I was working until the final moment of our afternoon departure and Husband - who had consequently been left with all the last minute errands- was also up against it, and still in the shower when our lift to the airport arrived. However, we left with plenty of time to spare anticipating the M25 to have adopted its customary car park status.
After a smooth check in and bite of food we commenced the long walk to the gate. It was only a few days since a recent business trip to Singapore - in business class. So doing this trip in economy was likely to be a bit of a come down. We couldn't get a direct flight to Sapporo and needed to change at Hong Kong. Liking Hong Kong, we had decided to do a brief stop over.
Happily part 1 of the flight wasn’t too uncomfortable (our first time on Cathay Pacific) and we managed to get some sleep despite the woman behind me complaining when I put my seat back all of two inches. As we were due to land mid afternoon we actually didn’t want to be too well rested.
It was a good thing we had eaten prior to departure as dinner on the flight was more than averagely revolting.
We arrived safely in Hong Kong and another substantial walk from the gate to the airport through a long straight corridor that seemed to stretch into the distance for an eternity. Now, when this was booked over a year ago we had thought a short stop in Hong Kong would be good fun, having been there before and enjoyed it. Since then, of course, the democracy protests had had kicked off and it was in recent weeks that protesters had brought the airport to a standstill. Unsurprisingly there was a notable security presence at the airport. Added to by medical diligence for avian flu. We passed through a checkpoint where a masked woman pointed a device at us that looked like a speed camera, but which actually that assessed our core body temperature. At the thought of it I could feel a heat rising inside me. I wondered if the temperature test could distinguish between flu and menopausal woman.
According to the hotel, it was a 2 minute walk away. Which it was, once you were 2 minutes away from it.
After a quick freshen up we went back into the airport to get the express train into the city. Handily I had the next days boarding passes with me as you could only enter the airport in possession of a passport and evidence of travel.
Central Hong Kong seemed fine, with no evidence of the months of disruption, so all initial concerns were comprehensively allayed. It was warm, vibrant and not too muggy. We went to the Blackstar pub which we had enjoyed on our last trip, and then to the mid central escalator to forage for dinner. The Thai place we had particularly enjoyed no longer seemed to be there, so we went for Nepalese, which again we had previously visited, while the opening game of the rugby World Cup was played in the bar next door. Husband opted for a spicy meal, which even the waitress warned was hot. But he seemed to cope with relatively minimal sweating. After dinner we went to the neighbouring bar for a cocktail and to see the results of the game before returning to the hotel - via the vigorous passport and boarding pass check so that we could cross through the terminal.
It was an early alarm the following morning and we felt a bit ropey from the previous night’s drinking. It was also Husband’s birthday.
Another check in and another very long walk to the gate. We tried to find a cafe for breakfast which wasn’t totally successful and ended up asking at an information desk if there were food outlets on the way to our gate. Apparently there were. We also picked up our first bottle of iced tea - which was quite literally unsweetened, cold green tea. It was pretty unpleasant.
Once on board the plane our take off was delayed a bit due to a tropical storm in Japan. But before long we were on our way.
It was a good thing we had eaten prior to departure as dinner on the flight was more than averagely revolting.
We arrived safely in Hong Kong and another substantial walk from the gate to the airport through a long straight corridor that seemed to stretch into the distance for an eternity. Now, when this was booked over a year ago we had thought a short stop in Hong Kong would be good fun, having been there before and enjoyed it. Since then, of course, the democracy protests had had kicked off and it was in recent weeks that protesters had brought the airport to a standstill. Unsurprisingly there was a notable security presence at the airport. Added to by medical diligence for avian flu. We passed through a checkpoint where a masked woman pointed a device at us that looked like a speed camera, but which actually that assessed our core body temperature. At the thought of it I could feel a heat rising inside me. I wondered if the temperature test could distinguish between flu and menopausal woman.
According to the hotel, it was a 2 minute walk away. Which it was, once you were 2 minutes away from it.
After a quick freshen up we went back into the airport to get the express train into the city. Handily I had the next days boarding passes with me as you could only enter the airport in possession of a passport and evidence of travel.
Central Hong Kong seemed fine, with no evidence of the months of disruption, so all initial concerns were comprehensively allayed. It was warm, vibrant and not too muggy. We went to the Blackstar pub which we had enjoyed on our last trip, and then to the mid central escalator to forage for dinner. The Thai place we had particularly enjoyed no longer seemed to be there, so we went for Nepalese, which again we had previously visited, while the opening game of the rugby World Cup was played in the bar next door. Husband opted for a spicy meal, which even the waitress warned was hot. But he seemed to cope with relatively minimal sweating. After dinner we went to the neighbouring bar for a cocktail and to see the results of the game before returning to the hotel - via the vigorous passport and boarding pass check so that we could cross through the terminal.
It was an early alarm the following morning and we felt a bit ropey from the previous night’s drinking. It was also Husband’s birthday.
Another check in and another very long walk to the gate. We tried to find a cafe for breakfast which wasn’t totally successful and ended up asking at an information desk if there were food outlets on the way to our gate. Apparently there were. We also picked up our first bottle of iced tea - which was quite literally unsweetened, cold green tea. It was pretty unpleasant.
Once on board the plane our take off was delayed a bit due to a tropical storm in Japan. But before long we were on our way.
Japan comprises 6800 islands. We were going to visit the two largest of them, starting with the northern island of Hokkaido - of which we would only see its capital city, Sapporo which apparently means ' a river which runs along a plain filled with reeds'. I'm glad they found a shorter way of saying that.
On landing at Sapporo there was another extensive walk to immigration, where we were finger printed and photographed by the friendliest and most courteous immigration officials on earth.
It was unclear whether the airport at Sapporo had meant to be further progressed in its works in anticipation of the rugby fan influx. A number of baggage claim carousels were still being constructed. At the one where our luggage was arriving a Japanese man played a live game of Tetrus with the arriving bags, to ensure they were evenly lined up on the belt in a single row rather than stacked up behind each other. This became more challenging with each revolution of the carousel.
Once out of arrivals, a keen army of rugby volunteers gave us an origami bird and local maps. Appropriately armed, we directed ourselves to the JR line for our first grapple with local public transport, which we navigated with success. But when we got out at Suskino, now in the dark, we were a little disoriented. Some might say, lost. We soon learned that as white people we stood out like sore thumbs as needing help the second we looked momentarily bewildered. Consequently, within minutes a local offered help and pointed us in a direction . We weren’t sure if that was the right direction but went a polite distance before consulting google maps, and having got our bearings we soon found the hotel.
On landing at Sapporo there was another extensive walk to immigration, where we were finger printed and photographed by the friendliest and most courteous immigration officials on earth.
It was unclear whether the airport at Sapporo had meant to be further progressed in its works in anticipation of the rugby fan influx. A number of baggage claim carousels were still being constructed. At the one where our luggage was arriving a Japanese man played a live game of Tetrus with the arriving bags, to ensure they were evenly lined up on the belt in a single row rather than stacked up behind each other. This became more challenging with each revolution of the carousel.
Once out of arrivals, a keen army of rugby volunteers gave us an origami bird and local maps. Appropriately armed, we directed ourselves to the JR line for our first grapple with local public transport, which we navigated with success. But when we got out at Suskino, now in the dark, we were a little disoriented. Some might say, lost. We soon learned that as white people we stood out like sore thumbs as needing help the second we looked momentarily bewildered. Consequently, within minutes a local offered help and pointed us in a direction . We weren’t sure if that was the right direction but went a polite distance before consulting google maps, and having got our bearings we soon found the hotel.
