Running before I Crawl

Joints intact

I returned (properly) to Tokyo for the first time in several years with Jaz at the beginning of the month. It rained almost constantly and we were liberal with our wake-up times, so you’ll have to take my word for it that we had a lovely time. As we were staying in Kōenji, I could take her round my old haunts, which meant UFO Club and Penguin House, primarily. The former hosted a mod event at which we both felt very underdressed.


A chocolate pizza in Harajuku also featured, which had to be tasted to be believed.

Pre-race fuel

Pre-race fuel

Unfortunately, the big achievement of the month has passed that window where I could actually inform you about it here, but what the hell, here’s that sweaty picture once again for luck.


Yes, I ran a half-marathon, and did so in (just) under two hours. This was a bit over a week ago at the time of going to press. Unfortunately, while the post-race hobbles wore off after a day or two, the shin-splints which have remained steadfast since January returned in full force a few days later after a moderately-active 15 minutes running around with some 10-year-olds. The lack of running goal means I can and have put it to rest until I’m properly recovered.

Unfortunately the same had to go for kendo, at least until next week. I’m a little worried about how I’ve come across to the higher-ups, turning up for two sessions then disappearing completely. Thankfully my landlord is one of them, so I’ve hopefully been able to stave him off with an explanation for the time being.


Gorging Ourselves


What better way to rest my legs than by walking up a mountain and along a gorge? So went the thought process that weekend when I returned to Yamadera for the third time with some friends: Jess, Evan and Andréanne. The original plan had been to join up with a larger group of Yamagata JETS, but a mishap with the station we were supposed to be meeting at caused us to work in reverse, climbing Yamadera then tacking Yamadera Gorge second.

The views at the top were predictably beautiful, and I managed to get one more page of my temple passport filled by a monk who blessed the book with a hoarse growl before handing it back to me. Although I maintain that Jess’s assertion that Yamadera is an hour long and difficulty hike is utterly unfounded, the ease at which we climbed when the temperature was in the mid teens (as opposed to the low thirties) is testament to the power of the climate.

I had seen Yamadera before, but the gorge was a new experience for us all. Jess and Andréanne got their first sight of real life genuine Japanese monkeys and we all slipped at least once on the thin ledge that constituted a path. Nevertheless, the water was clear and cold and especially as the afternoon wore on the whole experience was utterly beautiful. Then someone had the idea to take a photo on the train tracks (because “you can hear them coming”) before we all had to scatter from the oncoming ‘waterfall’ that had been growing louder in the distance.

The next day, Andréanne, Evan and I participated in some ‘German Health Walking’ in nearby Kaminoyama after Andréanne was roped into participating by her employer. Cue two hours of very gentle walking with stops to check our heart rate every hour, and many comments by the old people who seemed the only other real participants. We got a free blood pressure test and udon out of it, however, so all was not lost.

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Last night I went on my first pub crawl, or 酒番所 (sakebansho). This was rather different from those as I understood them in England, where some friends and I would tackle several bars along a route hopefully pre-defined by natural barriers or ancient fortifications.

The sakebansho, on the other hand, was an enormous, and mid-week, affair. About 150 people packed into a community centre and were assigned to one of about ten groups, which were in turn split into teams of four to five. I was with Brian and two junior high school teachers. Our five stops were marked out for us on a map, and we were free to choose the order as long as we went to the highlighted one first. Having paid up front, a drink and a snack at each was provided, and we had to be back by 9pm for a prize draw.

Akayu is not wanting for drinking places. Unfortunately, almost all of them are スナック (snakku) bars. The shadiness of such places varies wildly, but in one we were greeted and served very intently by two women in very very short dresses. It’s rather difficult to write about without sounding either overly prudish or a little seedy, but suffice to say the regular bars had a more comfortable atmosphere.

One highlight has to be the traditional-feeling and very pleasant bar who cheerfully served us snails. The pictures below prove that I did, indeed, eat it, though I wouldn’t again.

