Japan

Sushi Sochu Shinkansen
Touring Japan

Departure: class and champagne - 21/7/6

I have been invited by Yasuyuki Maekawa, a collegue from Japan, at the PIERS 2006 conference in Tokyo. Because I have never visited that corner of the earth, this is a good opportunity to see that country - especially because the boss (the University of Bath) is paying.
Hanna also comes along, and in her urge to plan things she has seen cheap offers from Helsinki to Osaka (afetr all, her flight is not payed by my boss). So we are going via Helsinki and Osaka to Tokyo. I just trust that if the price is low enough, my boss will not ask questions about this unlogical route. On the other hand, unlogical? Helsinki is actually more or less on a straight line from England to Japan.
The flight Helsinki-Osaka with Finnair has something new: you can check in beforehand by internet. This should save some time at the airport. Apparently this is possible from 24 hours before departure, so on the day before departure we log on to the website. When we try to choose our seats, the whole plane turns out to be already full, except for two seats: one all the way in the front and one all the way in the back. We wonder, have really all other passengers already used this new service so promptly? It seems rather unlikely.
Hanna proposes not to check in: there may be something wrong, and anyway we don't have anything to lose; after all we can't get any worse seats than these. I have my doubts: it might be that the flight has been overbooked, so that we won't be able to travel at all. I tell her stories about how that sometimes happens at dutch charter flights, but she is convinced that Finnair wouldn't do such a thing. Eventually we don't check in online, because I admit that it looks very likely that there is something wrong.
Arriving at Helsinki-Vantaa airport we see a massive queue of people standing through the whole departure hall. Nice that we immediately already get the feeling that we are travelling: we first have to pass a couple of kilometers with all our luggage at crawling speed in a long queue through the departure hall.
Checking in, it turns out that there are no seats available for us at all, but they will let us on the plane. Nice; does this mean that we can keep standing for the whole flight, or sit at the toilet? Maybe we can sit with the hostesses, or in the cockpit? Something like that is not suggested, but our seats are on 'stand by', whatever that may mean, and will be assigned at the gate. Strange, all of this, but knowing that with the present security regulations they will never let somebody on the plane without a decent seat, we just wait.
At the gate Hanna gets more nervous all the time, but that has nothing to do with our seats; that's normal for her when we go flying.
The lady at the gate tells us eventually that we can get one seat in economy class, and one in business class. Although this is not ideal either, we can't say 'no'.
A little later, right before boarding, she comes with another modification: there was somebody who didn't want to go in business class. So we will both be sitting business class! Well I never: it's worthwhile not to check in!
In the plane our seats are almost but not quite beside each other. But although Hanna is sitting beside a man who is clearly alone, we don't dare ask if he wants to swap places with me. After all, we already have gotten way too much for nothing: we paid a giveaway price, probably less than most who are now sitting economy class, and are now serviced as kings.
At departure we get offered a glass of champagne. This seems to be normal in business class, but what is the point of this? Should we celebrate that we are sitting here, have more legroom, and are treated better? Should we be confirmed in our feeling that we are of a better class than the proletariat in the room behind us? Maybe then it's even best that we all go and stand for a moment in the doorway with glass in hand, and laugh with a hot potato in our throat at the illiterate scum, that cannot afford a seat with enough elbow space to eat comfortably? Whatever way, the champagne already gives me a bitter aftertaste before even touching it, and I decline the offer.
We have our own entertainment-centre (OK, that's not so special, Singapore Airlines had that in economy class), the food is fine, and we can choose between a Finnish and a Japanese menu, and from various excellent wines. The seats can be adjusted in all directions, so that you can sleep completely flat out if you want. Nice, but I can't help wondering what's the use of all this spoiling. Do these people really like to pay astronomical prices for a flight, only to let themselves be pampered, and to be reminded how 'important' they are?
On the other hand you could consider that flying is an extremely polluting form of transport, which per passenger-kilometer is by far the largest contributor to the greenhouse effect, and that an 'ordinary' air ticket is so ridiculously cheap only because there still is no fuel tax being paid on kerosine. The business class travellers are then the only ones who may be paying a fair price for the pollution that they cause. And for that achievement it may be fair to reward them a little.
But the average business class passenger -probably mostly managers, who have their company pay for their ticket, but make sure that the lower staff members will not get that privelege- probably will never think about the environment. As for me: I hate flying both for personal and for environmental reasons, and this pampering cannot change that. And in the streched-out chair I don't sleep any better than in an economy class airplane seat.

Nara: temples and heat - 22/7/6

The hosts and -esses are all Finnish or Japanese. Nice, we can practice here the two hardest languages in the world. But of course they all speak English too. But with one of the black-haired hostesses I have already tried out an 'arigato gozaimasu'. It always gives a feeling of victory, when for the first time I communicate something with somebody in an alien language, who then understand this and thus confirms that there really are people who speak that weird language. But for the moment I don't get much further than the above and a couple of simple things, so for the rest I stick to English.
Disembarking at Osaka-Kansai Airport we don't notice much yet of the crowdedness of this country. The airport is set up very spaciously. At the passport control the lady asks me what I am visiting Japan for:
"Holiday and work."
"What kind of work are you coming to do?"
"I'm going to a conference in Tokyo."
"Tokyo? But... this here is Osaka, do you know that?"
What is she thinking; that I will cry out: 'O my god, then I've taken the wrong plane!' or: 'Isn't that the same thing then?'?

We take the train via Nara to Kyoto. At the ticket desk we hear that we have to change in Tennoji to get in Nara. But when we get in the train we are quite baffled by all the Japanese-language signs, and don't know how to verify that this train does go to Tennoji. A lady with a mouth mask immediately shoots to our aid. Yes, this is the right train.
She apologises for her mouth mask. "Yes, that is something typical Japanese. I have a cold, and then you are expected to wear a mask." But she does take it off to talk to us. Where are we coming from etc. etc.
The train is full of advertisements. Clearly there aren't many legal restrictions to this here. With all those for us unreadable kanji-characters it does make quite a colourful decoration.
Kansai Airport is on an artificial island in front of the coast near Osaka. The train soon gets onto a bridge, over which we roll toward the mainland of Japan. Thus we are reaching Japan across the water after all. An impressive sight, with houses left and right as far as you can see, but in front, very far away, the mountains rising up out of the land, big, green, uninhabited, and probably unmountable.
In this corner of Japan everything is one big city. As soon as the train is on the mainland, we are travelling through a sea of houses, via Tennoji to Nara.

In Nara we stack our backpacks in a locker and go into town. We are amazed at the number of little shops with all kinds of small .... er let's not say 'rubbish': stuff. Through the centre we reach the sights for which we are here: several pagodas and shrines, and a large buddhist temple. But it is so hot: 35°, and so humid, that we don't have much energy to see it all.
In the pond in the centre are so many turtles, that the pigeons don't have any place for themselves and are sitting on the backs of the turtles. Deers walk around freely everywhere, so many that they are no fun anymore. They beg for food from the tourists, but I doubt if they need it. I wonder if they are trained to do this, because people find that so cute.
The big buddhist temple is impressive. The ritual drinking fountain in front of the entrance is useful especially in this weather. As with all shrines and temples you have to take off your shoes to get in. Inside there is a massive Buddha statue, about 10 metres high, sitting comfortably on his lotus leaf. It seems strange that such an enormous statue is locked up in a temple that only just fits around it, but the fact that you can only see it from up close, and therefore have to look up, does contribute much to the effect. Still, Buddha does not have an 'overpowering' attitude, but a relaxed one. His hands indicate 'giving' and 'receiving'. I would almost spontaneously become a buddhist, so impressive.

The Buddha-temple in Nara

On the way back through the shopping centre our first problems arise. In a bookshop I want to buy a Japanese dictionary. Since I haven't had any chance yet to get any money, I want to pay for this with my credit card. However, for this I have to type in my pin code, but the code of my credit card I don't know by heart, because I have never used it yet! The other card I have with me, a Visa-electron debit card, does not work in this shop. Hanna comes to my aid by paying cash. But we consider that this could mean that I cannot get any money at all if I don't know the pin code of my VISA card, because Visa-electron is anything but universally accepted.
Hanna immediately loses her temper because of this: I am in deep trouble; I should have thought about how I could get some money. "Again Max is forgetting something important!"
Myself I don't see this as an unsolvable problem: "I'll just go to a bank and then things will have to be strange if with my credit card, passport and signature I can't get any money!"
But I do get annoyed by the fact that Hanna loses her temper, and this argument immediately overshadows the original problem. The heat also clearly contributes to a lack of tolerance. This becomes clear when, with a coffee in an airconditioned café, emotions calm down.

We take the train to Kyoto and check in in our ryokan. A ryokan is a Japanese-style hotel, where the rooms have wall-to-wall reed mats -shoes off-, the beds consist of thin futons with covers, and for the rest there is only a low table with cushions beside it, and utensils to make Japanese tea. Sliding paper doors everywhere. Fortunately the bathroom is western...!

The room in the ryokan, Kyoto

The manager is a sight to be seen. His long hair waves while he bows deeply for us. We are treated as kings. When we go back outside, he bows again deeply for us, and I don't know whether I have to return this. Would that then look like I am making fun of him? It stays with a nod, a bit ambivalent between a bow and none. But at least I say as much as possible 'arigato gozaimasu', which -I think- should sound polite.

Searching for a suitable restaurant we pass by the post office. There it turns out that its cash dispenser does accept my Visa-electron card, and so I can get money, except for the fact that the machine is now, in the evening, closed. Ha! You see that everything ends well after all?

Most restaurants have their menu outside only in the for us incomprehensible kanji characters. Fortunately they do use our numbers, and so we decide to go into one where at least the general prices seem reasonable. Also inside they only have menus in Japanese, and also the staff speaks only a few words of English. But we take the chance.

We sit down at the bar. The waiter behind the bar has a restaurant dictionary. Using a lot of indications in this book, the following converation takes form.

"OK, what do you want?"

"Er... fish?"

"Allright; how prepared?"

In the list with preparations we point at 'stewed'.

"That can only be this fish." (which kind of fish this is, is unclear to us.)

"Allright."

"And, vegetables?"

"Er... salad?"

"Salad? OK, coming up."

What comes up is exactly that. Each of us a plate with one whole stewed fish, probably seabass, in soy sauce, a bowl of rice, and salad. It seems that they want to make fun of us. But the fish turns out to taste wonderfully! Only it's not easy to break up this entire fish using the chopsticks. We endure the undoubtedly amused gaze of the waiter, and hope that it's clear that it really tastes good to us.

With my limited Japanese knowledge I ask whether they have pickled vegetables, of which I know that it is a common intermediate course. This arrives immediately. Hm, apparently this method also works!

Eventually we are completely satisfied, and amazed that the bill is also reasonable. Where is that expensive Japan, that everybody talks about?

While Hanna goes to sleep I go into a bar with the Japanese coursebook, to revise some words. The waiters ask me what I am doing, and why. What do they know about how valuable it can be in Japanese restaurants, to know a bit of the language!

Kyoto: rail pass and bar street - 23/7/6

Amazingly enough, with my bad back I still have slept decently well on that simple mattress on the floor.
When we go out I know how to say in Japanese: "What's the weather like?" A relevant question, because it turns out to be raining. Summer hasn't entirely arrived yet after all. The manager points at the large supply of umrellas they have for loan; they are prepared! But so are we: we have our own umbrella with us.
After breakfast we go to Imperial Park to discover that the Imperial Palace is today (Sunday) closed. In the park next door we do visit the house of the Shogun. Very impressive to see how this regional ruler lived. You get completely in the mood with the wooden sliding doors, reed mats and wall paintings of nature scenes. Special are the 'nightingale floors': all floors are specially designed so that they squeak when you walk on them, so that no rival ever could crawl up on the Shogun unnoticed. The very last room is the most private: the bedroom, to which nobody every had access except the Shogun and his solely female servants.