Before going to Japan I had been warned about certain behaviours which were a no-no in public. One of these was sneezing, which seemed unfair as sneezing is rather beyond one’s control. A man behind the hotel reception started sneezing. He backed away, bowing and rapidly fled from the season in a manner which could not have demonstrated more shame and embarrassment if he had wet himself.
Happily our room was available and before you think that an odd thing to say, we had booked the hotel a year ago, before booking the flights. When the flights were arranged a little while later our arrival date was one day later than the original hotel booking. However, we were unable to amend the booking and by then, as it was the rugby world cup, most other places were full. So we decided to keep the booking but let them know we wouldn’t be there for the first night, and we’re happy to still pay for it. The receptionist was pleased to tell us that we had been upgraded to a larger room, at no extra cost.
When we got into the room I wondered what size an ordinary room would have been as the ‘large’ one was of fairly modest proportions.
We had a quick freshen up and ventured out. There were a lot of clubs in the vicinity hosted by girls in bunny outfits or clubs which seemed to offer other services. The streets were busy, lively and lined with buildings adorned with bright lights and neon illuminated excess. Everything was in Japanese so it was unclear whether these places were bars or brothels. Husband wasn’t wearing his glasses and commented that perhaps he should put them on as they may useful for signs. Which in particular, I queried, given the absence of anything we could hope to understand.
We went to Nuts bar initially where we experienced the concept of a cover charge - helpfully explained to us by an Australian who was there as being a charge paid per person merely for the pleasure of being in the place, on top of the cost of any further food and drink. We also accidentally had a beer cocktail- a Red Eye which is basically beer with tomato juice in it. Yes, it was pretty vile. Realising our mistake we quickly moved to ‘neat’ beer. And then, as we familiarised ourselves with the exchange rate (a not totally handy sum of 1000 yen being £7.65) decided that this was an expensive bar.
Sapporo is known for its beer - but also its ramen, and it therefore seemed appropriate to look for dinner in Ramen Alley. This comprised a narrow street lined on both sides with ramen houses - small rooms with a counter around or alongside the kitchen. Queues were forming outside many establishments. A group came out of one, recommending the food. There was no queue. So after a short wait we were in, perched on stools, alongside other diners.
The menu was simple - and helpfully had pictures. Jugs of water were freely available on the counter. Disposable wooden chopsticks were in front of us. After a few minutes a bowl of steaming broth was handed over the counter. It was very tasty. We gobbled it, with inadequate slurping noises in comparison with our Japanese counterparts, then vacated our spot.
A queue had already formed outside. We returned to the hotel through the bright lights and noise of the city. Although dark it was clear that the city wasn’t pretty architecturally. Buildings were functional and concrete. A lot of concrete. And it was cool outside.
Back at the hotel I was surprised by the heated loo seat, and perplexed by the range of buttons on the wall next to it. One of which had to be the flush, although it did take a minute to two to work out which. With the risk of an accidental bottom wash or blow dry (not necessarily in that order) if the wrong one was selected. More disturbing, you might accidentally select the loo seat cleaning mode - while you were still occupying it.
Having noticed that the refreshments in the room did not extend to coffee we popped into a nearby supermarket and picked up some instant coffee sachets. Plus a bottle of Chita Japanese whisky.
It was nice to have a morning where no alarm was needed. We got up and took a minute or two to work the shower (which initially poured from the base to allow you to get the temperature right - but which also had two A4 pages of instructions stuck to the wall, and information about the button to move base flow to overhead flow was half way down page two. Or, in the Japanese version, half way down page 1).
Then we went out in search of breakfast and quickly realised this was going to be challenging. We bottled it at nearby Boogaloos which seemed a bit too local, and possibly wasn’t even open. Then we spotted a small place with the word cafe on the board outside. That was all we needed, so we went in and had two toast sets. No, we didn't know what that meant but it sounded like breakfast.
The toast was about two inches thick, served with a cold boiled egg, jam and tea or coffee (which we could to have either hot or cold).
Suitably replete we started our tourist amble around town. Speakers on the streets spat out high pitched Japanese chatter and jolly music for a purpose we were in no position to understand.
We walked through the extensive covered shopping mall and were surprised that all these businesses remained open and viable as they largely peddled identical, plastic tat.
It went on and on. And on. This was where we first saw stalls selling tapioca drinks, which did not appeal to Husband. Before getting to the end, but not before spotting a couple of interestingly rustic trams ferrying the locals around, we turned left and headed to the 147m high red steel Sapporo TV tower. An Octoberfest event was taking place at its base. As we had the England game later that day it seemed foolish to start on the beer at this early hour.
So we sat in the square at the base of the Tower and watched small children jump off the first pier. Harnessed obviously, but allowed to freefall the first second before the harness kicked in and gently lowered them the rest of the way down. Only one child completely bottled it, and didn’t jump.
While we there, near subways to the metro I wondered whether it would make sense to buy our tickets now for the journey to the game later. I left Husband sitting outside and ventured underground. Initially the steps took me down to a massive subterranean shopping mall, as though there weren’t enough shops above ground. The O-dori metro station was below this so I need to descend further. After a discussion with an attendant in the metro station it seemed that it was not possible to buy the ticket from this station. We needed to get it from the station we were leaving from. Later on I realised that actually a day pass was more economic, which I could have got from O-dori station. As it was, I left empty handed and went back upstairs to the underground shopping mall. When I got there I couldn’t recall, or locate, where I had initially come down into the shopping mall level from. I wandered up and down for some minutes looking at the signs and hoping for inspiration which never came. Everything looked the same, and nothing looked familiar. After a while I found an exit which I decided to make use of deciding it may be simpler to navigate from the surface.
In fairness, I emerged only across the road from the subway I had originally used to go down, so was somewhat baffled as to why I had managed to get so comprehensively lost underground. I found Husband who had started to wonder where I had got to.
Sapporo, the fifth largest city in Japan, was not pretty. The facades of some of the shops and cafes had been designed to look like old, shanty buildings but these frontages were appended to the front of modern, concrete structures.
We walked through Odori-Koen - somewhat generously described as a swathe of parkland running through the city centre - and happened across a fan zone area. The town is of course synonymous with beer, but the rugby is sponsored by Heineken - so that’s what we had.
Japanese drummers performed on the stage while we stood in the sun chatting to other fans. A number of people has been at the Sapporo Dome match the previous day, and from them we learned about the less than ideal exit process which helped us decide our plan of attack.
We wandered on to Tokeidai, a wooden clock tower which was made in Boston in 1878 as a sign of friendship which clearly didn’t last. It was inexpensive to go inside, so we did, only afterwards reminding myself that the guide book had described the exhibition inside as ‘uninspiring’. Which was remarkably accurate.
From there we ventured forth to the former Hokkaido Government Building, an impressive, large, red brick structure dating to 1888, surrounded by beautifully designed gardens and Monet painting style water lily covered ponds adorned with traditional Japanese bridges and pagodas - although the little wooden bridge was closed due to danger. The building is Victorian in style, representing the introduction of European styles after Japan opened its doors in the nineteenth century, following 200 hundred years where no one was permitted to enter or leave.
In front of these ponds a Japanese girl posed in a multitude of alluring attitudes for her somewhat exasperated boyfriend, who then had to do them all again when her review of the photos indicated dissatisfaction with the results.