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Come 9pm we gave the numbers attached to our lanyards to the organiser, who began the prize draw. At least three numbers were within one place of my team’s, but regardless we missed out on many bottles of wine and a significant amount of beef. Thankfully ramen and another drink or two afterwards washed away most of the injustice we felt.


And Finally

As part of the current lessons on countries and travel for my Year 6’s I decided to set the record straight on what ‘England’ is and how it relates to the UK, which they (and some teachers) had never heard of. As far as I can tell there were no real winners in the map I drew.



Boku no Hosomichi

(Additional emotion to accompany reading can be found here)
And thus we come to the end of my journey and this blog designed to record it. After Hong Kong I met an English friend of old and a relatively recent Japanese host, but the events and photos from that week shall remain on other platforms in order to preserve some semblance of integrity in this one.
Although this journey to Narita Airport is one of reflection, I shall do my best to avoid too much whimsy (although I can make no promises). I do not intend to return with an overly romantic middle-distance gaze (any more than I already do) and a conviction that no one could possibly grasp the profundity of a six month city break, and I suspect that many lessons learned will become far more obvious upon my actual return and starting at university.
It would be foolish, however, to pretend that nothing has come out of this trip. My Japanese has improved from some theoretical basics to conversational ones, I am now competent with chopsticks and have been fully converted on the viability of enormous shower rooms and heated, water-jetting toilets. I have made many friends, most of them far more multilingual than myself, from all over the world, who I trust I can call upon should I need to go into business in Holland, listen to some truly bizarre music at Penguin House or do just about anything north of Tokyo.
As I watch the city change steadily into countryside outside my window I realise just how attached I have become to this at times scarily odd country with all its societal flaws (cynicism is just one way to ease the pain of departure), horrifying insects and bewildering cultural revelations, and just how little of it I would have been able to experience without the language skills I had when I arrived and continued to develop. I suppose Koichi et al at ToFugu as well as my teacher Yuka Isaacs deserve special mentions in this department for helping me to get some sort of grounding before I stumbled over here way back in January.
My destination draws near. I am superlatively glad I took the opportunity to experience a place so different from home (although it scarcely feels so now) and an already planning my return after university. I advise in the strongest terms anyone even vaguely considering a similar venture to do so. You will not regret it.
Until next time,


Bigger Chopsticks


Looking back over the penultimate week of my travels, I find that, despite Hong Kong’s immensity and interestingness, the experience and memories stemming from it are mainly culinary in nature. Therefore, allow me to begin by briefly listing the animals (and parts therein) which I have eaten for the first time (actually or effectively) over the course of this past week with those tree-trunks they call eating utensils in this country:

  • Abalone
  • Crab
  • Razor clam
  • Normal clam
  • Scallops
  • Oysters
  • Chicken feet
  • Pork intestine
  • Pork kidney
  • Parts of an unidentified fish’s face
  • Mantis shrimp
  • Very strong vegetabley tea
  • Cane sugar syrup

Although this was interspersed with various more regular meats, coming from a life that one could hardly be called seafood-focused I had some adapting to do when faced with a large central plate of slimy salty things and an innate need to prove myself as the only foreigner in a restaurant full of locals.


Speaking of locals, I found myself reacquainted with a number of borders from back at
school. It makes sense geographically, but was still rather disconcerting for both parties. Thankfully English was rather more comfortable for them, as I had gotten rather too well-practiced at a blank stare and half-smile at mealtimes to make up for my total lack of Cantonese.

Effigies of the possessions of the deceased to be burnt at funerals

Effigies of the possessions of the deceased to be burnt at funerals

When not eating or sleeping I wandered the streets of the city with my old friend and guide Simon, being shown places the names of which I cannot remember, most of which were (deliberately) somewhat grotty, intriguing and mildly intimidating. Hong Kong is comprised almost entirely of malls, very tall, thin blocks of flats and markets. We spent most of our time in the latter, coming across all sorts of bizarre and very culturally specific items for sale.

Despite (or perhaps because of) the myriad experiences that found me here, I feel Tokyo calling once more and look forward to being back in a country where food is eaten out of plates rather than bowls with unnecessary spoons and people don’t talk on the train.