A rainy day in Imperial Park, Kyoto

We go round the station to pick up our Japan Rain Passes. This train pass is only available to foreigners, and therefore you have to order it abroad, but you have to collect it within Japan. Ours starts tomorrow, and will give us then two weeks of free access to almost all Japanese trains, including most high speed trains, named Shinkansen. Recommended for all travellers in Japan!
We're suppposed to pick up the passes from Kyoto station, so that's where we're going - seems simple enough, doesn't it? But arriving at the ticket windows there's a hell of a bustling crowd of people who are buying regular train tickets. It seems like these are not the windows where we have to be. But then where do we have to go? Confused, we peer around us hoping to see a sign we understand and which has something to do with passes.
Before we've had a chance to go and ask something somewhere, a Japanse businessman in his fifties, in a nice suit and with briefcase, asks us whether he can help us lost tourists. When we show the reservation receipts of the Japan Rain Pass, he knows immediately. "Come with me."
Gesturing that we have to follow him, he quickly walks out of the station hall and into the neighbouring shopping mall. Navigating between the masses of people we have a very hard time keeping track of him. In the middle of a large department store he asks something from a shop attendant, and subsequently goes up the escalator. At the upper floor it goes on, through the buzzing crowds of people, out of the department store, and a little later we're again in the station building, one floor above the place we were a moment ago. The man tells us: "This is where you have to be", pointing to a ticket desk which indeed clearly gives out the Japan Rail Pass.
After we've thanked the man sincerely, he's quickly disappeared again, because he clearly didn't have too much time for this.
This country keeps amazing us very much at this stage. Why is this service for foreigners not clearly indicated in English? Why is it hidden so deeply? Isn't there a more practical way to it, through the inside of the station? But especially: how does a businessman with not too much time get the idea to help us confused tourists by walking all the way through the station and a department store to point out to us where you can get the Japan Rail Pass?
We get our passes without any further problems, and go back into the city.

In the afternoon we walk through old Kyoto. In a little restaurant we learn that yakisoba is fried buckwheat noodles, and is very good.
In a shrine consisting of different parts which are grouped around a square, a man in kimono is singing and playing a kind of lute. He hits the strings with an extravagantly large triangular plectrum. I join the audience on the benches. It sounds very good, I just have no idea whether this has any religious meaning, or is just a concert. A little later a woman takes his place, announced by a presenter. Oof, I'm glad it's just about the music, and I haven't tread any sacred ground yet. After all, you never know what the locals think of that.
The weather was reasonable, but while we're walking through the streets of old Kyoto, it does become more rainy again. The rain turns the dark brown houses even darker, and everything even more ambient, but alas also less pleasant to hang around in. We just visit another emperor's palace, and then we go back to the centre.

Old Kyoto

In the centre of Kyoto, parallel to the river, runs a street which is on average only about 2 metres wide, but this is where everything is happening in the evening. It is entirely full with little restaurants and bars, and therefore also with people. The restaurants are criss-cross piled on top of each other. Often you see several menus hanging outside -mostly only in Japanese-, and after you've figured out which one you find interesting enough, you subsequently have to figure out which door, curtain or red lantern belongs to it. Usually one passage leads upstairs, one to the back, and one down, or something.
The menu we pick out belongs to a corridor that leads all the way to the back, subsequently up a flight of steps, and then you have to take your shoes off. We sit down on the cushions at the low tables and order with reasonable trust all kinds of things, because this menu contains English translations (that's what we had based our choice on). The food is perfect also here and we're also getting a bit the hang of working the chopsticks. This helps our self-confidence a bit.

Restaurant in Kyoto

I take Hanna to bed and go back to the street where it's happening. The bar 'A-bar' is clearly aimed at making people meet each other. There's only a couple of long tables, so that you almost inevitably share one with other people.

At my table is an American man and two Japanese girls. He is talking enthusiastically with them in a mixture of English and Japanese. It looks a lot like he is chatting them up, and I better not disturb him with that. Still, we do end up talking. His name is Eric, he has been living in Japan for 30 years, the one girl is his daughter, who is living now in Hawaii -can you still follow?- and the other a Japanese friend of hers.

Because the bar closes at 24:00 we all go to another one. This is a kind of rock'n'roll-joint, completely in style of the music of the 60s and 70s. LP covers on the walls and on the back of the menus. The Who and The Rolling Stones from the speakers. Wonderful. Why do I have to come all the way to Japan to find still something like this? I feel completely at ease, and spend the rest of the evening drinking Sapporo beer, together with a Scot, an American and a Frenchman. This sounds like the setting of a joke, and therefore, telling jokes is what we do for most of the time, apart from a few very interesting discussions about classical music, because the American and the Frenchman are classical musicians. The only thing: it's all not very Japanese anymore.

Himeji: wooden castle and traffic wardens - 24/7/6

Today we take the Shinkansen to Himeji. Our Japan Rail Pass starts today, so that's free of charge. But it is recommended to get a (free) seat reservation at the station. That has the extra advantage that you know right away which train to take... or not?
The reservation we arrange is for a train that leaves in 10 minutes. Because we know that here the trains leave exactly on time, we hurry to the platform. But which platform? From the billboard with departing trains, from 20 platforms, we don't get any wiser so quickly. What is actually the final destination of the train that stops in Himeji? I think I know, and we rush to the platform. But just before we get in, we realise that the hour of departure of this train doesn't exactly match the one on our reservation. So not this one then?
On the billboards there's no train that departs exactly at our time. And now we have only 5 minutes left, so we might as well forget that we can find the right place now. Tough luck. Oh well, the next train then?
I go back to the warden at the ticket gate, and show him my reservation, with a questioning face. He immediately points to where we have to go: for the shinkansen you have to go to a separate part of the station. We rush toward it, and make it, amazingly enough, to the train we wanted to catch!
Japan is 1) a buzzing crowd of people, where 2) everything runs, without apparent problems, smoothly and exactly on time. This is already in itself a seemingly impossible combination. But the stress which, according to us, inevitably has to accompany this, is nowhere to be found. They see a chance to help foreigners, who, baffled by the massiveness and the funny kanji characters, can't follow it anymore, with calm and friendliness. And then, when you know where you have to be, and you go with the flow, you are in a minute on the right spot too, and make it to your train without getting stuck in the door.

The shinkansen, Kyoto

After exactly 1 hour in the train we get out in Himeji, because here is the most beautiful castle of Japan. We walk through the centre by a shopping street because this might give us a bit more to see than the main road. But we are amazed especially at the amount of useless humbug that is on sale here.
Himeji is the only place where Will Ferguson crosses our route. When I read his book, I couldn't imagine it: a castle made of wood? How can that give the impression of a fortified defense post? Well, it does. On the outside it looks wonderful, white instead of the grey European castles, and with the air of a palace on top of a cliff. As a flower growing out of the rock. On the inside, everything is aimed at defense. Shooting holes, various floors with lockable staircases, everywhere places where weapons can be stored. Every next floor up is smaller.
It is striking how the Japanese could unite a defense post with gracious architecture, while the European castles always have to be majestic but also heavy, plump.

The wooden castle of Himeji

Back in the centre, in a little restaurant we have a 'set lunch', for -again- next to nothing.

On the street next to the restaurant, a woman with a reflective waistcoat and helmet, is waving full of devotion with two flags, as if airplanes have to be guided to landing strips. Only a little later we see that two more men are standing beside her, doing the same thing. This all turns out to be related to the fact that one lane is temporarily blocked because of roadworks. They have to guide the traffic away from this lane. At the beginning of the little street another man is already giving prewarnings, as if otherwise it still wouldn't be clear enough.

This makes us think: everywhere you see a lot of cleaners and other maintenance personnel walking around, who full of devotion are making sure that everyhting here looks as neat as it does. Consequently, Japan also has low unemployment. Apparenty a Japanese will rather do this kind of work, and do it well too, than sit at home idly, in contrast to us westerners. It seems overdoing to put in so much personnel to guide traffic away from a dead-end lane, but this working spirit does show the better mentality of the Japanese than ours.

When in the restaurant I visit the toilet, I see that a urinal has been masoned back-to-front into the floor. After I have concluded that at this hour of day I can't be this drunk yet, I start to think that the builders were, when they were installing this. However, later on our trip we will still see much more often this construction, from which appears that this is a 'normal' Japanese toilet. The point of this escapes me, unless they like to make a civilised form of a French squatting toilet...?

We take the shinkansen to Hiroshima - again exactly 1 hour! In the city we take the tram, or should I say the sardine tin, to our next ryokan. It is important to pay good attention to the stops that are being called, to say 'sumimasen' ('excuse me') while wriggling yourself between the passengers to get to the exit, and pay attention how others pay. While getting out, you have to throw the amount in cash in a metal box. This may be coming from the shinto ritual? Should we also clap our hands, and ring the bell?
The ryokan 'Sansui' looks a lot like an English B&B: it's a converted family house. Taking your shoes of in the narrow hallway with your backpack on your back is not too easy, especially if you want to watch out that you don't knock over the little ornaments standing on top of the cupboard. The room is how a ryokan should be: mats on the floor, simple mattresses, tea. Also kimonos are given with the bedding. Bathroom and toilet and on the corridor: in that respect we're again in a B&B.
We go into the city, and have dinner in a large restaurant with lots of little corners, where you can sit more or less privately. The menu they've solved a little easier here: it consists of photos of all dishes. The names are given in Japanese, but we don't let that bother us too much. This way you can just point at everything that looks good. This can quickly and easily cause you to order too much.
We order a whole range of dishes. Afterwards we choose still a couple of cocktails, where we do try to get an idea what's in them using the description and the dictionary, but especially take into account the colours on the photos. Completely filled up, we pay the bill, which still turns out to be very reasonable. How is this possible?
We're too tired and sweaty to go to another bar, and therefore, as an after dinner drink we buy in a supermarket a bottle of sake, Japanese rice wine. All the bottles in the drinks department carry beautiful kanji characters, but what do they mean? Again with a little help from a dictionary, but especially from my great skill in spoken Japanese, with which I know how to ask from the cashier: "Is this sake?", we acquire a bottle.
After a shower in the ryokan we put on the kimonos, pour the sake in the cups meant for the tea, and photograph each other in a Japanese setting. A kimono really contributes to the enjoyment of sake, and to relaxing after a tiring day.

Sake tastes best in kimono

Miyajima: monkey mountain and shinto bay - 25/7/6

In the breakfast room of the ryokan, a German boy comes in after us, wearing the kimono of the house. He is 20 years at most, but knows a lot more about Japan than we do. The dried fish, that we get at breakfast, you actually shouldn't tear apart with two chopsticks in two hands, like we did, but push it apart with one hand. Well, that takes some practice.
He would much like to buy an electric rice cooker like the ones they use here, but the problem is the wrong power voltage. When he hears that I am an electrical engineer, he asks if I could modify that. Well, probably, but somebody else can do that as well.
Is such a machine then so much better than to cook rice in a pan?
"Oh yes, have you ever managed to get rice so sticky yourself?"
No, but I don't find that very important either. Strange, in Europe rice is not allowed to stick at all, which I also find nonsense, and here it must do so as much as possible. I don't know. But when eating with chopsticks of course it is an advantage.
Although coffee was missing from this breakfast, walking to the station we find already soon a vending machine that offers excellent ice coffee. These machines are to be found on every street corner; this is a perfect public service.

We take the train to Miyajimaguchi and from there the JR-ferry to Miyajima (also included in the Japan Rail Pass!). This is a pictoresque island with a shinto shrine and beautiful hills. Deers are walking around freely everywhere.
We decide to first climb the 500 m Mount Misen, and for this, to see a bit more, not to take the cable railway (which is called 'ropeway' here), but the footpath. We should exercise a bit more. But it is a properly hot sticky day, and such a climb then becomes a sticky business.
At a kind of a dam in a river I am looking at a deer on the other side. Suddenly I see at a few metres from me something on the ground which looks like a rolled-up piece of thick rope. But because the Japanese never leave anything lying around, we must be talking of a snake here. A little later it has seen me as well.
A nervous split second...
Of course, I don't know whether it's poisonous, but I don't think it's worth the risk finding out. I turn around and go, as long as it's not angry yet, hurriedly on along the footpath. From here, I stamp heavily with my sandals, to let all snakes know long in advance that I am here. But that makes the climb all the more tiring.
Almost at the top are a couple of small shinto shrines with flags, and in one of them is burning Kiezu-no-hi, a sacred fire that has been burning for 1200 years. Above this fire a large kettle is cooking. The smoke from the fire spreads around the little temple. A large number of crickets, the same animals we often see in trees, and which give a horrific noise, are flying round in all directions, getting stoned from the smoke, and regularly bump into something.
In another shrine is an altar with ornaments like they are usually found in the shrines. I take off my sandals and go in. I consider that by now I understand enough of the kanji characters that I understand that a stick of insence costs ¥20 and where I have to put that money. I light a stick, stick it in the sand in the pot in front of me, and sit down in a moment of peace onto the cushion. I think about the situation of the world - for those who read this much later: the newspapers are full of violence in the Middle East, but then again, is that still news? Because I don't know how to pray in the Shinto religion, I say a prayer as I learnt them in my own catholic education. Because God is above religions, that's what I faithfully believe in.
Onward to the summit. Climbing around rocks, every now and then we are suddenly again looking a deer straight in the eye, but no snakes anymore.
At the top of the mountain is a little café, or actually a barrack-like little building with a vending machine for drinks and a man behind a table selling bags with nuts or something. I see a bag with some fibre-like stuff, and because I can't make sense of any of the kanji characters, I ask in decent Japanese "What is that?" (because I can do that already). He andwers "ika", and because now it's been transformed to spoken language, I can look it up in my dictionary, so that I find that it is squid, apparently dried and torn apart fibre-thin. Tastes strange, but not bad.
We go to the ropeway station to take the cable car back down. Around the station is a colony of monkeys hanging round. In the shade, having a siesta because it is too warm to do anything else. Mother monkeys watch child monkeys who climb around. They are probably being amazed at all the tourists who come climbing all the way up a mountain to see them, while they can just stay at their spot to see a lot of foreigners.