Another Japanese girl was dressed like an Edwardian lady. In fact, a tend towards a vintage look was pretty normal, but as contemporary fashion rather than a concerted effort to adopt the style of yesteryear.
Hokkaido, Japan’s most northerly island, has only been part of the country for around 150 years. When it was colonised by Japan the local Ainu population suffered, with their language and traditions being prohibited.
We continued onwards to Sapporo station, hoping to find somewhere for lunch before going over to the Dome for the game. There was a fan zone outside the station where a man stood in a low bow, holding a sign to advise that you couldn’t stand at the entrance to watch the game, and needed to go into the fan area.
We decided to get the travel tickets first but locating the metro was remarkably challenging. Again, the first sub layer was a substantial shopping mall and super market. There were signs for the metro, which we followed unquestioningly. These led us through the supermarket, towards a narrow escalator at the other end, leading down. Based on my earlier experience, this seemed vaguely logical but also very peculiar and if it wasn’t for some locals ahead of us walking confidently in the same direction we would likely have wondered if we had made a wrong turn somewhere. It felt like we walked for miles but eventually we arrived, and now realised that a day pass was the more sensible ticket to get. This would also avoid us needing to buy the return ticket when we arrived at Kumuzumi. Tickets purchased we then went in search of lunch.
Back at ground level, the offering was limited, consisting mainly of sweet snacks. Other food was inside high rise buildings, a few floors up. The difficulty with this was twofold. Firstly, you had to commit to a venue without the opportunity to check it out from a distance. Secondly it was impossible to know if the place was open. And for the most part, they weren’t. A sit down lunch wasn’t really the thing here.
After a few fails, we decided to go back underground to the food court we had seen signposted in our previous train ticket trip. We walked back through the supermarket, admiring the sushi and bento boxes, wondering whether we should just pick up something here and then try and find somewhere to sit down and eat. Then, all of a sudden we saw a small counter in the corner with 4 stools by it and a man serving up bowls of ramen. Well, that would do nicely. So we pulled up a couple of seats and ordered based on pictures. The man serving tried to explain something which we didn’t understand, but with the power of google translate he showed us his phone which stated clearly in English that the meal also came with a choice of rice or pudding. We opted for pudding. Lunch was fabulous and just what the doctor ordered, or would have done if he'd known.
Lunch done, we went on down to the metro. It was still quite a while until the game but the train was starting to get busy already.
There was a bit of a walk at the other end and not much in the way of bars. We started to hear grumbles about lack of planning. Apparently the fan zone in town that we had briefly visited could accommodate only 1000 people, but ten times that had shown up to watch the game the previous evening. We were also hearing complaints about the Dome itself with long queues to get in and to get food or drink. Also, the game which was just before the England one wasn’t being shown on screens in or anywhere near the stadium. So we stood warned. As we passed a supermarket a crowd was growing in the car park at the front drinking tins of beer, presumably procured from the supermarket. Other groups of people were heading towards us, which indicated there was nothing much nearer the stadium itself.
There was a large square outside the Dome, empty with the exception of a gaggle of volunteer games makers doing a sterling effort in generating excitement - it felt like an opportunity missed. A fan zone with a big screen and drinks would have been perfect. Happily there was a loo at the square, which I was in urgent need of. While waiting for me, Husband went to get a beer at a small stall outside a nearby restaurant, a venue he recommended after I returned. It was a tiny ramen house, but it had a TV - and beer. And consequently, a lot of England fans.
Being a food outlet, initially the staff wanted to make sure people had a seat at a table. Husband and I were directed to the waiting area stools, but these were fine for our purposes. We had eaten, we now had beer, we could see the TV which was showing the other games underway today. When a table did become free, the waitress tried to usher us to it rather than give it to new arrivals but we let her know we were quite content. Because the TV was just by the door, everyone who came in through the overdoor curtains (this is the Japanese sign that this is a food place which is currently open for said food) found themselves on the receiving end of dozens of pairs of eyes, which some people found a little bit disconcerting.
After a while the good humoured staff realised that we were a relatively
harmless bunch who were quite happy to stand - provided there was a beer in
hand and view of the TV. So they rather gave up trying to organise and seat us.
A large man entered, looked at the crowded room at the back end of the
restaurant and queried ‘room for a tall one?’ But proceeded onwards without
waiting for a reply. To be honest I was becoming surprised by how many people
were managing to squeeze themselves in. A group of not insubstantial lads were
dressed in England kit but with amusing names on the back emerged. A giant of a
man titled Beercules origamie’d himself through the crowd.
A local woman popped her head in. It was unclear whether this was her usual Saturday lunch spot and she was slightly baffled at how busy it was or if she was just curious about being descended on by westerners.
Allowing time for the remaining walk and security checks (which World Rugby information warned could add an hour to the entry process) we left our viewing of the Scotland game early. As it was, the queues were minimal and we made our way to our seats, right at the very top of the highest side of the stadium. The Dome is a covered stadium which usually hosts baseball. Or rounders as Husband called it. Cleverly, the entire side section opened up allowing different pitches to be wheeled in.
I went down to get some drinks. There was a bit of a queue, largely due to the fact that it was cash only (Japan is largely a cash only society) and each drink was poured to order. I got a water and iced tea. The tea was like the one we had had at the airport at Hong Kong. And we decided against having more iced tea during our trip.
There was no singer to lead the anthems so they felt somewhat muted, although that may have been contributed to by our seat in the gods.
During the game giggly Japanese girls motored up and down the steep stadium steps selling cans of Heineken. These beer hawkers started to build up quite a sweat but remained high spirited, if not a little mad. It was hot in the stadium, and the added humidity caused by being enclosed was causing handling errors by the players. However, we secured a win against Tonga, although the final score implied a more convincing drubbing than it had felt like we actually did.
Having heard about it taking approximately one and a half hours to get out of the stadium on account of them closing all the exits except one, and kettling everyone in the concourse we decided to remain comfortably settled in our seats for a while to let the initial surge subside.
We watched the players change shirts - and in some cases be unable to put on the shirt they had acquired - the interviews and the gradual emptying of the stadium. After about 45 minutes we set off. Getting out of the inner core of the stadium was simple and by now, relatively empty. The volunteers stood in a line at the exit with a hand up, to high five everyone who walked past them.
The outer ring was where everything started to slow down a bit. We moved forward, inch by inch, surrounded by a perpetual chorus of swing low sweet chariot. Finally getting outside, we continued our slow shuffle back to the station.
The absence of bars meant that the majority of the crowd were all heading to the same place, although some did peel off to the supermarket on the way. The road remained open to traffic, and the police also tried to keep a clear lane on the pavement for any pedestrians going against the crowd. All the police had lit up batons which they used to direct the crowd and traffic, stopping us at road junctions when it was the right of way for vehicles. It was hard to take seriously a police officer with what was, on the face of it, a toy light sabre.
At the metro station, the narrow escalators had been turned off, presumably to prevent problems arising if people were unable to quickly embed themselves in the crowd at the end. So we went down flight after flight of stairs. Husband’s knee was not keen on this. And we were also becoming aware that escalators and lifts between the ground and metro platforms was the exception rather than the norm. The norm was good old fashioned steps. With our 25 kilo suitcase, this was going to become tedious.
I grabbed a seat for Husband on the metro and we headed back to Susukino, getting a little bit geographically challenged on our way back to the hotel on account of coming out of a different exit.