Matsuri! and the end of Osaka


Having survived Osaka I come to the end of my victory lap around Japan. It wasn’t all grim, however. This week held host to one of the three biggest festivals in the country: Tenjin Matsuri. Technically it is dedicated to Sugawara no Michizane, a scholar, poet and politician of Edo period Japan, currently deified as a patron of learning and art. In practice it consists of a large parade with loud red-hatted drummers, hundreds of umbrella dancers and children leading an ox, culminating in a great show of river-based pomp and ceremony with fireworks and yet more drummers on boats.JKR_2828

There were crowds aplenty, especially next to the river. In 32 degree heat this was not pleasant, but I soldiered on somehow by eating far too much festival food and gawping at the attractions which seemed to involve catching goldfish, crabs and terrapins (not all at once) in incredibly shallow hand-nets. I stuck to the food lest I found myself unexpectedly burdened with a crustacean.

JKR_2804On my last day I rounded off the travels with a true air of finality by visiting the tomb of Bashō. This was actually a second attempt, as I had been caught out by Osaka’s cryptic train system and didn’t arrive until the temples were closed. When I finally made it it was raining with a thunderstorm on the horizon, which seemed oddly fitting. After a rather glassy-eyed ‘discussion’ with the local priest and much money thrown into every single shrine just in case I wrote a final haiku in the visitors book and, cradling my excellent mikuji, said my silent goodbyes before preparing for the next leg of my journey.


Feeding the Animals

I arrived in Osaka ready to tumble into yet another mad rush of Japanese urban living. Unfortunately, being alone and in yet another ‘youth hostel’ jam packed with tired-looking Japanese men over thirty in one of the rough(er) areas of the city I felt rather more inclined to leave and spend my days either sheltering from the heat in a dimmed, highly air-conditioned room or out in some of the more pleasant surrounding areas. In Arashiyama (just outside Kyoto) and Nara, there was something of a recurring theme.


First up were the charming Japanese macaques (snow monkeys), who are native around much of Japan but especially well known in the north. I had spotted some whilst in Tohoku (and surprised my host by telling her that England did not have monkeys natively), but they were rather more timid than their southern counterparts. An interesting inversion is that the visitors stand in a cage (or sorts) and feed the monkeys on the outside, who are completely wild and native to the mountain, and are attracted by the prospect of easy food. This attraction was more of a simian sideshow, however, compared to the main event.


The real reason I had come to Arashiyama was to witness the age old tradition of ukai. This involves a boat about ten metres in length, with two people propelling it punt-fashion and a large cage of burning wood. A third man stands at the front holding a number of strings, which are tied around the necks of about five cormorants swimming in the water. At dusk they set off, followed by eight long boats of tourists, and glide up and down the river, led by the birds. Occasionally one dives and comes up with a fish, which is left half-swallowed due to the rope. It is then yanked out of the water, stripped of its loot and dropped back in to try again. It really is a dramatic spectacle by firelight.

JKR_2715Finally, I journeyed to Nara. It turns out the deer are just as mercenary as I have been warned. Although there are many signs warning that they are still wild animals, it can get somewhat unnerving when surrounded on all sides by antlers butting steadily more urgently at one’s sides as soon as deer cookies are smelled. They are polite at first, even bowing upon introduction and in return if one cares to try. These deer may be wild, but they are certainly still Japanese.

The Most Important Mountain


I left Biei and upgraded its gentle rolling hills for some proper mountains around the town of Sounkyo, in Daisetsuzan National Park. Although I made four trips from the café in which I was staying, two stand out as examples of my short career as a Japanese hiker.

The Panorama

You can't see the trail because there may as well not have been one

You can’t see the trail because there may as well not have been one

My first journey up the mountains was to the point marked via a trail which I was warned could be steep and rather difficult. This was certainly true, but all would have been fine if my only issues were some low hanging branches and inclinations. The real things battling against me the entire way were various members, particularly of the blood-sucking variety, of the animal kingdom. A minor altercation with a snake quickly became the least of my worries as ticks upon ticks came out of nowhere to latch on to my arms, neck and bare calves. By the time I realised this assault several had already become firmly latched, one in a very personal place indeed. This was disheartening to say the least. The fact that the path was narrow with many plants (most bearing large spiders and webs) to climb through did not improve the situation. Twice I very nearly gave up.