Monkey minding its own business, on Mount Misen in Miyajima

We have to pay to get down with the cable railway. I consider that this is actually unfair; we have produced energy ourselves by climbing up, and give this potential energy now to the cable car. Actually they should pay us. But maybe you shouldn't see it that way.

The Ropeway or cable car in Miyajima

After a nice bowl of noodle soup in a local eatery we go and see the large shrine of the island. This is situated at the beach and consists mainly of a gallery which is built around a little dock. It rather looks like a harbour building, were it not that you can recognise it as Shinto from the architecture. Furthermore, it has been painted entirely orange; Dutch royal-family-minded people and football fans can feel at home here! But it seems that orange is a traditional buddhist colour.
Walking through it we see that workmen are busy painting part of it black; probably a ground paint, and after that it will be again painted over in orange.
I remark: "That'll be quite a job, painting over this whole shrine."
Hanna on the other hand: "Yes, but for them it's just their job."
Of course, the fact that all the religious heritages are constantly maintained so they keep looking as new, provides many people jobs. Now whether this is done primarily for the sake of the religion or for tourism, I don't know.
The most impressive of this shrine is however the tori, the gate, which is standing 200 m in front of it in the water. This is generally regarded as one of the three most beautiful sights of Japan. It's now low tide, so that we can walk toward it. The wet sand is buzzing with life, little crabs, snails, hermit crabs and similar crawl around in pools of water that define their world - that is, until the flood comes up again takes them along to other areas. At the same time you can see for kilomteres over the sandy plain, for these water creatures outside of the universe. But at the same time, you know that you yourself are also a small buzzing creature on a globe which is immense to you, which in turn is tiny in the galaxy. This way you get a bit of a sense of proportions, which are actually incomprehensible.
The shrine-gate is standing majestically in the bay. But with its muddy feet in the sand, instead of in the water, it nevertheless loses some of its majesticity.
Further on, at the waterline, some Japanese fishermen are catching worms. Because the life of a fisherman just goes on.

The temple gate of Miyajima at low tide

Back in the village on the island, we visit the souvenir shops. I want to buy a pair of wooden spoons which are meant for eating noodle soup. But I want them for another purpose: I think they're very well suited to make music. The ladies of the shop watch a bit strangely when I try out several spoons by banging them together. What's that weird foreigner doing now? But, being Japanese, they won't easily say anything about it, or even let down their friendly smile. And I in turn nicely abuse that: I let myself be put at ease by the smile, and, after long comparisons, buy the two spoons that sound best to me.

Back in Hiroshima we eat for a change in a restaurant which claims to be Spanish, but also serves pasta dishes as tapas, and has French cheeses on display above the bar. The whole decoration has something of a combination of the entire Mediterranean area. But if you think that the Chinese restaurants in the Netherlands mostly combine Indonesia along with it, and very often the whole of Eastern Asia, you're of course in no position to say anything about this. And the food is good.
Back in the ryokan room, again in kimono enjoying a cup of sake, we see on night-tv a mathematics programme. Quite a difference with most countries, where at night the most stupid games are played: here a teacher explains to some students row and set theory, using a lot of visual examples. It does indicate the relations between intellectual levels of different countries.

Hiroshima: atomic bomb and school project - 26/7/6

In the morning, in the breakfast room of our ryokan, when we have finished eating (that's hard, to break up an entire fish with two chopsticks in one hand) two Italian girls come in. They are dying for a breakfast, with -undoubtedly- an espresso. One of them holds out a cup as if she's been roaming in the desert for days. Alas, there is no coffee here, our teapot is already emtpy, and a breakfast doesn't seem to be appearing for them. While waiting they tell me that, just like us, they are going to the atomic bomb museum, and afterwards will take the train to Nagasaki. "We are doing a bombardement tour."
When they desperately go into the kitchen to ask for food, it turns out that they didn't know that you have to reserve breakfast beforehand here, and so it's not going to happen for them. Unfortunately. But they are pointed to where you can get breakfast: almost everywhere, and the eagerly desired coffee you can after all get from the vending machines on every street corner.

The atomic bomb museum is interesting. After the bombing, Hiroshima has been completely rebuilt, and is now entirely a symbol of peace and non-violence.
The museum clearly shows what effect the bomb had. But even more: it shows that before and during the war, Japan was becoming just such an agressive and totalitarian state as Germany. Was a bomb like this than maybe a little justified?
But it also shows that Japan had weakened already a lot toward the end of the war, and was about to surrender. But, as official documents show, the Americans still pushed the use of the bomb through, and this was because they wanted that 1) Japan would surrender unconditionally (i.e.: under American conditions), 2) Russia would not be needed for a victory on Japan, because they didn't want to be too good friends with them, and 3) the cost ($2 billion) of the development of the bomb got justified. Undoubtedly you can add to this that they wanted to show that they weren't afraid to use the bomb, to scare off the Russians in the future.
I must say it's very impressive. Of course I had been against nuclear weapons already for a long time (and against nuclear energy, for that matter), but after this I feel like joining a protest group, and not to rest before nuclear weapons have disappeared from this world. What happened to the spirit of the 60s-80s?

The atomic bomb museum in Hiroshima

We go round the library beside the museum to get on the internet. Here, a Japanese boy comes at us, who wants to talk with us. He would like to practise Englsih with us. A moment later another one joins him. We ask especially advice about Japanese food, because that contains still a lot that we don't know. It seem that Okonomiyaki is a kind of Japanese pizza, which is a must-try. Nato is something with fermented beans, and very sticky. Fugu is a fish that is poisonous when eaten raw, and the cook needs a licence to prepare it. Our first conversation partner has eaten it once. Is probably more for the thrill anyway. Culinary bungee jumping. It's very expensive too.
The one who came later is busy interviewing tourists for his school project. Of course he can do us as well. What do we think of Japan, the food, the transport, the people etc.
Just like all Japanese these two have trouble distinguishing the 'l' and the 'r'. But it becomes extra confusing now, because one pronounces both as 'l', the other as 'r'.
"Do you have... maylie?"
"Ehhhh... 'e-mail'?"
"No..." He points at his ring finger. It turns out that he means: "Are you married?"
We let ourselves be photographed together with one of them. After all, we'll have to accept that here we are more of a curiosity than everything that we are coming to see.

We take the shinkansen to Kokura, which takes again more or less exactly 1 hour. Is that a standardisation here, that all train journeys have to last 1 hour, and are the speeds adjusted to that? Anyway, it's again amazingly exactly on time.
While we eat our boxed lunch -wonderful that food from a railway station shop can be so good: a couple of sushis and an ice coffee- we see on the display above our heads that we are going 285 km/hr. Unbelievable. But it's a pity you hardly have time to enjoy the view.
From Kokura to Beppu with a 'normal' intercity, which goes only a little less fast, but is just as beautiful and luxurious. At least now you can see the view well!

Arrived in Beppu I am struck by a comparison with a tourist resort in a Canary island: bars, playing halls, other 'entertainment'-places (yes, go ahead and imagine whatever you want), and shops with all kinds of souvenirs and primarily just junk. We can't find our ryokan immediately, despite a quite clear map. It turns out that it is situated in an alley of about 1 metre wide, which we hadn't taken for a serious street.

The Blackpool Tower of Beppu

After checking in, another surprise awaits us. We return to the lobby and talk Finnish to each other, as usual. The girl sitting behind the internet terminal suddenly talks back to us! But not only is she Finnish, she also has lived some years in the Netherlands in her youth, and speaks a little Dutch! Darn, now we don't have any secret language at all anymore. The tells us that she's been in a safari park looking at lions, and other animals that don't belong here. Nice, but that doesn't seem to us something we've come to Japan for.

Looking for a suitable restaurant we enter the narrow streets full of shops. It's also full of red lanterns, and other local eateries. It seems that it will have be a choice between this and the tacky tourist restaurants. Hanna prefers a decent restaurant, but I convince us to go into one of these joints, which is only just not a red lantern.
We sit down at the bar, where a few Japanese are already eating. The menu is entirely in Japanese, but with help of my kanji-booklet I find out they have Okonomiyaki, which we would like to try. With more help from the man at the corner of the bar, and the personnel with their mobile phones which contain dictionaries, we find out that you can have various toppings. We take one with leek and shrimps. The beer is of the Kirin-brand, and very good.
The man at the corner of the bar looks like a fighting instructor from a kung-fu film, or something. A little later another man in a wheelchair is wheeled in between us. He can't use his legs and left arm, and the rest also only with spastic tendencies. He speaks a little English too, but, because of his handicap, is hard to understand.
The okonomiyaki arrives, and is delicious: a kind of pancake ('pizza' doesn't do it justice) with spices and the desired topping. Good that we got to know this.
A lively conversation emerges, albeit with slow information transfer because of the language, between us, the man in the wheelchair, who is computer programmer, and the man at the corner of the bar, who turns out to be a boxing instructor. He himself has boxed in competitions earlier, and has been 9 times champion of Japan. So we got that right! With him I don't want any trouble.
How old I am? "43".
"You are very young!" the computer programmer cries out.
OK, thank you ... I suppose?
They order for us something of which they expect that foreigners can't eat it. In front of us are two red balls, about the size of apricots. Trying them, these turn out to be the infamous pickled plums. But they're not so bad at all. We are unexpectedly succesful in the consumption of this, which contributes to our acceptance.
When we leave, it isn't clear how many of the (a little too many) drunk beers we have paid ourselves, because the bill only shows one total amount, but it's a very reasonable amount too.

In our ryokan room, sitting on the cushions and drinking sake from the available teacups, evaluating the many interesting encounters today, suddenly another one appears: a cockroach runs from the bathroom into the room. Yes, that's another thing you'll fnd in those subtropical areas. I don't worry much about it, but Hanna has never seen such a big one. The cockroach runs back into the shower, of which we close the door, and spray the edges with vermin poison, which is also available in the room. Whether that helps anything at all, of course, is the question.
On tv is, just like last night, a mathematics program going on, in which a teacher explains to two students, using a lot of visual examples, how you can find the solutions of a² + b² = c².

Beppu: hot springs and skipping ropes - 27/7/6

Kyushu is an island full of volcanoes and hot springs. Because of this, our ryokan also has a warm public bath, but with this stuffy weather, that's not at the top our wish list. We were actually going to climb a volcano, but also for that it's way too hot, and so we make a tour past the hot springs and geisers which are to be visited just outside the city of Beppu. With a day pass for the bus and a pass for the six different sites, we have access to all of them.
The first few warm springs are impressive. Pools from which steam emerges, and bubbling mud pools. But we can't suppress a comparison with New Zealand, where we've been last year. It all looked much more natural there: everywhere around the city of Rotorua, the steam came spontaneously out of the ground, and also the sulphur fumes were more overwhelming. Here, it looks much more cultivated. The Japanese have built neat gardens around them, with beautiful plants, paths, little bridges etcetera, so that you start to wonder whether the springs themselves are even real. Oh well, garden building is of course a speciality of the Japanese culture.

A steaming pool in Beppu

Of course there is also a shinto shrine, where people come to do their traditional prayers. They throw a coin in the box, light an incense stick, ring the bell with the heavy rope that hangs in front, say a prayer, clap their hands twice, bow, and walk on.

At the next sites we see wooden sculptures of gods who were traditionally connected with this, and places where eggs are being boilt in the hot water. Lovely, with sulphur aroma.

But what really makes us uncomfortable is the site where a small zoo has been built around the springs. It is pointed out that because of the constantly high temperature and humidity, these animals are living happily here. This we can't imagine. We see a hippo and an elephant, both in a much smaller space than is usual in a zoo. The flamingoes have been short-winged so they don't fly away. The eagle doesn't get its kicks either, in its cage of a few metres across. Hanna doesn't dare get close to the llamas because they might spit out their frustration on us. It stays a mystery to me what's the point of locking up a number of wild animals here, unless it is to attract more tourists because the springs themselves aren't special enough. A comparison with American amusement parks comes to mind.