We wanted to find a bar. Which proved troublesome. Initially we found a highball whisky bar. However, the waitress told us straight up that there was a 500 yen per person cover charge. Which seemed excessive, so we left. But I didn’t mind too much as the bar had been thick with cigarette smoke so we were already re thinking. That was an interesting thing which we hadn’t appreciated. Most restaurants and bars permitted smoking. The non smoking environment we had become used to in the UK didn’t really exist. Oddly some of the outside pedestrian areas were non smoking zones. But inside it was lung cancer free for all. We went to another bar on the second floor of a building - but it was a gay bar and we were actively discriminated against for being straight and consequently not allowed in.
Deciding we were now also peckish we went to a steak and burger place near the hotel. It was filled with locals, until the exact moment I had that thought, when two Brits came in. And when I say ‘filled’, it had 6 seats alongside the counter. A man single handedly kept us topped up with beer and wine (refreshingly cool red wine out of the fridge) while cooking our dinner. We had steak which we watched being prepared in front of us. There was no place to hide in these counter facing kitchens. Beautifully cooked, stunningly served accompanied by a range of grilled vegetables, and probably one of the most delicious steaks I have ever eaten.
We returned to the hotel for whisky and bed, passing the clubs of bunny girls, dressed in virtually nothing, ready to relieve you of around 3000 yen cover charge. The previous evening had been cooler so the catchers outside on the pavement had worn jackets, but not tonight.
The following morning we set off early for the airport. It was raining and a tropical storm was forecast for later that day. We soon started to curse the heavy suitcase as we lugged it down a couple of flights of stairs to the metro due to the distinct lack of escalators and lifts in this very technologically advanced country.
We went to the JR line for the express train to the airport. Even this had steps up to the platform rather than a lift which seemed remiss given its intended destination. But to cheer us up, the steps indicated how many calories we were using up to climb them, although Husband pointed out that he suspected it was considerably more when you added in the effect of carrying a heavy suitcase.
We went out in search of a bar. This again proved tricky. Again, such venues were usually somewhere upstairs in a high rise building. There was, however, a Family Mart every 50 paces. Which was handy as they had cash points, and we needed to get more cash. Then we saw a beer and waffle sports bar, which would do the trick for pre dinner drinks. The menu boasted that they had waffogato which actually didn’t sound too bad.
The hotel was near the river, to which we gravitated. A high level motorway ran above it, with sturdy concrete legs embedded into the river below.
Returning to the hotel, Husband had a honey tea, which was one of the available selections. It did just what it said on the tin, tasting sweetly of honey. He didn't have another one.
The next morning we breakfasted in a cafe by the river that we had seen the previous day - toasted ham and cheese sandwich, boiled egg and salad which came with an orange dressing, which was very nice but utterly impossible to determine what it tasted of or might have been made from.
The public transport system in Osaka was very comprehensive and straightforward. We took the metro down to the downtown area of Tennoji, which had a very different feel to the main city, being a bit grungier and more like a shanty town. Our objective was the Shitenno-ji temple, but on the way we popped in to a cemetery which adjoined it.
Shitenno-ji was one of the first Buddhist temples in Japan, but contains none of the buildings originally erected in 593AD. The oldest feature is a late 13th century torri at the main entrance gate. Much of the temple had been destroyed in the war. Osaka as a whole had suffered a reasonably comprehensive bombing. So most of the temple buildings had been rebuilt. Across the complex there was an underlying smell of incense. Buddhist monks were ringing bells and chanting, attempting quiet prayer and reflection in the gaze of dozens of tourists. The temple buildings were spread across a large campus.
Tennoji-koen park was opened in 1909 as botanical garden, and was built on a historical site that includes an ancient burial mound. It had a large (empty) fan zone and it was unclear if this was in the process of being built or in the process of being taken down, which seemed a little premature. The zoo, which we were not interested in, was closed. As was the art gallery. And Keitakuen, the traditional Japanese garden arranged around a central pond. But the park itself was open from which we had views across to the retro 103 metre high Tsutenkaku tower, rebuilt in the 1950s after it was destroyed during the Second World War, and to Abeno Harukas - the tallest building in Japan.
Husband got an ice cream which was in a cone so fine and crumbly that barely had he been handed it than it crushed in his grip. We sat and looked over a pond, straddled by a red bridge made out of steel, but designed to look like it was made from wood. I crossed the bridge and climbed up the burial mound.
With little left to do, we took the metro back to the Dotonbori area. By now we were actively hunting out the lifts and escalators, which were still in disappointingly short supply. On arriving, we were plunged once more into an arcaded shopping mall, leading to the river. Once outside where we were greeted with a visual splendour. Flickering multi coloured neon lights, huge plastic models, the ever changing lights and noise coming from vast advertising screens abounded. Individually each of these things were plastic and tacky. But the enormity of it here, the street long vista of it made it into something joyful and impressive. This was Leicester Square on steroids. A large Ferris wheel next to the river slowly turned, and pleasure boats cruised up and down.
There were numerous eateries. Stand up noodle and takoyaki (octopus dumpling) bars. Again, this was very different to anywhere else we had been. Ever. Not just in Japan. We sat outside a stall having a beer and chatted to a Welsh couple. In the greatest of unlikely scenarios, Husband at one point looked up and said hello to a chap that we periodically saw in Twickenham at Harlequins rugby games. This area was known for its takoyaki. When pulled open, segments of tentacles were clearly visible. The food stall we were at did food, including this, which Husband had with him when he appeared with topped up glasses. Osaka is the nicknamed the kitchen of Japan, so it does have a number of speciality dishes.
We gently strolled around the area, enjoying its unique and insane amusement arcade atmosphere. And its odd childishness. Japan is clearly a successful country, populated with intelligent people making enormous technological advances. But in their down time the women dress like little girls and they all play on big plastic Ferris wheels.
Off the hubbub of the main street were dark, narrow quiet
alleys that promised late night liveliness which we were too early for. This
was of course where namba bars could be found.
We walked on through he madness of the neon plastic street, admiring the frequent huge plastic takoyaki, that pictured an octopus escaping from the dumpling.
We went for dinner in a restaurant alongside the river. Some of the other guests were smoking, but not troublesomely so. Shortly after ordering we were given a plate of just dips, but weren’t entirely sure what they were for. Then what we thought was a side dish was served up first of all. But overall dinner was tasty and we did dip our steak into the curious jus dips, potentially committing a significant cultural faux pas.
We took the metro back to the hotel, and I noticed that some entry points to the train were marked up as women only boarding points. Sometimes these were in pink to make the messaging more visually obvious. We were standing in one. So, Husband not qualifying, I moved us on from queuing there. The queue system was very organised, with 2 orderly lines marked out on the platform to the side of where the doors would be which allowed space for passengers to exit and move along the platform.
I had been bitten on my arm in the park and overnight it swelled up. It was a warm and sunny day, and we took our luggage with us along the narrow, unpavemented and therefore slight perilous road to the same breakfast cafe as the day before but were content to have the long wait at the lights to cross the 8 lane wide road.
After breakfast we took the Hanshin line to Kobe. Out of the window the towns never seemed to end. There was never countryside.
