?

The main gate, called Sangedatsu, I believe.

And that was that! I bought myself a snack of onigiri (rice balls) at a nearby convenience store and sat in the park to eat them as the pigeons flocked all around me. Then I got up, walked down the narrow lane running along the temple's north side, and back to...

...TOKYO TOWER! [duh duh dunnn...]

(But more about that next time.)