The last site, with a geiser which blows every 20 minutes, is again impressive. But if it's true that this one blows 20 metres high into the air, then why have they built a roof of 4 metres high above it, against which it blows? So we can't verify whether the information is true?

Back in Beppu we have heard at the tourist info that today there is a Matsuri in town. This is a shinto celebration, where the gods are taken away from their spots, by a portable shrine, to 'go out'. They are placed in the middle of the city, where there is music and dancing, and afterwards they go back to their home shrine. Also a god has the right to entertainment.
We walk some distance along the boulevard, where we see a large stage and a number of food stalls. On the beach, people are busy making a picture from many lanterns (simply tea lights in plastic cups with paper around them for the colour). A large heart, circles and wave shapes. But no sight of a portable shinto shrine. When I help them relight the candles that have been blown out by the wind, it's explained to me that this matsuri has nothing religious: it's a student party with the theme 'Lovers of the beach'; hence the heart, the waves and the bubbles.

Lanterns on the beach in Beppu

The party programme starts with a dance contest. Various groups pass our eyes, who all do a form of street dance in which skipping ropes are used. Very nice, all those jumps in the rope. The ones who spin the ropes sometimes also jump along, give the rope ends to each other while jumping, and so on. I have never seen something like this. Although often something goes wrong with most groups -the rope gets caught behind a foot-, that doesn't spoil the fun.

Afterwards, while a band named 'Mr. Blues' is playing (father of the Blues brothers?) we eat something at the many multicultural food stalls.

Walking back to the centre, there's another street festival going on there. Lots of stalls sell the Japanese variety of junk food. Pieces of grilled squid on a stick, okonomiyaki rolled on a stick, but also things that look like hamburgers, albeit, I guess, differently spiced. Between those, stalls with all kinds of rubbish. The Japanese are masters in useless gadgets. Bracelets that look futuristic and shine, and thousands of the small thingies that the youths hang on their moblie phones here.

The most bizarre that I see here however, are plastic boxes with each two living stag beetles inside. While I am looking at these puzzledly, the salesman tries to sell them to me. But this really cannot tempt me. I don't even know whether these are meant as pets, or to eat; seems both equally bizarre. Maybe first the one and then the other?

A little later I see a couple of kids on the pavement with such a box, opened, playing with the large beetles. Will Ferguson says that a crab resembles in his eyes a giant mutated cockroach; well, for me these creatures do that, and I don't see any temptation in them.

The traffic that normally goes through this street is diverted, and that seems to me very well doable with the signs that have been placed for that purpose. But the Japanese then find it necessary to put at one quiet crossing five employees, who with luminous sticks signal to the few passing cars that they have to turn, and stop them when pedestrians want to cross. In Japan is probably little unemployement.

At 22:00 the party is officially over and everything is cleaned up. From a nearby pub we see that this means that at 22:30 everything is gone, and the street looks as if nothing special has happened today. That's another thing they are good at here. There are certainly things that we can still learn from Japan.

Sculpture made by Hanna from a gadget bought at the street party, Beppu

Kyoto: philosophy and music - 28/7/6

In the morning we take the train back from Beppu to Kyoto, because the trip to Nikko is a bit too far for one day, and we like Kyoto too much not to spend another day there.
The Japanse trains are really incredible. They go exactly on time to the minute, and are perfectly clean and orderly, and still you don't feel unconfortable in them. You know beforehand exactly where the doors of the cars will be, and people neatly queue up on those spots. But there is no stress, no frustration to make sure that this is the way it is. And neither is there with us: you know exactly where and when the train will be there, and you just make sure that you are there then. Of course it's possible that people are annoyed by the fact that our clothes are less spotlessly clean, we smell of sweat, and we don't always queue straight up. But the Japanese will not quickly say anything about this.
According to Will Ferguson the Japanese don't accept immigrants quickly as one of them. Even if you are a later-generation immigrant, you stay and outsider. Of course, that doesn't matter at all to us tourists; we are only visitors anyway. But either way, it must be said that the Japanese treat the visitor, albeit as an outsider, still very friendlily and hospitably.
Another nice aspect of the stations/trains is the catering. At the stations you can buy all sorts of lunch boxes, with sushi, tempura, or whatever, which, if needed, can even be heated up in the shop. And you eat them in the train. The chopsticks are included in the box. A decent lunch, much better than most airplane meals. Only this time it's breakfast for us.

In Kyoto we go back to the ryokan where we were before, because we were very satisfied about it. The manager with his long hair bows extra deeply for us, because we are regular guests now? The personnel runs to serve us on every wink, when we want to solve a problem with our next hotel, in Nikko, using their telephone. This is actually very charming, especially if you consider that they don't expect a tip, and this hotel isn't even very expensive. Maybe the fact that I speak a few words of Japanese has helped a bit. But probably the most important factor is that in Japan it's just normal to serve your customers decently.
Our lunch in internet café 'Lulu' makes us feel even better, possibly because it's finally something western. All that Japanese food is admittedly very good, but certain things you just start to miss. A salad with bread! BREAD!! That's something you normally don't get anywhere here!
This afternoon we do the philosopher's walk, through a particularly atmospheric part of old Kyoto, along a little river and between many trees, where, at the time, many philosophers must have walked. In any case it would encourage philisophising, were it not for the racket of the crickets, sitting everywhere in the trees and which continuously give off a deafening buzz.

A cricket in a tree, Kyoto

The route is lined by many shrines. We visit some of them, of which is clearly indicated by the statues that they are dedicated to cats and mice, respectively. In the shinto religion everything has its own god.

Walking along the route, we look, through the leaves of the trees half eaten by the crickets, at the the view over the city, and see, after the setting of the sun, everything quickly but progressively get dark. Also the air pressure seems to drop, but not yet so much that you would start thinking that there's rain in the air. Everything turns quiet. The world stands still at this moment where day and night meet.

We take the metro to the station, to arrange our train reservation for tomorrow (after all, then we will pass by Tokyo). When we get out of the metro there, and have to walk a few metres outside to get to the train station, we have to get through a wall of water: a hell of a rain/thunderstorm is coming down! Only about 10 minutes and a few kilometers from where we were a moment ago, and where there was nothing happening yet. As a short-term weather predictor, I wouldn't do a good job in Japan.

It's a special spectacle, to look through this pouring rain, which is bent by the wind as a curtain into all kinds of shapes, at the beautifully lit Kyoto Tower.

In the evening we eat in the narrow Kyoto street with all the cozy little restaurants. We choose a place which at closer questioning only serves grilled chicken. But then again it serves all parts of it: you can get the legs, breast or wings, but also the neck, liver, kidneys or bill (or did I understand that last one wrongly?).
In 'A-bar' we order a desert. While we are eating this, a girl at the other side of our table and her boyfriend can't resist telling us that we're not holding the sticks correctly. The lower one should be between the middle and ring fingers, and the upper only between thumb and index finger. I try, but this way I have far less control over them than in my way, with the upper one between thumb, index and middle fingers. Then, I guess, in the future I'll have to show less clearly how I'm holding them.
Although they don't speak much English (and we still don't speak much Japanese), a conversation nevertheless emerges. The girl comes from Okinawa and the boy from Aoni (?) and they live together on an island in the prefecture of Nagasaki. The girl turns out to have visited already many places on earth, this being every time for a concert. This is because she is a professional musician in the Okinawan traditional music. Needless to say I am suddenly very interested in her.
Maybe because we're starting to have a good time now, but maybe also because we can't exchange much information verbally, they propose, when the bar closes at 24:00, to go to a typical Okinawan bar. This way she can let us taste some Okinawan culture, and as it turns out later, hear it as well. The bar is right across the street from the A-bar in the narrow street of bars, and we go up the steps, take off our shoes, and sit down on the cushions around the low tables. Immediately all kinds of bitesize delicacies are served, of which it's often not clear what they consist of -undoubtedly much squid, seaweed and soy bean-, but which taste very good. The boy disappears for a moment and comes back a little later with the instrument of the girl: a samisen, a three-stringed banjo-like instrument of snake skin.
The girl plays and sings a couple of songs, and we are immediately caught by the music. It is incredible how, on such an simple instrument, rythmic percussiveness can be combined with emotion (the samisen doesn't have frets so all notes can easily be bent), so that you don't even feel the need for more accompaniment. And although we don't understand a word of the text, the singing is so full of emotion that it keeps enchanting. It is also notable that Hanna, who normally is not much charmed by folk music, is also caught by this. Also, she normally doesn't enjoy going out so late, unless she really feels at ease.
This samisen of snake skin was made in China; normally in Japan they are covered with cat skin. Undoubtedly that gives a less special sound.

The musician in the Okinawan bar in Kyoto

At the end of this wonderful session and nice evening, we want to pay the bill, but we can't, because it turns out that that's happened already. From the business card of the girl I can't make much sense, except the e-mail address. Maybe then I can still show some appreciation for the hospitality by keeping in touch.

Walking back to our ryokan we are happy that we decided to spend another day in Kyoto.

Nikko: river and mountains - 29/7/6

We still have a few hours time before we take the train to Nikko, and therefore go to the Imperial Park, to undertake another attempt to see the palace. The last time we tried that was a Sunday, and it was closed. Arriving in the park we start thinking: is it actually open now? Now it's Saturday! Indeed: it's again closed.
In a large shinto shrine in the park we see a marrying couple, who, completely in traditional dress, come to say their prayers. The bride is in a colourful kimono, with a large bow on the back, wooden sandals and done-up hair; the groom is in a black kimono. Something for Europeans, maybe, to come and get married here? It would make a more interesting wedding photo at least!

We take the train via Tokyo, where we catch a first glimp of this metropolis, to Utsunmiya. Here we change to a local train which takes us to Nikko, straight into the mountains. Because in this train the seats are placed in the along-direction, you see and feel well that you're continuously going up a mountain.
We arrive in Nikko at the beginning of the evening. Nikko, although only a few hundred kilometers from Tokyo, is the embodiment of quietness. A village on a river in the mountains. On the way to our 'Park Lodge' we see some other tourists, on their way to the village, probably looking for something to eat. For the rest there is nobody; it has all the atmosphere of a sleepy little village in the mountains.

The river in Nikko

The Park Lodge is very nice and cozy, with a common lounge. The manager -finally a Japanese who speaks good English!- makes us feel comfortable. Not as humble as the other hotel receptionists, but just as helpful and very easy-going.

Just like the other tourists we've seen, we're going to have a look what there is to do in the village in the evening, to find out that that is very little. At first sight, we see one restaurant that's open; it could be that there are more, but we don't have any energy now to look any further. We go into the place, which looks like an American diner, with its benches and tables placed in across-direction attached to the walls. The menu turns out to consist entirely of Chinese noodle soups and the like. The pints of Kirin beer immediately make us feel strengthened again. This is the best beer of Japan, we have already decided, and certainly one of the best lagers in the world! And when the food arrives we are entirely happy. It shows again that in Japan it doesn't matter much which class of restaurant you go into, or what you order from the incomprehensible menu, it's simply always good!

This then maybe also causes the fact that in our experience, Japan isn't at all as expensive as is sometimes claimed - also by Will Ferguson. You don't need to go to the highest class hotels and restaurants. Just go to a simple inn and eatery, and the quality is just good anyway. You don't pay for pointless glossiness, so you have more value for money. If you are not addicted to luxury, Japan is not expensive. Nice to know when you hear again somebody at a birthday party tell you 'how expensive Japan is'.

Because for the rest there really isn't anything to do in the village, we decide to go back to the Lodge to save our energy for a long day of Japanese history.