Our hotel at Kobe was a short walk from the station. We were too early to check in but dumped the bags and hopped aboard the city loop bus to get our bearings of the town. A Japanese guide, wearing a straw boater, white gloves and blue dress with a white bow at the back, provided a running commentary, which was probably extremely interesting - but it was all in Japanese. The bus did an hour long circuit around the city, stopping at the bits which were most worth seeing. What we learned from it was the there wasn’t very much worth seeing. The ‘old town’ was now lined with modern buildings and designer shops. We did however get off at Kitano, which was hot and hilly.
The primary interest in this area were the ijnkan, the foreign residences located on the slopes above the city. They consisted of dozens of western style brick and clapboard houses. However, almost all of them were rebuilt after the 1995 earthquake. We visited the Rhine House which had photographs inside, proudly showing that all that remained of it was the central chimney stack, around which the refurbished building had been constructed. Another was called the English Garden and was adorned with London Underground roundels, Baker Street signs, Sherlock Holmes images and a Rolls Royce.
We meandered through the quiet village area. There was very little in the way of cafes, but we found an ice cream parlour which was also serving freshly made pancakes with a savoury filling. They were extremely tasty. Due to the heat, they had sold out of all their chilled drinks and beer, but were able to give us iced coffee.
We got back on the bus and the boater wearing, blue dressed guide, getting off the near the station to try and find a bar (or anywhere) that was showing the rugby. I saw a sign saying British pub 7th floor. So up we went.
We slept well that night and had a lazy morning. We found a cafe for breakfast and I said to Husband that our only objective of the day was too get a Kobe fridge magnet. He responded that I had misunderstood the purpose of the trip. The objective of the day was for England to get a bonus point win over the USA. We walked to Chinatown, through yet another covered shopping mall, cathedral like in its tall presence. Delivery vans drove through the mall, front loading the shops. I was unsure how they all managed to stay open as viable businesses. I decided to adopt a Japanese habit and bought an umbrella (parasol?) to protect me from the sun. Previously, while it had been not, we had been protected from direct sun by the almost constant, and welcome, cloud cover.
Chinatown consisted of little more than one long street selling broadly identical (and broadly unpleasant looking) street food. Kobe was a dull-ish town. We met up with Husband’s cousin and his wife, Ken and Barbie. We had some Kobe beef skewers and, shortly afterwards, a spring roll. They had arrived that morning from Kyoto and went to their hotel to check in while we tried to find the underground. We went downstairs in one of the shopping malls which led us to a dingy, quiet, very Chinese network of alleys of food places, hidden beneath the bright lights of the shopping mall above. More importantly there was a lavatory and I had urgent need of a crap. The facilities were only the hole in the ground, squatting ones. Well it would have to do.
We went back up, and continued in our search for the underground which we eventually found, and then made our way to the stadium. Given the heat, when we picked up some drinks from a vending machine, I opted for an electrolyte drink - Pocari Sweat.
Again, there were no street vendors. Apparently there was a fan zone at the stadium which we weren’t aware of, but we did see the over the road an enterprising family had set up a small beer stall. We were their first customers, which was so exciting for them that we were asked to pose with them for a photo. They had put up a small make shift table, and we sat there, with our beers, trying to encourage other people over as we watched the police gradually and incompetently set up a barrier of cones between the road and pavement. It was a slow start at the street bar but then a couple joined us, and another and before long the hoards had gathered. It was almost too much for them to cope with, and they moved the make shift table to the side, off the pavement as having crowds on the pavement was not the done thing and they were now worried about getting in trouble.
There was a loo at the back of the premises which we needed to take off our shoes for, then put on the lavatory slippers which were just inside the loo door in order to walk the one pace from corridor to inside the loo, before removing them at the threshold of the loo when coming back out. The tap was above the cistern and only ran water as the cistern filled after flushing. Ken and Barbie met us there, and commented that you needed to worry once the loo slipper became soggy.
We went over to the stadium. The roof was on, and it was boiling. Within minutes we were running with sweat. It was another England win, although annoyingly we let through a USA try right at the end.
As before we waited for a while in our seats before contemplating leaving. When we did we were quickly kettled in a slow trudge down the stairs and around the lower concourse, past exits that were closed. It was hot and the crowd was restless. Perhaps because of this, another exit was opened and we all spilled outside to the concourse in front of the stadium. Here again we were held for several minutes before being able to walk down the pavement to the metro. The problem with this process was the assumption we would queue as compliantly and orderly as the Japanese. But we didnt and here and there groups would try and push their way through, causing ripples of upset in the rest of the crowd.
We went back to the British bar for a celebration drink. It was now extremely rammed full, loud and smoky. So we left after a couple of drinks, and in the lift back down some other chaps commented that they would have loved the place when they were in their20’s.
We slept well and had a lazy morning until due to meet Ken and Barbie for an early lunch at Hyotan. It was a tiny place, outside of which a queue soon started to form. Apparently it was did the best dumplings in the area. Two elderly ladies opened the door, and in we filed, along the 7 seats squeezed in between the wall and the counter. The ladies spoke no English and we were saved by a Japanese man who explained the menu. There was one thing on it. The choice was how many you wanted. He was also asked by the ladies if he could take our order, who later chided him for bringing in a tour group. He laughed, and explained the situation to them. He was curious about how we know of the place, and told him that due to the power of the internet and online reviews, Hyotan was famed as serving the best dumplings in town, and was known about to anyone in the world who cared to look. He informed the elderly patrons about their world wide fame. They seemed unimpressed. Food requested, he then ordered our drinks. We went for small beers, which our Japanese friend questioned with ‘I thought the English were beer drinkers’. We pointed out that we were, but it was only 11.30am. We’ve not often been accused of not drinking enough.
He also instructed us in how to mix the sauce for our dumplings using a Kobe specific thick miso, soy and vinegar - with the option of adding garlic. The plates arrived and we tucked in. I can’t say if they’re the best available but they were certainly very tasty. Our friendly Japanese man complemented us on our chopstick ability.
We would have had another round of dumplings but our man had left by then and either the women didn’t understood or didn’t want to - they hadn’t been overly charmed by our presence- as we were handed the bill. There was already a queue forming outside, as well as healthy volumes of takeaway sales through their window.
We walked to the station via another, smaller, narrower shopping alley and took the private train back to Osaka. One of the guards helped carry our suitcase up the stairs, which was extremely helpful service although one he may have regretted once he had a measure of how heavy the suitcase was.
On the train when the guard walked through the carriage he would bow on entering and, at the other end, turn to face the carriage and bow again before moving on. All the passengers ignored him.
When we arrived it was sunny and hot. We found the hotel and again, dumped the bags as it was too early to check in. Near the hotel was a covered network of streets housing eateries and bars. Most of the bars were closed until the evening but we gravitated to a lively sounding place called Fab. There was a row of smoking locals inside, and Husband was pretty convinced they were ladyboys. A giggly young girl behind the bar wanted to talk to us and dragged her friend along to do the same. Her friend was reluctant. She knew about as much English as we knew Japanese. So not much all round. Then another bar person was persuaded to engage in the communication awkwardness. Turns out she was curious about what the English word on her T-shirt meant. The thing is, it said Portunity. Which isn’t a word. We worked on the basis that this was a typo in the same way that we would make an error on Japanese symbols, and told her it was opportunity, showing her a translation.
There was a spectacular range of trains, including bullet trains through the years. For many years Japan had been a closed country and it was interesting to read that when they opened up and were proud of their steam railways, there were a bit surprised to discover they were somewhat behind the curve on railway development in the West.
A local woman popped her head in. It was unclear whether this was her usual Saturday lunch spot and she was slightly baffled at how busy it was or if she was just curious about being descended on by westerners.