Fortunately I did continue, and the result can be seen at the top of this page. Sounkyo Gorge feels very much like a Japanese Yosemite Valley, and I could see all of it from that one precarious outcrop. However, having spent nearly two hours working my way up and with my new parasitic companions redoubling their efforts I allowed myself only a short while to enjoy the cool breeze and muse upon the meaning of life before making my way back down.

This was, in some ways, even worse than the climb up. The parts which had been tiring and steep now became dangerous. If the first part had been a frustrated and uneasy trudge the second was an all out arms-flailing dash of terror from spiders, another snake, countless ticks, mosquitos, wasps and at least one of the terrifying giant hornets. Once home it was straight into a cold shower with a pair of tweezers for a final test of my willpower, resisting the urge to burn the clothes I had walked in.

The Big One

All in five hours before breakfast

All in five hours before breakfast

I had headed up the main mountain (Kurodake) in the early evening and intended to stay the night at a hut just past the peak, get up for at sunrise and then walk around a large volcanic crater. The hut was cramped and uncomfortable to such a degree that I didn’t need an alarm to be wide awake at half past three in the morning. The sunrise was classically difficult to JKR_2422photograph, but the real advantage was the clarity with which one could see the rest of the area. Normally it is covered in clouds, but that morning and for a few minutes the evening before the weather cleared and everything was gloriously visible.

Reaching the edge of the crater was another spectacular moment. The variation in terrain in and around it was such that it felt as though every aspect of Earth’s geography was represented (visually, at least) at once.JKR_2480The walk was long and hard, particularly as I only had a small plastic bottle of (delicious, clear and cool) glacial river water by way of refreshment. I started walking at about a quarter to five on a strict ration, and eyed with envy the bourgeois climbers with their real walking boots, seventeen water bottles clanking away and a backpack stuffed full of snacks. I certainly earned my breakfast. Unfortunately the lack of water meant that I couldn’t detour to Asahidake, the highest mountain in Hokkaido, which lay an hour off the trail.

In a way I was rather glad to be leaving when I did and returning to a (relatively small) city in the form of Sapporo, with pavements and flatter ground. This move was doubly pleasant as the owners of the room where I stayed in Sounkyo not only drove me there but also gave me a place to stay at their house after we failed to find accommodation for my second night. Live jazz and a beer festival capped the whole thing off.

Next stop Osaka.

It would Biei Travesty to Entitle Otherwise

JKR_0974Leaving Sendai and the ferry behind, I made my way through Hokkaido’s capital of Sapporo and back into blissful rurality once more. Biei is well known for rolling hills of field and flower, and has been the location for a number of adverts, to the point that some areas, such as Mild Seven Hill, are actually named after the brands that took up the image.


All but indistinguishable from Hokkaido – even the locals said so

However, as a result of my rural upbringing, I rather felt a little out of place amongst the hundreds of tourists from Tokyo and Beijing taking thousands of photos of a small rapeseed field with gargantuan cameras, completely ignoring the birds of prey wheeling overhead. I opted to cycle some of the way (although not to the hostel – that was an hour and a half of hot, tiring trudging up hills with 20kg worth of possessions that I don’t intend to repeat outside of military conscription), while most drove from signpost to signpost, barely stopping to take photographs. I, however, focused on the heat and rather more impressive (read:terrifying) wildlife on show in this part of the world, from hornets the size of my thumb to the aforementioned hawks.

Rather, my experience of the area was more one of city-to-country culture shock. Although I’ve been travelling for over two weeks now, this is the first time I’ve really been outside Tokyo on my own. If nothing else my internal timetable still needs adjusting, as it seems to custom here to rise around dawn and be in bed by nine, which means that they fall asleep at about the time the city folk start waking up and operate on completely opposing systems. Twice I have been caught out trying to eat dinner after six-thirty, and generally been punished for it, but that brings me to the story at the heart of this stop.