Nikko: mausolea and chess pieces - 30/7/6

In the morning, some aspects of the Park Lodge turn out to be not so good after all. The first bed on this trip which is not a thin mattress on the floor, appears harder than all others, and I have more pain in my back than ever. But that is my own problem, I'm not going to bother the staff with that. And the breakfast turns out a dressed-down version of what sometimes is called 'continental': toast and jam, orange juice, and coffee. That's it. But we're not going to start complaining that quickly: let's not start being the typical Dutchman now.
We walk through the village to where the road crosses the river. There, parallel to the bridge, is another, traditional Japanese bridge. A lot of tourists acquired themselves paid access to this bridge, which doesn't lead anywhere anymore now. Don't they realise that you have the best view where we're standing, here on the modern bridge, from where you can see the beautiful Japanese bridge hanging across the river?
On the other side of the river, steeply up the mountain, are the shrines and temples that we want to visit. On the steps leading to the place, still far before the payable entrance, sits a man who is selling information sheets. According to him, his information is much more complete than what you get at the entrance.
"But we have a guide book, that also contains a lot."
"I don't think so; guidebooks.... nah."
What he offers doesn't cost much, and indeed seems to offer a lot of information. But we are too experienced travellers to succumb to somebody like that. If he is not a crook, then why doesn't he sell his wares 'officially', at the entrance? So, no deal.
At the entrance we indeed don't get a lot of information, but our book gives enough. Most of the shrines are mausolea, tombs, for one or the other emperor, built by his grandson. Each of these consists of a lot of buildings and ornaments, and the tomb building consists of a lot of rooms, where the rear one, where the grave is, is the most sacred, and so you can't go in there.
An overwhelming abundance of decorations on all walls, roofs and gates. Images of dragons, gods, and all kinds of nature scenes. You can keep looking round.
What strikes us is also the remarkable amount of stone lanterns standing in some temples. These were gifts from other lords. Probably, when they came to visit, they always had to bring a present. Such a large stone lantern is then quite a bit to drag along, but at least they never had to worry about what present to give this time: everything was preprogrammed.
Even more remarkable: it is full of tourists here. In itself that's of course not such a surprise, but where do they all come from? In the village is hardly a soul to be seen, and now this. You never cease to be amazed here.

The Mausolea in Nikko

After having gazed for a good part of a day, between the tourists streams, at the dragons, we want a bit of peace and quiet again, and for this sake we climb up a steep path, through the woods up the hill. Above, there are again several shrines dedicated to the animals of the forest. Further on, behind the hill, is a shrine which is full of wooden plates with each the same kanji characters engraved. To our question from a passer-by what this means, we hear the clear explanation: "Those are chess pieces. Pions."

Ah. No, it's entirely clear to me now. People come here to play chess against the gods?

But we are getting more explanation. The symbols mean a smooth birth. Pregnant women come here to pray for a problem-free birth, and offer the gods such an engraving in the shape of a chess piece. After giving birth they come back again, to say thanks. Assuming that the birth did indeed go without any problems, I presume.

Chess pieces in little temple near Nikko

Back in the Park Lodge I end up talking to an Australian family. The daughter Alex is working for a year in Osaka as an English teacher. The parents are over visiting for a week. Apparently it had taken quite some effort to convince the father to leave their farm in the mountains near Sydney for a week. But also he is having a great time here now. They have already been in Tokyo, and can recommend Hanna several things to do when I am at my conference.
After dinner in the hotel -in contrast to the breakfast this is very good and very Japanese, including pickled plums-, everybody is apparently very tired. Already pretty soon I am sitting alone with the hotel manager and a beer in front of the tv. I see something crawl over the floor and disappear under the sofa, too fast to see if it wasn't a big spider, because that's what it looked like. It seems that in Japan there are poisonous spiders, so this is an issue! Together with the manager we push everything aside, but we don't find it anymore. But the manager says that the spiders, at least here, aren't poisonous. When they bite, it hurts, but it doesn't kill you. OK then.
A little later the creature suddenly is sitting on top of the sofa, and turns out to be a grasshopper-like insect, whose purpose in life is to scare the hell out of tourists.

Nikko: dreams and waterfalls - 31/7/6

Walking from the Park Lodge to the village we get past a slide, which runs down some 100 m, partly using the mountain slope. The sliding surface consists entirely of rollers, a bit like a place to pass through parcels in a ppost office. A school class of children is enjoying themselves here with enthusiasm. In groups down the slide, running back up, and down again. It's good to see that even in this country, which has raised consumer electronics to a national culture element (and mostly lives off thast now), children can still have fun without Nintendo, with such a traditional children's toy as a slide.
I'm wearing today a t-shirt bought in Miyajima with the kanji for 'droom'. For me just a beautiful picture, but it works inspiring to the Japanese. When we get into the toerist information, the man there asks immediately: "What is your dream?"
"My dream? To be able to speak Japanese."

Today we take the bus which will take us from the village, at 300 m height, to a height of 1400 m, where we are going to take a mountain hike. The bus climbs past the temples and shrines high up the mountain.
About 1000 m (?) higher we pass the other half of the village. Further, past a couple of lakes, further and further up the mountain, and into the clouds, until after an hour, when almost all other passengers have already gotten out, and we are already thinking that we have gone way too far, we are at our desired spot. Our fear that this whole area would be inside a thick cloud, doesn't appear entirely founded: a bright sun is shining here.
The vegetation is different than down below. I don't know any names, but the general sheade of green is lighter. To make it clear to us that we are here in a different climate, we find a square field, on which cows are grazing. Those we haven't seen yet on our entire trip! Beside it is the sales unit of their company: a little shop with dairy products and bread. But who now thinks he can get here semi-skimmed milk and mature cheese, will feel cheated: they sell all kinds of butter and cheese varieties that I have never seen. Instead of copying western countries, here they think up themselves what you can do with milk.
We start our hike and enjoy the fact that it is so quiet here: nothing of the masses of people that we saw yesterday near the temples.
Our route first takes us up, through a forest where the undergrowth consists of one kind of man-high plants, which we don't know. very special.
Here and there, some steps ahve been bult with logs, to make the climbing easier? But these are so high, mostly the height of my knee, that it's not really much easier. I also wonder how those short Japanese do this. The answer may be that they hike the route only the other way round: downward.
Every now and then we meet some hikers, who, jumping from the steps, call out to me: "Ah, yumi! Dream!"

We get beind the mountain, and in a valley we eat bread and cheese from the dairy shop. The peace and qwuiet here is balm for the soul. Also, we have to make sure we build up some reserves of quiet, because from tomorrow we are in Tokyo and the peace will be over.
Further on we pass two small, still completetly undisturbed mountain lakes, Lake Kirikomo and Lake Karikomo, connected by a water strait. Siamese twins, which, as long as the outside world doesn't disturb them, live in harmony and balance.

Lake Kirikomi near Nikko, and the path to it

The last part behind the mountain the route leads through a more dense forest, until we descend to a village where the well-known sulphur fumes come again at us in a welcoming way. Here is a warm spring. A swampy area of grey mud pools, covered with little sheds, from which tubes lead to the nearby hotel. The warm water bubbling up is immediately taken away for use in the hot baths.

We eat in a restaurant, situated on Lake ...., where you have to type in the orders, and pay for them, into a machine. But after that, they are served by a living waitress at your table. The automisation is not yet total.

We walk around the lake, and get to .... Falls, a vivid cascade of waterfalls. The water dances over the rocky route downward, and while splashing up gives a play of light which is no two times the same, and keeps enchanting.

Waterfalls near Nikko

At ther bottom of the falls, on a terrace we meet our australian friends again, who by the way we also have seen already this morning in the village. They have walked along the river up, which we are now going to do in the other direction. It will turn out, that on this day it is predestined for us that we will keep running into each other.

We walk on over the boardwalks, through the swampy area down, along the river. Regularly some deers are standing right beside us in the high grass, which we only notice when they suddenly decide to run away. In the distance on the left side is a local Mount Fuji.

Eventually we end up in the part of Nikko on Lake Chusenzi. This does not look as glorious as in the tourist bruchure, because there is a thick low cloud hanging over it. Remarkable is that we have completely avoided this cloud, which was there this morning already too. Around the mountain there was a bright sun, and we also haven't passed through the cloud.

From here we take the bus back to Nikko, and you guessed it: the Australians are in it as the only other passengers. Together we enjoy the ride along the hairpin bends back down. In a lot of way it resembles a rollercoaster: every time you think that it flies out of the curve, but you can trust that the driver knows what he's doing. After all, this is Japan.
We dine, because there isn't much to be fund in the village, and because this pleased us well, in the same noodle soup place as the day before yesterday. Ah, wonderful such a pint of Kirin beer after a long walk!! Who will ever manage to describe this delight! Also the food is (again) excellent.
In the evening in the Lodge our Australian friends come back from a clearly wonderfully relaxing bath in an onsen, a warm spring bathhouse. This is something which we will stay without on our trip. Seeing how refreshed they come back from this, it would certainly have been a good idea for us too.
I'm having a conversation with an English boy and a Swiss girl who are working here in the hotel for one week. They are travelling all over Japan in this way, here and there working for lodging and board, mostly at organic farms. Also that seems to me a perfect was to get to know a country.
At the end of the evening I can still say that I've experienced two Japanese culture elements which we further also stayed without. This is because on tv there is a noh-puppet theatre performance going on. This is one of the national theatre forms of Japan. It is enchanting to see. Although of course I can't follow much of it, it's clearly a drama. The puppets move very naturally and theatrically. Each puppet is being manned by 3 or 4 players, who don't try to stay hidden. But, all playes except one for each puppet, are covered in black, including their faces. The not-covered player looks full of concentration at the puppet he is handling. I don't know whether it is meant to be, but I can't keep my eyes from those players. Even though the puppets are so 'alive' and full of expression, the show of a puppet player who is concentrating on his puppet, and therewith forgets himself, is for me the most enchanting.
Another cultural failing which is being restored televisionally: a sumo-wrestling game. Round-bellied men in loin cloths who try to pull each other over. Very interesting to see for once how this goes. Strange actually, I am not a sports fan, and if this had been the national sport of my country, I would find it deadly boring. But now it is extremely funny to see heavy-bodied men playing around like toddlers.

Tokyo: many people and little food - 1/8/6

After the meagre breakfast, and before we definitively leave, the hotel manager thinks it necessary that we see one more thing of Nikko. He drops us off with his car on a spot behind the village on the river. Here, arranged in a long row against the mountain slope, are a lot of little buddha-statues, each about 1 m high, on pedestals. The most remarkable is that they are dressed in style for a dinner or something. Each statue has a red cloth hanging in front of his chest as a napkin, and is wearing a red hat.
Further on is a line of graves; undoubtedly the statues have something to do with that, but it stays unclear what exactly. Past the graves is again a row of decently dressed buddhas. We would like to ask something from the people who undoubtedly come here regularly to change the statues' clothes (after all, even a statue makes his clothes dirty). But now, there is nobody to be seen.

The row of buddha-statues in Nikko

We walk back through the village, and after another coffee and a few mysterious but tasty sweet dumplings in a café, we go to the station. We take the local train down the mountain to Utsunmiya, and by shinkansen now we're finally really off to Tokyo!

We take a deep breath and immerse ourselves in this enormous crowd of people. We take the metro to Ueno and walk through Ueno Park. The large pond in the middle is entirely full of lotus flowers. If the map wouldn't clearly point it out, you would think that this is a lotus forest and not a pond. On the paths of the park it's full of souvenir- and regular junk-salespeople.

Lotus pond in Ueno Park and city skyline, Tokyo

Via here we walk to our hotel. This is again a ryokan, but a classy one for that. We actually have here a two-room apartment: a bedroom (futons) and a sitting room (low table, cushions, tea), separable by sliding doors, and a hall and a bathroom. And even this doesn't cost excessively much. Where is that expensive Japan?

We go and have lunch in a Korean restaurant near metro station Ueno. Ordering is again done by photo menus. The metal chopsticks are very difficult; you don't get much grip with those. Risking that we are taken for barbarians we seize back to the wooden chopsticks. The food is a little spicier that what we mostly get. Allright, Korea is a bit closer to Indonesia too...?

When we pay at the till, and leave, the whole kitchen staff is standing behind the bar to call to us enthusiatically 'Arigato gozaimasu!', and push themselves forward to wave us goodbye most friendlily.

It amazes us that even here, in this enormous boiling pot of millions of people, who are all busy with getting somewhere on time, the atmosphere is just as friendly as in all other places.