Allowing time for the remaining walk and security checks (which World Rugby information warned could add an hour to the entry process) we left our viewing of the Scotland game early. As it was, the queues were minimal and we made our way to our seats, right at the very top of the highest side of the stadium. The Dome is a covered stadium which usually hosts baseball. Or rounders as Husband called it. Cleverly, the entire side section opened up allowing different pitches to be wheeled in.
I went down to get some drinks. There was a bit of a queue, largely due to the fact that it was cash only (Japan is largely a cash only society) and each drink was poured to order. I got a water and iced tea. The tea was like the one we had had at the airport at Hong Kong. And we decided against having more iced tea during our trip.
There was no singer to lead the anthems so they felt somewhat muted, although that may have been contributed to by our seat in the gods.
During the game giggly Japanese girls motored up and down the steep stadium steps selling cans of Heineken. These beer hawkers started to build up quite a sweat but remained high spirited, if not a little mad. It was hot in the stadium, and the added humidity caused by being enclosed was causing handling errors by the players. However, we secured a win against Tonga, although the final score implied a more convincing drubbing than it had felt like we actually did.
Having heard about it taking approximately one and a half hours to get out of the stadium on account of them closing all the exits except one, and kettling everyone in the concourse we decided to remain comfortably settled in our seats for a while to let the initial surge subside.
We watched the players change shirts - and in some cases be unable to put on the shirt they had acquired - the interviews and the gradual emptying of the stadium. After about 45 minutes we set off. Getting out of the inner core of the stadium was simple and by now, relatively empty. The volunteers stood in a line at the exit with a hand up, to high five everyone who walked past them.
The outer ring was where everything started to slow down a bit. We moved forward, inch by inch, surrounded by a perpetual chorus of swing low sweet chariot. Finally getting outside, we continued our slow shuffle back to the station.
The absence of bars meant that the majority of the crowd were all heading to the same place, although some did peel off to the supermarket on the way. The road remained open to traffic, and the police also tried to keep a clear lane on the pavement for any pedestrians going against the crowd. All the police had lit up batons which they used to direct the crowd and traffic, stopping us at road junctions when it was the right of way for vehicles. It was hard to take seriously a police officer with what was, on the face of it, a toy light sabre.
At the metro station, the narrow escalators had been turned off, presumably to prevent problems arising if people were unable to quickly embed themselves in the crowd at the end. So we went down flight after flight of stairs. Husband’s knee was not keen on this. And we were also becoming aware that escalators and lifts between the ground and metro platforms was the exception rather than the norm. The norm was good old fashioned steps. With our 25 kilo suitcase, this was going to become tedious.
I grabbed a seat for Husband on the metro and we headed back to Susukino, getting a little bit geographically challenged on our way back to the hotel on account of coming out of a different exit.
We wanted to find a bar. Which proved troublesome. Initially we found a highball whisky bar. However, the waitress told us straight up that there was a 500 yen per person cover charge. Which seemed excessive, so we left. But I didn’t mind too much as the bar had been thick with cigarette smoke so we were already re thinking. That was an interesting thing which we hadn’t appreciated. Most restaurants and bars permitted smoking. The non smoking environment we had become used to in the UK didn’t really exist. Oddly some of the outside pedestrian areas were non smoking zones. But inside it was lung cancer free for all. We went to another bar on the second floor of a building - but it was a gay bar and we were actively discriminated against for being straight and consequently not allowed in.
Deciding we were now also peckish we went to a steak and burger place near the hotel. It was filled with locals, until the exact moment I had that thought, when two Brits came in. And when I say ‘filled’, it had 6 seats alongside the counter. A man single handedly kept us topped up with beer and wine (refreshingly cool red wine out of the fridge) while cooking our dinner. We had steak which we watched being prepared in front of us. There was no place to hide in these counter facing kitchens. Beautifully cooked, stunningly served accompanied by a range of grilled vegetables, and probably one of the most delicious steaks I have ever eaten.
We returned to the hotel for whisky and bed, passing the clubs of bunny girls, dressed in virtually nothing, ready to relieve you of around 3000 yen cover charge. The previous evening had been cooler so the catchers outside on the pavement had worn jackets, but not tonight.
The following morning we set off early for the airport. It was raining and a tropical storm was forecast for later that day. We soon started to curse the heavy suitcase as we lugged it down a couple of flights of stairs to the metro due to the distinct lack of escalators and lifts in this very technologically advanced country.
We went to the JR line for the express train to the airport. Even this had steps up to the platform rather than a lift which seemed remiss given its intended destination. But to cheer us up, the steps indicated how many calories we were using up to climb them, although Husband pointed out that he suspected it was considerably more when you added in the effect of carrying a heavy suitcase.
We had started to become aware that as well as a verbal announcement that the train was coming, there was also a tune played to alert you to the impending approach.
We had breakfast at the airport and then went to check in. There were a number of substantial queues and it was unclear which we needed. While Husband remained in the queue we had chosen, I went to a nearby self service check in kiosk. But it didn’t recognise us as having a booking. Shortly after I returned to the queue a lady, who seemed to be airport staff, came along asking if we had boarding passes. We explained that we did not and she led us of to a different, shorter queue. In the meantime Husband did some hurried searches through his emails to find the booking reference. This proved very useful when we got to the front of the new queue.
The check in staff then had to walk our bags to the conveyer belt as it wasn’t right next to them. Presumably these desks were usually hand luggage only, but given how busy the airport was every desk was open, operated by increasingly fraught looking people who were having to deal with the fans from 4 countries all leaving at the same time. The security queue was equally long, and we were handed a paper ticket when we cleared security. It was never clear why. Happily the boarding gate was very near, and with not too long to wait until we boarded I went to a vending machine to get drinks.
We had started to become regular vending machine users. There are over 5 million in the country, more per capita than anywhere else in the world. And the service was pretty efficient providing both hot and cold drinks.
When our boarding pass and passport were checked as we boarded the plan we were given another paper ticket as confirmation. They seemed obsessed with handing out bits of paper.
We took off and cleared northern Japan well in advance of the oncoming typhoon.
As we neared Osaka, Japan’s third largest city, I looked out of the window over the land mass sprawl of the city. It went on as far as the eye could see, from the ocean to the mountains, spilling out across the valley floor. There were a number of rivers scratched through it and I could see the big wheel which sat on top of a building.
We landed and slowly made our way out of the airport and to the monorail, which ran high above the streets of smaller buildings, giving us a slightly unnerving view over the empty space below.
We only needed to go one stop, which was a shame, and then changed onto the private Hankyu line to Umeda. The carriages felt like something from an old Pullman, spacious with green velvet seats and we settled in for the journey.
It was hot when we arrived at Umeda. And humid. So rather than walk the near kilometre to the hotel with our luggage, we got on a local bus. We needed to check with a chap how we got tickets or paid and were advised that we paid on exit. With that sorted, we got on the bus, to the distinct bemusement of the driver and some of the other passengers. This was clearly a bit beyond the comfort zone of the average English tourist. We disembarked a couple of stops later, and quickly found the hotel.