If I had known the above, I probably would have been more insistent on my supposed dinner reservation at the hostel, but instead merrily set off down the lane to nearby eateries, wincingJKR_1041 slightly at my feet and sunburn, only to find that they either only served lunch or were fully booked. Although not yet, there was not a soul in sight. I had reservations about walking another two hours in total to the town, but thankfully a friendly café owner lent me an almost broken bicycle with a torch taped on the handlebars by way of a lamp.

After one of the most joyous (and downhill) bike rides of my life, I came across a similar story – most restaurants were lunch-only, with the exception of the 7/11 and an intimidating-looking sushi restaurant. Opaque sliding doors are common for such places in Japan, but not being able to get a glimpse of what one is about to walk into is rather disconcerting for me. Upon steeling myself, I was told dismissively that they only served sushi. It took three attempts before I was begrudgingly let in and sat down in the tatami area rather than the seats, just to be sure. Three locals with varying degrees of speech impediment were my only companions, and I had my back to them. The atmosphere was one of passive-aggressive confrontation of the kind I had heard about but never experienced in the city.


Not pictured is the intimidatingly enormous ikura (fish eggs), mainly because I wolfed it down as quickly as possible. It was clear (to the dramatic side of my mind, at least), that I was expected to prove myself not just able but worthy of partaking in such a meal at such a place. Naturally, each piece was utterly slathered in wasabi, but ginger, the beer bought for me by one rather loud patron and gritted teeth got me through the worst of it. With the final, nose-burning piece of salmon successfully ingested without choking, I left, with many awkward pauses and slightly suspicious looks from the owner, feeling rather exhausted at the experience.

The bike ride back up the hill(s) was less joyous. A storm was on the horizon, with lightning filling the sky at regular intervals well ahead of the thunder. I met no cars and almost no streetlights, the silent fields just visible in the darkness surrounding the meagre, off-centre torchlight which stuttered at every bump in the road.

Trust me to go to a place of outstanding natural beauty and instead catch myself between distrustful locals and a potentially supernatural murder on a dark country road.

Sendai Dash!


In my quest to delve even deeper into the remote countryside of Japan, I left Tome and began the arduous journey up to Hokkaido. This, however, required Shinkansen and ferries, and thus a trip to the big lights of Sendai for a night.

In between eating rather expensive sushi (from my budget, at least) and and drinking JKR_0964a little too much for a far more reasonable price, I was able to sniff out yet another Pokémon Centre (with numerous Tohoku-based events occurring precisely when I leave the country) and taste a local delicacy consisting of battered fish balls on a stick with ketchup, which actually taste remarkably like the former part of fish & chips.

After an hour on the train and a hidden £40 cost I still don’t really understand, I found myself in Hachinohe and boarding the ferry. I booked an overnight trip, and currently type this while the floor sways gently beneath me. As I climbed on, I was somewhat worried about internet. It quickly became clear that I would have other things to be concerned with.


Here’s hoping it isn’t too long a night.

So Good he Named it Thrice (or rather, didn’t)


Matsushima truly might have been created by Ōyamazumi [God of the Mountains] in the Great Age of the Gods. What painter or what writer could ever capture fully the wonder of this masterpiece of nature? 

-Matsuo Bashō, Oku no Hosomichi

Ah! Matsushima,

-Matsuo Bashō, when forced to write a
haiku about the place, much later on

The obligatory haiku stone

The obligatory haiku stone

It is perhaps testament to the state of the weather and the time period in which I find myself that I was not quite struck dumb (although poetically the value of my contributions could be called into question) upon gazing out onto the bay of Matsushima. The clouds and impending rain made the sky and water grey, and peaceful views of the countless islands from Ōjima Island interrupted by the horns of ferries doing tours of the area.

Maybe it was just the clouds, maybe it’s peak season for visits, or maybe it’s because I bit into a seemingly delicious curry-pan only to find it stuffed with oysters (serves me right for not reading the sign properly), but it would appear that Matsushima is one place for me to visit again, just to be sure.