I go to the hotel to change and make my way to my conference. I have to get to metro station 'Ochanomizu', but with the map from the hotel I only find a train station with the same name. Something on the outside does however give me the impression that the metro line also runs here, and I buy a ticket at the machine. But after the ticket gate I dont't see any indication of a metro line anymore. I go to ask from the man at the ticket gate, who immediately takes my ticket from me, gives me my money back, and points: 'that's where you have to go'. It turns out that the metro station is at the other side of the river.
Arrived at station ........... I have just as much trouble knowing which way I have to go for the university. A man at the guard house at the 'dome' says: "But the university is probably closed now", and points me in completely the wrong direction. From the large roller-coaster I retrieve my sense of direction -an unusual achievement for a roller-coaster-, and walk to the university. At least, so I think. I'm standing, as far as I can see on the map, right in front of the university, but I don't see anything. Well, let's ask again from passers-by.
"Yes, the university is here, or actually behind here. But you can't get in here; you have to walk round the entire block."
Thus I finally get there, and officially I am way too late for the registration, but this is, not according to Japanese punctuality, still open.
On the welcome buffet I don't see anybody I know. Yasuyuki Maekawa is not there, and nobody whom I know from my little research world. Apparently this little world doesn't stretch world-wide after all, and I have now stepped outside of it. Allright, then I'll just have to be a pioneer, who makes acquaintance with a new world. With a few glasses that is going smoothly, albeit that I mainly make acquaintance with a Japanase woamn who has emigrated to England, and other foreigners. I can't help it; I still keep hanging in that international circuit.
At a certain moment I hear beside me:
"Tell me, is Tony Blair still prime minister?"
Next to me stands James Cole, an American living in Japan, who -as it quickly shows- has had so much enough of the USA that he wants to become a Japanese. He knows a lot about Japan, so it also quickly shows, but especially the recent developements in world politics have made him decide so. And to be honest, I can understand it.
The buffet is in principle 'all you can eat', but that appears to mean in practice: 'all you can find', and already soon, that's not much anymore. The tables are quickly empty. But since this was offered, we don't fuss about this, and drink some more sake.
At 20:00 we are being throuwn out of the hall, and everybody tells me "see you tomorrow!" as if the party will continue then. I reply 'see you tomorrow', with a little bad conscience, because I'm really not planning to come tomorrow, because I know that the program consists entirely of presentations outside of my field, which I woulnd't be able to follow.
At 20:30 I arrive, clearly less clear-headed, but good-humoured and hungry, back in the hotel. Hanna and I go to a restaurant of which I first say: "it's actually a bit too light here to have a nice atmosphere." Afterwards, Hanna says that, in hindsight, I was right: with so much light it's not really nice. Hmmm... what does that mean about how I'm looking this evening?

Tokyo: kimonos, tea and skyscrapers - 2/8/6

As promised to myself, I am not going to the conference, because Hanna has planned for me a sightseeing tour through Tokyo. We first go to Asakusa, where there is a large number of souvenir shops, as well as a large shinto shrine. We buy a fridge magnet, which shows sumo wrestlers - to show what happens to you if you go to the fridge too often.
I also buy a kimono to use as a dressing gown. The biggest problem with this is to find a length which doesn't hang down to my ankles, because that gives way too much danger of accidents in the morning with a head full of sleep. But I eventually find one of a safe length.
In the shinto shrine it's as usual: many tourists who come to watch what this actually is, and many Japanese who, as if nothing's the matter, come to follow their prayer routine. Throw a coin in the box, clap, ring the bell, pray, clap again, bow, and leave. Either these faithful fidels don't care anything about tourists who are standing and gazing at them, or they are paid by the tourist industry.
After this, we make a boat tour on the river Edogawa, to the district Ginza. This way, you see the city from a different perspective. Simple fisher's boats and worker's apartments side by side with glossy buildings with tacky neon advertisements. An impressive bridge with a two-level motorway (but not as high as the one in Porto), and a bridge wich reminds me of the Maas bridge of Rotterdam. I'm sorry, I come from a river delta country. We get out in the park where the emperor's tea house is.
Walking through the perfect sample of Japanese garden architecture, between the winding trees on the paths, just as winding, in perfect harmony, we approach the tea house. Every now and then we see it in the distance, then it disappears again, and appears again in another direction. This maybe also served to put possible intruders of the emperors off the trail, and to give his guards some time to defend him?
The tea house is pleasantly situated with a terrace at a pond in the park. Here, at the time, the American president Grant has drunk tea with the emperor. Now it's open for the public, so in the footsteps of the world leaders we go in, take off our shoes, and sit down on our knees. The waitress in kimono bows when she serves us tea and a Japanese sweet cake. I bow back, but Hanna thought that that wasn't necessary. Oh well, what difference does it make, either way we are probably seen as stupid tourists. We also forget to turn the cup around while drinking, so the culture exam we would fail anyway.

In the emperor's tea house, Tokyo

Beside the park is the shoppping district Ginza. This already is starting to look more like what you expect of Tokyo. High buildings (albeit not skyscrapers yet), wide streets full of cars, and massive masses of people on the pavements and the zebra crossings. On the building fronts above the shops it's full of pushy neon advertisements; on the corners of the larger crossings are video screens of about 4x6 metres, where advertising clips are running continuously. But still also here, in spite of the crowds there is a friendly, not a stressed atmosphere.

In a music shop we want to buy a CD with samisen music, to hear something back of our experience of the last night in Kyoto. When we show the business card of our Okinawa friend, which is entirely in Japanese, it amazes me that the till lady is able to look the name up in a computer system. So is there an alphabetic system for the kanji characters? How does that work then? But the name isn't known, so we satisfy ourselves with another CD of the same style, played on a samisen which isn't covered with snake skin, but 'just' with cat skin.

In the theatre we want to buy a ticket for a kabuki performance, but unfortunately there are no performances this week. That's not going to happen.

The centre of Tokyo is so huge, that to get from one to the other spot, you sometimes don't take the metro, but also the various trains which taverse the city. We take the train from Ginza to Shinjuku, at the other side of the centre, which takes about half an hour. Half an hour by train, and you are still in the centre of the same city!

Station Shinjuku is the most busy train station in the world, with two millon passengers per day. Getting out you notice that: every passage if full of masses which move in both directions like two fast-flowing rivers. Undoubtedly we hold up the stream a little, when we stop to assure ourselves that we know which one of the countless exits we need to take. But then, as soon as we know, we float, as long as we stay on the left side of every corridor, effortlessly with the flow to the desired exit. Also here, the crowdiness doesn't suppress people's moods: nobody is impolite or stressed, and therefore we aren't either. Of course it helps us that we are both clearly taller than the average Japanese: this way we keep, to stay with the earlier metaphore, our heads afloat and don't get the feeling that we're drowning.

Shinjuku is the real skyscraper-district of Tokyo. Not only are the buildings sky-high, they are also farther apart, so that everything looks bigger. We are part of a stream of ants which wriggle along between the feet of the giants.

Shinjuku, Tokyo

There is a tower where you can pay an entrance fee to go up and look at this from above. However, there is also a building where you have almost just as good a view for free. So we take in ..... , a building with a triangular profile, the elevator to the 51st floor. You have to make sure you take the right elevator: this one is especially for floors 40 to 60. It shoots past the first 40 floors like a catapult, then slows down, and stops where people want it to. At the 51st floor are a café and a restaurant, and a corridor with windows where you can look out. At this height, you are the eye of the giant, and are at the same height with the others. The people below, you can't even see anymore. The cars are the wriggling ants.

The inside of the building is hollow. On this side there are also windows, and you can see people walking trough the corridors several floors below and above.

Back down again, under this hollow part there is a glass ceiling. Looking up, you see a long triangular tunnel with light at the end. You forget for a moment all sense of direction, it seems like you are in a massive space ship, where 'up' and 'down' don't have universal meaning.

Outside, under this skyscraper, is a beer festival going on. A large terrace, where the businessmen, fresh from their offices, can lose themsleves in a paradise of beer and various Japanese snacks. Directly in front of the door of their building; there's no escaping. The wife at home can't possible expect that they go past this. All work pressure falls off from the people, together with the jackets, and everybody is in a jolly mood. Of course, we also bite.
Regularly, something is announced via a microphone, or one of the people behind the long food bar is asked how good the thing is that they are selling. The beer is not advertised, that's not necessary. After several glasses I have, with several of the ladies behind the food bar, a short conversation in Japanese, which for our feeling is particularly nice and hilarious, even though in reality it comes down to not much more than "what's this", "can I have this please" and "thank you".
Now I know what is meant in the lyrics of Far far away by Slade: "All those arigato-smiles stay in your memory for a while". That's true. The more people there are, the more you are overwhelmed by the massive friendliness. And the smiles of all the Japanese, but especially those of the Japanese women, stubbornly lingers, melting together to one big smile: one of the deepest impressions you keep from this country.
We don't stay for dinner here, because we have a free dinner in our own hotel. A little hazier, also because of the darkness that is starting to fall, we make our way to the station. But the skyscrapers stay obvious orientation-objects, so big and stable (and, I suppose, earthquake proof?), you won't get them to topple just like that, by looking drunkenly at them.
Back in the hotel, slightly sobered up by the train ride, we let ourselves be pampered by the hotel, with more beer and a layout of Japanese delicacies, among which tempura, and Kobe beef. This meat, cut in little strips so it is maneuvrable with the chopsticks, is so tender and full of spicy flavor, that you have a hard time believing it's beef.
Although it's not really late, we drop into our beds satisfiedly. Besides, I have to get up early tomorrow.

Tokyo: conference and business meeting - 3/8/6

Today there is no escaping: I have to go to the conference, because today I'm giving my own presentation. Besides, there are a couple of other sessions that I find interesting, like the one about the prediction of earthquakes, a 'hot topic' in Japan.
I chair our session together with Yasuyuki Maekawa, in turns, because we both have presentations in this one ourselves, and, face it, you can't in good manners announce yourself. My presentation goes fine; I am still a little scared that it might take too long, because here they will probably watch the time schedule much more precisely than in Europe, but fortunately, through nervousness, I always talk a bit faster anyway, so it fits perfectly in the timing. I get a lot of questions from the audience, which looks like they are critisising me, but I know from experience that this actually means that they have listened, and even understood something too.
Our session runs un-Japanesely overtime, up to 18:30 instead of 18:00. After that, Fumiyaki Minematsu, a man from a Japanese broadcasting company, who already in advance had contacted me via e-mail, wants to talk with me. This we wanted to go and do at the cheese-and-wine tasting, which is for now on the conference programme. However, this had started already at 18:00 and now there isn't much wine and cheese left anymore. What's a bigger problem is that we are asked to leave the building at 19:00, because they're going to close. So now again Japanese punctuality, but also un-Japanese rigidness. So we make our way from the university to a resturant, together with Yasuyuki Maekawa, who after all has invited me here and to whom I'll have to show my appreciation, and with whom I also want to drink a glass, to toast on the session we chaired together.
In the little restaurant, as I am used to by now, outside of my power, beside the beer also various foodstuffs arrive onto the table, of which I have no idea what they are, but which taste fine. The beer makes the conversation flow more spontaneously, and Yasuyuki and Fumiyaki are soon to my feeling two good friends.
I had thought that Fumiyaki had wanted a business discussion, and I try to steer the subject still a couple of times back to radio communication, but he seems not to mind that in the end we talk more about the kanji characters of the Japanese written language, how they have learnt these at school, and the meanings of their names.
Fumiyaki has to leave at 20:00 toward Osaka, so we go out. Another opportunity to show my appreciation is taken away from me: the bill has been paid already.
The three of us get into the same metro. At the station of my hotel I say goodbye to Fumiyaki and Yasuyuki, who also will not be there tomorrow (so then I don't have to feel so guilty about yesterday?). I try to bow correctly as a greeting, but undoubtedly it only looks ridiculous.
Hanna and I go on and eat something in a restaurant where we sit on high stools at the bar, so we don't have to sit on our knees. Beside us are a boy and a girl of about 20 years old, with whom we are immediately in a vivid conversation, although they speak hardly any English, and we, still, even hardlier any Japanese. But they help us in ordering from the menu, which is again only in Japanese: we order what they recommend and don't regret it.
With help of a dictionary they explain to us that sake is fermented, and sochu distilled. How it is possible that those two then still taste almost the same, doesn't become clear to us. But sochu mostly seems to be better -although maybe you'll have to try a whole lot of both before you can conclude something like that-, so that becomes our favorite, and that's what we're going to take home as a souvenir.