On arriving we did a little bit of repacking to swap over some dirty, not completely dirty and clean clothes. We didn’t own enough underwear for this length of time away, and chose not to bring clean clothes for every day. But with the heat and perpetual sweating, some tops were getting pongy on day 1 of a planned 3 days of wear. In the Sapporo hotel we had been provided with dressing gowns. In Osaka we had the pleasure of nylon pyjamas. And we now understood the upgrade to a larger room in Sapporo. This room was tiny. The bed was squeezed in with a wall on one side, and topped and tailed respectively by the window and bathroom. There was barely room for the suitcase and we almost needed a traffic light system to move about between bed and bathroom without causing congestion.
We had breakfast at the airport and then went to check in. There were a number of substantial queues and it was unclear which we needed. While Husband remained in the queue we had chosen, I went to a nearby self service check in kiosk. But it didn’t recognise us as having a booking. Shortly after I returned to the queue a lady, who seemed to be airport staff, came along asking if we had boarding passes. We explained that we did not and she led us of to a different, shorter queue. In the meantime Husband did some hurried searches through his emails to find the booking reference. This proved very useful when we got to the front of the new queue.
The check in staff then had to walk our bags to the conveyer belt as it wasn’t right next to them. Presumably these desks were usually hand luggage only, but given how busy the airport was every desk was open, operated by increasingly fraught looking people who were having to deal with the fans from 4 countries all leaving at the same time. The security queue was equally long, and we were handed a paper ticket when we cleared security. It was never clear why. Happily the boarding gate was very near, and with not too long to wait until we boarded I went to a vending machine to get drinks.
We had started to become regular vending machine users. There are over 5 million in the country, more per capita than anywhere else in the world. And the service was pretty efficient providing both hot and cold drinks.
When our boarding pass and passport were checked as we boarded the plan we were given another paper ticket as confirmation. They seemed obsessed with handing out bits of paper.
We took off and cleared northern Japan well in advance of the oncoming typhoon.
As we neared Osaka, Japan’s third largest city, I looked out of the window over the land mass sprawl of the city. It went on as far as the eye could see, from the ocean to the mountains, spilling out across the valley floor. There were a number of rivers scratched through it and I could see the big wheel which sat on top of a building.
We landed and slowly made our way out of the airport and to the monorail, which ran high above the streets of smaller buildings, giving us a slightly unnerving view over the empty space below.
We only needed to go one stop, which was a shame, and then changed onto the private Hankyu line to Umeda. The carriages felt like something from an old Pullman, spacious with green velvet seats and we settled in for the journey.
It was hot when we arrived at Umeda. And humid. So rather than walk the near kilometre to the hotel with our luggage, we got on a local bus. We needed to check with a chap how we got tickets or paid and were advised that we paid on exit. With that sorted, we got on the bus, to the distinct bemusement of the driver and some of the other passengers. This was clearly a bit beyond the comfort zone of the average English tourist. We disembarked a couple of stops later, and quickly found the hotel.
On arriving we did a little bit of repacking to swap over some dirty, not completely dirty and clean clothes. We didn’t own enough underwear for this length of time away, and chose not to bring clean clothes for every day. But with the heat and perpetual sweating, some tops were getting pongy on day 1 of a planned 3 days of wear. In the Sapporo hotel we had been provided with dressing gowns. In Osaka we had the pleasure of nylon pyjamas. And we now understood the upgrade to a larger room in Sapporo. This room was tiny. The bed was squeezed in with a wall on one side, and topped and tailed respectively by the window and bathroom. There was barely room for the suitcase and we almost needed a traffic light system to move about between bed and bathroom without causing congestion.
We went out in search of a bar. This again proved tricky. Again, such venues were usually somewhere upstairs in a high rise building. There was, however, a Family Mart every 50 paces. Which was handy as they had cash points, and we needed to get more cash. Then we saw a beer and waffle sports bar, which would do the trick for pre dinner drinks. The menu boasted that they had waffogato which actually didn’t sound too bad.
The hotel was near the river, to which we gravitated. A high level motorway ran above it, with sturdy concrete legs embedded into the river below.
Osaka had a very different vibe to
Sapporo. Tangles of electric cables steamed out from telegraph poles to lines
and lines of cabling along the narrow streets. We were located in Kita, a district
known for food. As we were starting to learn, a lot of these places would be on
the third or fourth floor of buildings. But canal side Dotonbori was more street level. However, nowhere really came alive
until the evening once everyone had finished work. So now, mid afternoon, the place almost felt deserted. Like a seaside town out of season. One food place place had an enormous plastic crab on the front, whose claws slowly moved in
and out currently enticing no one to its wares.
As evening approached things did not seem to improve and
it was hard to know if this was because it was a Monday. So we found a place that
served the local specialty, Okonomiyaki - a thick grilled pancake topped with
vegetables and meat, and were sat at the counter faced with chop sticks and a
metal implement whose use we were currently unsure of. After a delicious sushi
starter the Okonomiyaki was served and our curious metal contraption came into
its own.
Returning to the hotel, Husband had a honey tea, which was one of the available selections. It did just what it said on the tin, tasting sweetly of honey. He didn't have another one.
The next morning we breakfasted in a cafe by the river that we had seen the previous day - toasted ham and cheese sandwich, boiled egg and salad which came with an orange dressing, which was very nice but utterly impossible to determine what it tasted of or might have been made from.
The public transport system in Osaka was very comprehensive and straightforward. We took the metro down to the downtown area of Tennoji, which had a very different feel to the main city, being a bit grungier and more like a shanty town. Our objective was the Shitenno-ji temple, but on the way we popped in to a cemetery which adjoined it.
Shitenno-ji was one of the first Buddhist temples in Japan, but contains none of the buildings originally erected in 593AD. The oldest feature is a late 13th century torri at the main entrance gate. Much of the temple had been destroyed in the war. Osaka as a whole had suffered a reasonably comprehensive bombing. So most of the temple buildings had been rebuilt. Across the complex there was an underlying smell of incense. Buddhist monks were ringing bells and chanting, attempting quiet prayer and reflection in the gaze of dozens of tourists. The temple buildings were spread across a large campus.
Outside one temple there was a small pond
that was overflowing with little turtles. We bought a turtle paperweight as a
momento - the merchandise was only available as a paperweight and I did
question whether we really needed to add another kilo or two to our luggage.
A well established flea market was in the grounds around the temple buildings, selling all manner of antiques and second hand items. We walked through a cooling sheet of cleansing mist across the entrance to the main temple buildings.
These were obviously modern rebuilds which were painted gaudily in an orange red. I climbed to the top of the central 5 storey pagoda. Photography from the top was prohibited, not that there was a soul up there to oversee this requirement, other than your own conscience. But actually, there was nothing worth taking a picture of. The overall complex was relatively unattractive, with the backdrop of an even less appealing town.
We walked on to Tennoji-koen park through the centre of the local town which consisted of low lying buildings and a covered pavement, reminiscent of Ballarat in Australia. Being peckish, we kept an eye out for a food place, keeping an eye out for a doorway with short fabric drapes over it which gave the clue it was an eating establishment which was open. We found a nice sushi venue, which didn’t open until 12. As it wasn’t long to wait, we waited.
The people serving us had minimal English, but they seemed to enjoy the experience of having English people in the restaurant and consequently we all rubbed along famously and, with the assistance of pictures on the menu, managed to make ourselves understood. We had extremely fresh and delicious sushi, which we saw prepared before our eyes by an extremely proficient chef. Behind him fish swam lethargically in small tanks from where they had an excellent view of their companions being artfully sliced and diced for human consumption. A whole pink octopus balanced atop the range of chilled fish.