Tokyo: deep-fried fish and karaoke - 4/8/6

Today at the conference, despite large amounts of coffee, I have the greatest trouble to keep my eyes open, let alone to follow the presentations. Of course this is mainly because once again I went to bed too late. But I keep holding up as another excuse, that also today, none of the sessions are about my field of work, so that's hard anyway. Besides, I have fulfilled my enervating task yesterday, so I have every right to relax.
After one of the last presentations I ask a question, which turns out to be a stupid one, beacuse I had understood one of the slides wrong. Or is that something that always can happen? In order to give myself, at the very last moment, still a slightly better feeling about myself, I pose after the very final presentation another question. Why is the amount of deforestation smaller when the amount of relief of a terrain is larger? This does turn out to be a very relevant question. Because people in a terrain with more relief know less what to do with it, and are more likely to leave it as it is.
With a reasonably restored self-conscience but exhausted, I leave the conference hall. Tonight is the buffet dinner from 18:00 to 20:00, for which I have registered Hanna too, so I stay in the neighbourhood and wait for her. When she arrives at the university, she appears not to have put on the fancy cocktail dress, but something more practical, because it's so hot. I am very glad about this, because the dinner also isn't anything formal. Arrived on the 14th floor of the building where the dinner is, this turns out not only to be the same hall as the welcome buffet of the day before yesterday, but also the food is exactly the same. The only difference: the other day it was free, and now it costs ¥5000.
Why is it, that organised dinners on conferences, although they are always much more expensive than every single restaurant that I would go to on my own account, are still never anything special in terms of food, and mostly even less good than most of the small (and cheap) places that I have been to on the same trip? Or is it just my expectation, which is high because of the price, and therefore is often disappointed? Anyway, this is also the reason that I normally never go to expensive restaurants: way too much risk that the quality doesn't justify the price.
Maybe in this case the point isn't so much the food anyway. It's more like a standing reception, just like the day before yesterday. After several welcome talks, in which Beijing, as location of the next PIERS-conference, is being praised as worth the visit, everybody attacks the nibbles on the long tables, to make sure they get the paid amount's worth. I have to say that there is something good in it, especially the deep-fried little fish (boquerones?) are tasty. But much of the dishes I haven't been able to try, because they are gone before I can get there. Fortunately there is enough sake and Kirin beer, so at least it does become a relaxed atmosphere.
I have to say that the concept of a buffet for a conference-dinner is actually pretty good. This way you can talk to who you want, and aren't tied to the few persons next to you and opposite of you, of which you never know whether they are worth a whole evening of conversation. Except your own partner of course (this I have to add to avoid problems).
The conversation flows abundantly, I make loads of new contacts, and my businesscards fly away. Around 19:00 it is being announced that the organisers are sorry that the food ran out prematurely, and they are ordering some more. It is on its way. So after all, some difference with the other day, to justify the difference in price? A little later, from the elevator doors some carts full of food appear, be it of a different kind: especially noodles - yakisoba as we now know, and such. Probably this is much faster to prepare. Have they just quickly called to the nearest takeaway-Japanese? It doesn't matter; it tastes fine to me. But especially through the drinks, which keep flowing, the contacts also flow. Unfortunately, some of the people whom I earlier met at the conference, aren't present: Yasuyuki Maekawa, Fumiyaki Minematsu and Fumie Costen, but some people whom we speak to now for the first time, are immediately old friends.

The buffet diner at the conference

At 20:00 the place is closed and we have to look for fun elsewhere. Several friends whose names I don't remember now, tell me how they had such fun yesterday in the roller-coaster on the fairground next door, and after that in a karaoke bar, and they feel like doing that again, and whether we want to come along. Hmmmm.... a roller-coaster, right after dinner and a significant amount of alcohol? I'm not sure whether that's a good idea.
Eventually the roller-coaster is skipped, and we go immediately to the karaoke joint. Something which I normally wouldn't feel like doing, but it belongs to Japanese culture, so maybe we must experience this.
It doesn't look at all like a karaoke bar as we know them in Europe. We enter a building where we rent with the group a room for a certain time. We are sitting round a table and looking at a video screen. There are a number of microphones to our disposal, and a remote control that looks like a spaceship from a science-fiction series, with which we can choose a song. But the pints of beer and the nibbles, among which pods of soy bean, are constantly being delivered, so that it doesn't matter so much to us what else happens.
The videos that we see passing, together with the lyrics of the songs, don't have so much to do with the music, but show, regardless which britpop-song it is, invariably a Japanese boy and girl with a problem in their relationship.
The most other members of our company don't do a very good job on the singing, but at this moment it's the question how much of a good job I am doing myself.
The non-original song versions, the inferior singing, and the beer keep coming, but don't keep exciting me indefinitely. After a while I go onto the corridor to ask how long we've actually rented this room. Two hours, of which one hour is now gone. We'll have to endure this a little longer.
I don't quite understand. For a moment it's fun, but can you entertain yourself a whole evening in front of a tv-screen and listening to your own voice? At least, in European bars you have the bar public, which mostly will applaud out of politeness, and make you feel good about yourself. Here you really only sing for yourself, and for your company which has no other option than to listen to you. I can't conclude otherwise than that this is entertainment for people whose voice really doesn't interest anybody, to still get an opportunity to 'shine' without being too much of a nuisance to others.
After the two hours it's over and we go out. After this, we actually would have liked to go and really unwind in a pub now, but the group disperses, so we decide to take the train to our hotel, having gained one Japanese culture experience.

Tokyo: shops and fireworks - 5/8/6

Because also today there are no programme parts in my field, and to spare myself an embarrassment like yesterday's, today I don't go to the conference anymore. We're going shopping for souvenirs, because our trip is almost running to its end. Besides, it's Saturday today, which is usually my shopping day anyway.
We're starting in an area full of trendy clothing shops. Not because I want to buy something there, but because Hanna, who, of course, has already explored the city thoroughly for this kind of things, wants to show me something: the phenomenon 'Engrish'.
Although the Japanese don't speak much English, this language nevertheless is considered 'cool' in the fashion industry. People like to use English-language phrases in brand names, slogans, and signs. But because in Japanese word order is reasonably free, they think you can use English in the same way. So the phrases are full of words which sound good but are completely out of context. Walking through the small streets along the trendy clothing shops we see everywhere t-shirts full of these nonsense texts, like 'Love love umbrella', and 'Wonderful world is nice peaceful and enjoy sport'. This jumbling-up of the English language is called 'Engrish' by English speakers, after the Japanese pronunciation of the word 'English'.
To buy something in this area, although the bright colours do please me, is not a possibility because my size is far outside the range of what is on offer. But here in the area is a bazar with Japanese products, and here we stock up on souvenirs. Food bowls and chopsticks, a t-shirt, and a painting for my parents.
We have lunch in a Viking restaurant (pronounced by the Japanese usually as 'biking'). This has nothing to do with Scandinavian food, but only means an 'all-you-can-eat-buffet'. Of course, the danger of this is always that you'll eat too much. Naturally, as a dutchman I want to get value for money. But it seems that all Europeans and Americans have the same problem.
The Japanese maybe don't; at least, 'eating much' doesn't seem to belong to their culture. You also don't see any fat people on the street. All the more remarkable are then the sumo-wrestlers, a side track of a culture which for the rest is going in a completely different direction. What do those guys eat? Hamburgers? Bacon and eggs for breakfast? You can hardly keep a figure like that on sushi and yakisoba, can you?
Anyway, I try my best to hold back in the Viking place. But that's always very hard, because there are so many good looking dishes, which I all want to try. But although for my feeling I am going already again way too far, this is one of the few times that I don't leave a buffet restaurant with a stomach about to explode (to be precise: yesterday was the other time, but then there wasn't even enough). Well, that will have to be because of the use of all that soybean, instead of milk and butter. It doesn't make you a sumo wrestler, but you can fill yourself up and still walk around, the same day.

We take the metro to another shopping area, looking for musical instruments. Several busy traffic routes run through this one. But the massive streams of people can nevertheless still continue via a network of pedestrian bridges, stretching high over the traffic lanes. The city is three-dimensional here. Pedestrians, cars and metro trains move around at different levels. The shop buildings are so high, about 10 stories, with different shops or -departments at different floors, that you don't even always have to go down to get where you want to be.

Shopping district in Tokyo

Unfortunately the musical instrument shops don't have any traditional Japanese instruments, which is what I'm looking for, so we decide to go on to Ginza.

Arrived in Ginza, the shopping district with the wide streets and likewise shops, it strikes us that something is different than last Wednesday, but what? It's still very busy, but then what's feeling so different? Hey... wait a minute, there are no cars! It turns out to be car-free Saturday here; the people are walking criss-cross on the street, and there are terraces on the centre line of the four-lane road. Of course this is very pleasant, but like I said, it still feels just as busy; the cars are amply replaced by the people's multitude.

Car-free day in Ginza, Tokyo

A little further on, the area is traversed by a traffic route which is not closed off; of course, for this they are using again traffic wardens to stop, in turns, the cars and the pedestrians. This is nothing more than a regular pedestrian crossing, but with a fifty metres wide pedestrian stream which crosses a busy eight-lane road, it would, without Japanese organisation and likewise patience, certainly become a chaos.

I go to the shop of Yamaha, the well-known giant in musical instruments (and not only that, but that's what I'm after now). While Hanna is listening to a live piano concert on the ground floor, I go on a search. If anybody has something traditional Japanese, it's here. I seem to have to conclude that nobody has it then. Despite many large floors full of guitars, violins, wind instruments and percussion, among which some traditional South-American, they don't have anything traditional Japanese.

I receive the address of a shop where they should have it, and go on a hunt, while Hanna, who can't keep up anymore, goes to drink smething in a café. In a narrow alley behind the kabuki theatre I find the little shop. Even if you are standing right in front of it you can hardly see it. A space of no more than 3x3 metres, clearly part of the workshop of a samisen builder. The right-hand wall is completely covered with these instruments. The shopkeeper, undoubtedly the builder himself, in a white coat, is on the phone and gestures me to take a seat on the chairs on the left-hand side. I look around. The samisens all have a white, therefore cat skin; nowhere is the colourful snake skin to be seen. Anything else than samisens you can't get here. Secretly looking at the price tags, I see that the prices, albeit not being unreasonably high, are still above my budget of this moment.

When the man puts the phone down and addresses me, he turns out not to speak a word of English. I manage myself through introductions and politeness routines in my limited Japanese, but how do I explain to him politely that I don't actually come to do anything here? The man doesn't smile, but stays polite, and I think that I should be able to get away with this. I ask for written music. That he also has, and pulls out a book which is written in a music script unkown to me. Still, I recognise the notes and certainly would be able to decipher this, but is that worth the trouble? I might as well write down music from a CD.

I do my best to explain with my very limited vocabulary that I now know where the shop is, and will sometime later want to buy something. He seems to have understood, because he gives me a catalogue of samisens, richly illustrated, and one of music books, non-illustrated. My attempts to explain that my knowledge of the Japanese script is even more limited than that of the spoken language, do not come accross. He keeps urging me to that music script catalogue of which I can't make sense at all.

I leave, with the necessary politeness routines and thanking the man for the samisen catalogue, but the other catalogue I leave behind, despite his urgings. While I go out the door, the man goes about his business, probably thinking:

"Stupid tourist. Still, he did speak a few words of Japanese."

An observation as a side remark. The Japanese society, though modernised and advancing, still likes to hold on to traditions and their own culture elements, which can be seen in the food culture, religion, theatre, sport and sometimes in the clothing (see later). But, despite a 'revival' of all kinds of traditional music in western countries, Japanese traditional music is only practised by a small group of specialists, you don't hear it anywhere coming from loadspeakers, and you can get the music and the instruments only in a small specialised shop in an alley behind the theatre. This is not something for the masses in Japan. Maybe that will still come? In any case, that makes it for me all the more interesting, and I'm glad that in Kyoto we got to meet a traditional musician, and have seen her play in private.

Tonight we're going to watch a fireworks display on the bank of the river Edogawa. Up to now, Hanna been taking charge in the metros and trains, but because she can't keep up anymore, I take over now. It was recommended to be there at least an hour in advance to get a good spot. Considering that, we're on the late side, which is especially due to my music shop exploration trips. But in contrast to Hanna I don't see that directly as a problem.
We take the train to station Ichikawa, from where we should be able to reach the river. From the train we already see herds of people walking along the river.

Women in traditional dress

Arrived at Ichikawa, the whole station hall is filled with a sea of people. Hanna becomes desperate, and I consider that this kind of situations usually does lead to problems in western countries, but we're in Japan here. At crawling pace, but continuously moving, we float along out of the station. The square in front of the station is even fuller, and here it almost doesn't even seem to be moving at all. While I speak some more encouraging words to Hanna, we swim through the crowd in the direction of the little streets where most people are going. Asking for directions seems pointless. In the little streets it goes better again, the crowd is moving and we float progressively on with the current, while the twilight steadily sets in and the red lanterns of the bars around us switch on.

Many women are dressed in tradional dress: a colourful kimono, a belt around the waist with a large bow on the back, done-up hair, and wooden sandals. Watching fireworks is something you do in suitable clothing. It looks beautiful. But because of that tight kimono and those sandals, they can't walk so fast, so that we pass a lot of people and build up a decent headway. At one of the many stalls along the street with food and drink, we buy a couple of beers. Arrived in the neighbourhood of the river it becomes more difficult again. We have to cross a busy road -traffic wardens, of course- and go through a 'bottleneck': a very narrow passage which normally clearly isn't meant for many people to pass through. This way we get to the river.

Along the river is a dyke, which is, as far as we can see in the twilight, completely packed with people, for kilometres far in both directions. The area in front of the dyke is covered with a wriggling mass of people who are all trying to find a spot on top of the dyke, because from there you can see the fireworks best. We work ourselves, as good as it goes, to the top of the dyke, and strand on the top part of the slope.

On this slope nobody is sitting, for the simple reason that without cramped muscle strains you can't hold yourself stable on one spot. On top of the dyke, many have spread out a blanket and are picknicking. Youths, elderly, children, whole families are there. We sit down uncomfortably at the upper part of the slope, hoping that we will still be able to shift a little toward the top as time goes on. It's become completely dark now. Hanna looks depressed at the passage we just came from. In the light of the street lanterns, a continuous wide stream of people keeps coming from there, as well as from all other passages in the area. Every square centimetre where somebody can stand, as far as we can see, is covered with people. And they keep coming.

Hanna sighs: "I've never seen so many people together in one place."

I remark: "That's possible... it might even be that there are more people here than are living in the whole of Finland!"

Past us, people, especially foreigners, are still regularly trying to get on top of the dyke to wedge themselves into the few centimetres between the picknicking families. We are too well-mannered for that. But, even though we're sitting uncomfortably, the atmospohere is good, and with a beer in our hands we're waiting for the firework display, which should be starting any moment now on the other side of the river, for which we will therefore have to give our necks a good twist to see it, but at least we have a spot.

People who are trying to get onto the dyke along the river Edogawa, to see the fireworks display (Tokyo)

19:15 sharp, on the other side of the river, an explosion takes place, which will last 75 minutes. An overwhelming caleidoscope of colours and shapes, accompanied by delayed, but therefore not less effective, bangs. Fountains of light, and brushes of fire, drawing paintings in the sky which speak to the imagination. Every now and then it stops on one place, and immediately starts a few hundreds metres further on with a next act, so that at the first spot they can reload their artillery.

Sometimes the rockets clearly have graphical images, such as a smiling face. I have never seen something like this. Every now and then I have to nudge Hanna that she keeps paying attention, because she often has more eye for the multitude of people. Because even during the event, a continuous wide flow of people still keeps coming this way.

Toward the end of the programme there some people start to leave already, and we can finally move on to the top of the dyke, to a comfortable seating place.

The spectacle on the other side of the river ends with a big bang. Small children, who in the beginning were a little afraid, are now cheering with enthusiasm.

When we get up to make our way back to the station, the flow of people in the passage which we came through is still just as wide, but has reversed in direction. Still, also now again we get through smoothly, simply by joining them. In Europe there's a law of nature, that the more people you try to get through a passage, the fewer will get through. That doesn't hold here.

Through the streets of this suburbian centre to the station. On the station square, -surprise, surprise- it's jam packed with people. On the steps of the entrance to the station, wardens are standing who stop people from going in, for understandable reasons. That's why nobody tries to protest against this. No Dutch-style moaning like 'yeah but I got to catch this train!' When they open up their improvised barrier, even though we were standing at the beginning of the square, we get into the station too. Also inside, it's jam packed; it's useful to know which train you need to catch, before you swim towards the platforms.

On the platform we get into the train, and to our big surprise we have some space here. We wonder if there isn't so much interest in this train to the centre of Tokyo. (Yeah, right.) Or did the station guards dose it so, that we can stand comfortably in the train (sitting is too much to ask)? At the next station we find out what's going on. This is on the other side of the river, and here at least as many people more are coming back from their firework experience. After this station, we are packed as sardines in a tin after all. But that doesn't matter, as relieved as we are that we catch the train back again, without any delay to speak of.

After having processed the large number of enervating experiences of today external-physically with a refreshing shower in the hotel, we're going for dinner.

We go to a restaurant on a cellar floor, of which it is impossible to estimate how big it is. Full of corners, passages in all directions, and mirrors to confuse you even more. It may well be that this stretches out under the whole block, or even more. But we see only our table and the two tables beside us.

That the food, ordered from a photo menu ("I'll have that, and that, and that") is fine, is already no news anymore. And the okonomiyaki is less special than that in the red lantern in Beppu. Because everything again costs next to nothing, as a dessert we indulge in the cocktails again, with the entertaining gambling game of choosing solely on the colour, and hoping that it tastes remotely the way you expect.

Osaka: pachinko and red lanterns - 6/8/6

Goodbye to Tokyo. Tomorrow we're flying back from Osaka, so it's a good idea to go there already today. Searching together all our stuff in the two-room apartment which is our hotel room, appears to take up quite some time. It feels like we've lived here for some time. About the packets we received, with slippers, chopstick holders and other gagdets, we're not entirely sure, but we conclude in the end that they were gifts, because there is not much point in chopstick holders without the chopsticks, for use in a hotel room. So they'll come along. Together with all souvenirs, my backpack certainly will give me some back problems again.
Because we discover a shorter metro route, we're too early at the station. So for once, that's not to blame on Hannas planning. Watching people with a cup of coffee is always fun at Tokyo station.

A Shinkansen train trip lasting four hours through the most densely populated part of Japan. It almost seems like everything is one big city. Every now and then, a rice paddy comes by, but after that, it's quickly again houses, lots of houses.
Stepping outside of Osaka station we have some trouble orienteering. We have a printed map of the route to the hotel, but how should we hold it? We see in front of us roads with a lot of traffic, and crossings, bridges and tunnels for pedestrians, with -again- lots of people. Nothing looks like what the map indicates (or everything looks like it equally much) and of course the street names are again no use to us.
After we've crossed a wide road by a tunnel, in a favorable looking direction, we find out we need to go exactly the opposite way.
Is it because we're now more southerly again, that the weather is clearly again much warmer? In any case, not the ideal weather for hauling a too heavy backpack via a detour to your hotel. In hotel 'Kinki' the receptionist makes us wait a while, but I can't be bothered about this. This is because in the lobby there is a sofa, and a vending machine with beer. Sinking onto the sofa with a can of beer, and with my backpack off my back, I am entirely happy. Just let that receptionist make us wait a good while longer.
Too soon he has time for us, and we check in to our rooms, - no Japanese style this time, which is a pity for the last night. Very kinky it isn't either, for those who might think so. When we ask from the receptionist the way to the centre, he wants to know what we're going to do. It's our last day, so: shopping; by now we've seen enough temples, shrines and pagodas, we think. So he points us to the area where the most shops are. I'm not sure whether this has been a good idea.
If we had gone to see sights, maybe we could have had a slightly positive impression of the beauty of this city. Maybe; I'm not sure. In any case, as far as we can see, Osaka is a city to visit with your eyes and your ears closed. Large ugly buildings, full of shops. Nothing of the style, history or beauty that we've seen in other cities. And full of people, especially youths, who already in the afternoon are preparing themselves for a very noisy evening.
Don't get me wrong; this was only about the street view. We also had lunch in a stylish café with as theme 'dance', with artworks on the walls picturing different dances.
In an area full of playing halls, I walk into a pachinko-hall to explore. See Will Ferguson. In a deafening noise, tens of people are sitting separately in font of the pachinko-machines which are placed in long rows. The pachinko is a kind of vertical pinball machine, through which they shoot little metal balls, which have to end up somewhere, to score points. Everybody is concentrated on his own game. I wonder what is the enchantment that can make people play this simple game for hours on end. I could try it, but I have a strong feeling it would start to bore me before the enchantment sets in. Maybe that would even be a good thing too... In any case it doesn't attract me, and I go back out, where Hanna is waiting, who because of the noise level wouldn't dare go into the place at all.
Of course, for me it's not so special that this game doesn't entice me, because I'm no gambler. After all, a claim to fame of mine is that in the year 2000 I passed two days in Las Vegas, without gambling a single penny. Quite an achievement, isn't it? I then indulged in the cheap food and drink, and enjoyed all the free shows and music which run continuously everywhere. And I watched amusedly all those people who were doing what people come to Las Vegas for. All those people that Las Vegas lives off, who actually pay for all this luxury and glitter and glamour. I saw myself as one of the winners of this game. But this is another story. (By the way, that's not what I came to Las Vegas for; it was the Grand Canyon.)
In a bar, as an aperitive, I let myself be surprised by whatever kind of sochu the barlady serves me.

In a large department store we perform another necessary last-day programme part: shopping for culinary souvenirs. However, this is a little more difficult here than in other countries. This shop is not meant for tourists. In the massive food department, full of sales islands, each specialised in one foodstuff, all signs are only in Japanese. Even if you take the products in your hand, you're still not sure what they are. Also our dictionary and our travel guide don't help, because they give the names in spoken Japanese. Also the kanji are sometimes given there, but how do look something up in that?
We're standing at a desk with products that look like conserved vegetables, and looking for pickled plums. After having compared a lot of kanji with our Japan-book by trial and error but in vain, I go back again to the tried and successful method: asking. After all, I know how to say: "Do you have ...". The sales lady is not sure, and other staff members are asked to join us. Eventually a lady takes us with her to another desk, several hundreds of metres away (I'm exaggerating a little) which is entirely dedicated to pickled plums. Lots of varieties. Of course, how could we even doubt it! We get to taste, and now can simply point at what pleases us best.
We also still want a bottle of sochu. Well, now let's ask right away, because the drinks department may be easy to find, but before I've figured out which of these beautiful kanji labels says 'sochu' and not 'sake' or something else, much time could be lost. It turns out that in the massive drinks department tens of metres are dedicated to sochu.
"What kind of sochu do you want?" the enthusiastic lady asks us, "these are made of rice, those of barley, there of apricots, rye, potatoes." (In reality the deciphering of this explanation in Japanese took some time, but with a dictionary we managed.)
Now I had thought that I knew what I wanted, but am still put before a difficult choice again. But fortunately, aslo here we get to taste. It's not so tourist-unfriendly here after all.
In terms of restaurants this town doesn't seem to have much special to offer. But we do find a small place, which turns out to be a stone grill restaurant. In the middle of the tables, and on regular spots in the bar (where we are sitting) are large rocks which are being kept hot by glowing coals. We order various kinds of fish, mushrooms and shellfish. The waitress behind the bar puts the foodstuffs for us on top of the rock, probably because she suspects that we stupid foreigners don't know how to do that. At least, she knows well which sauces and vegetables go well with what, so we just let ourselves be pampered. This apparent styleless city still turns out to offer some pleasant surprises after all.

While Hanna goes to sleep, I go to drink a night cap in a red lantern bar right opposite our hotel. It's a small shed in a side alley. Without that imposing red lantern, almost the size of the pub itself, you wouldn't recognise it as a bar. Inside, half of the space is taken up by the quarter-circle-shaped bar. Behind this, amidst the fumes rising up from the baking plate, is the cook, unshaven, in his undershirt, and so big that you absolutely don't want trouble with him. This is clearly the local social meeting place. At the bar, and at the one only table, several people are involved in animated discussions. And to this belongs, besides drink, also something to eat.
Although an okonomiyaki seems very good, I am still full of the dinner, so that doesn't seem a good idea. Carefully I ask whether only having a beer is also possible. Because I can't handle such a complicated question in Japanese, and the cook doesn't speak English, a lady sitting at the bar jumps to my aid: oh yes, that's possible. The cook turns out not to be as unfriendly as he seemed at first sight, and serves me a Kirin beer. The ice has been broken.
The lady wants to know everything about me, especially where I'm coming from and what I find of Japan. She helps me to learn a little more of the katakana, the Japanese phonetic script. I notice that if you know that, a world opens up for you. How wonderful that must be, to recognise the words that you hear back in written text!
Her friends find an old disused Japanese bank note of ¥1000 in their wallet, and give it to me as a souvenir.
Eventually I depart with the feeling that this bar has turned in an hour's time from a strange, potentially dangerous area, to my local pub.
Going back to our hotel room, I take into account that Hanna had urged me to be quiet and not to wake her. I have my torch in my hand, not to have to switch on the light. As quiet as possible I open the door and take several steps toward my bed. Until I notice... that the light is on, because she's still reading. There go my good intentions...

Departure - 7/8/6

We stuff the latest bought souvenirs into our luggage, and drag back to the train station.
There, it becomes still complicated for a moment. It's not immediately clear which train would be best for us to take; there are several possibilities. Also, our Japan Rail Pass isn't valid anymore, so we have to buy a ticket, and it isn't so simple yet where we have to do that. Osaka station is a maze also on the inside, with long corridors in which you often don't know whether you are still in the station or in an underground shopping mall. And then, Hanna is afraid we'll miss the train. I think there's no problem, because we've left much earlier than necessary anyway, but according to her we're already on the late side. The eternal point of friction between us when we're travelling.
We make it to the train, and go rolling among masses of people -no chance of a seat- to Tennoji, and from there to Kansai. The infinite concatenation of houses suddenly makes way for the sea. From a long bridge we see Japan disappear toward the horizon, while we're rolling to the artificial island of Kansai Airport.
In the plane we don't have business class this time. But we are so tired that we can't be bothered about that. We sleep anyway.