A well established flea market was in the grounds around the temple buildings, selling all manner of antiques and second hand items. We walked through a cooling sheet of cleansing mist across the entrance to the main temple buildings.
We walked on to Tennoji-koen park through the centre of the local town which consisted of low lying buildings and a covered pavement, reminiscent of Ballarat in Australia. Being peckish, we kept an eye out for a food place, keeping an eye out for a doorway with short fabric drapes over it which gave the clue it was an eating establishment which was open. We found a nice sushi venue, which didn’t open until 12. As it wasn’t long to wait, we waited.
The people serving us had minimal English, but they seemed to enjoy the experience of having English people in the restaurant and consequently we all rubbed along famously and, with the assistance of pictures on the menu, managed to make ourselves understood. We had extremely fresh and delicious sushi, which we saw prepared before our eyes by an extremely proficient chef. Behind him fish swam lethargically in small tanks from where they had an excellent view of their companions being artfully sliced and diced for human consumption. A whole pink octopus balanced atop the range of chilled fish.
Tennoji-koen park was opened in 1909 as botanical garden, and was built on a historical site that includes an ancient burial mound. It had a large (empty) fan zone and it was unclear if this was in the process of being built or in the process of being taken down, which seemed a little premature. The zoo, which we were not interested in, was closed. As was the art gallery. And Keitakuen, the traditional Japanese garden arranged around a central pond. But the park itself was open from which we had views across to the retro 103 metre high Tsutenkaku tower, rebuilt in the 1950s after it was destroyed during the Second World War, and to Abeno Harukas - the tallest building in Japan.
Husband got an ice cream which was in a cone so fine and crumbly that barely had he been handed it than it crushed in his grip. We sat and looked over a pond, straddled by a red bridge made out of steel, but designed to look like it was made from wood. I crossed the bridge and climbed up the burial mound.
With little left to do, we took the metro back to the Dotonbori area. By now we were actively hunting out the lifts and escalators, which were still in disappointingly short supply. On arriving, we were plunged once more into an arcaded shopping mall, leading to the river. Once outside where we were greeted with a visual splendour. Flickering multi coloured neon lights, huge plastic models, the ever changing lights and noise coming from vast advertising screens abounded. Individually each of these things were plastic and tacky. But the enormity of it here, the street long vista of it made it into something joyful and impressive. This was Leicester Square on steroids. A large Ferris wheel next to the river slowly turned, and pleasure boats cruised up and down.
There were numerous eateries. Stand up noodle and takoyaki (octopus dumpling) bars. Again, this was very different to anywhere else we had been. Ever. Not just in Japan. We sat outside a stall having a beer and chatted to a Welsh couple. In the greatest of unlikely scenarios, Husband at one point looked up and said hello to a chap that we periodically saw in Twickenham at Harlequins rugby games. This area was known for its takoyaki. When pulled open, segments of tentacles were clearly visible. The food stall we were at did food, including this, which Husband had with him when he appeared with topped up glasses. Osaka is the nicknamed the kitchen of Japan, so it does have a number of speciality dishes.
We gently strolled around the area, enjoying its unique and insane amusement arcade atmosphere. And its odd childishness. Japan is clearly a successful country, populated with intelligent people making enormous technological advances. But in their down time the women dress like little girls and they all play on big plastic Ferris wheels.
We walked on through he madness of the neon plastic street, admiring the frequent huge plastic takoyaki, that pictured an octopus escaping from the dumpling.
We went for dinner in a restaurant alongside the river. Some of the other guests were smoking, but not troublesomely so. Shortly after ordering we were given a plate of just dips, but weren’t entirely sure what they were for. Then what we thought was a side dish was served up first of all. But overall dinner was tasty and we did dip our steak into the curious jus dips, potentially committing a significant cultural faux pas.
We took the metro back to the hotel, and I noticed that some entry points to the train were marked up as women only boarding points. Sometimes these were in pink to make the messaging more visually obvious. We were standing in one. So, Husband not qualifying, I moved us on from queuing there. The queue system was very organised, with 2 orderly lines marked out on the platform to the side of where the doors would be which allowed space for passengers to exit and move along the platform.
I had been bitten on my arm in the park and overnight it swelled up. It was a warm and sunny day, and we took our luggage with us along the narrow, unpavemented and therefore slight perilous road to the same breakfast cafe as the day before but were content to have the long wait at the lights to cross the 8 lane wide road.
After breakfast we took the Hanshin line to Kobe. Out of the window the towns never seemed to end. There was never countryside.
Our hotel at Kobe was a short walk from the station. We were too early to check in but dumped the bags and hopped aboard the city loop bus to get our bearings of the town. A Japanese guide, wearing a straw boater, white gloves and blue dress with a white bow at the back, provided a running commentary, which was probably extremely interesting - but it was all in Japanese. The bus did an hour long circuit around the city, stopping at the bits which were most worth seeing. What we learned from it was the there wasn’t very much worth seeing. The ‘old town’ was now lined with modern buildings and designer shops. We did however get off at Kitano, which was hot and hilly.
The primary interest in this area were the ijnkan, the foreign residences located on the slopes above the city. They consisted of dozens of western style brick and clapboard houses. However, almost all of them were rebuilt after the 1995 earthquake. We visited the Rhine House which had photographs inside, proudly showing that all that remained of it was the central chimney stack, around which the refurbished building had been constructed. Another was called the English Garden and was adorned with London Underground roundels, Baker Street signs, Sherlock Holmes images and a Rolls Royce.
We meandered through the quiet village area. There was very little in the way of cafes, but we found an ice cream parlour which was also serving freshly made pancakes with a savoury filling. They were extremely tasty. Due to the heat, they had sold out of all their chilled drinks and beer, but were able to give us iced coffee.
We got back on the bus and the boater wearing, blue dressed guide, getting off the near the station to try and find a bar (or anywhere) that was showing the rugby. I saw a sign saying British pub 7th floor. So up we went.
It was rammed, but it was absolutely a British pub - albeit it
with indoor smoking - complete with warm pies on the bar. The rugby was on, and
Shane Williams was there, primarily to talk to a group who were obviously on an
expensive rugby package.
We started chatting to another couple who we discovered live about a mile away from us, and so stayed for a few drinks. The other chap said, just before his last drink, that he would now have the drink he had come in for.
We went back to the hotel to check in and then headed out for dinner. We found to a lively Japanese place whose English menu was somewhat limited, consisting of a few handwritten biro scribbles on the main menu, and in some cases accompanied by question marks to indicate uncertainty in their translation. This did mean our dinner selection was somewhat limited, but was very tasty nonetheless, particularly the octopus wasabi and kimchi. The restaurant seemed to be a young person hang out, with seats consisting of upturned beer crates and cushions on top. We were the only western faces there, but managed to cope ok.
We started chatting to another couple who we discovered live about a mile away from us, and so stayed for a few drinks. The other chap said, just before his last drink, that he would now have the drink he had come in for.
We went back to the hotel to check in and then headed out for dinner. We found to a lively Japanese place whose English menu was somewhat limited, consisting of a few handwritten biro scribbles on the main menu, and in some cases accompanied by question marks to indicate uncertainty in their translation. This did mean our dinner selection was somewhat limited, but was very tasty nonetheless, particularly the octopus wasabi and kimchi. The restaurant seemed to be a young person hang out, with seats consisting of upturned beer crates and cushions on top. We were the only western faces there, but managed to cope ok.
We slept well that night and had a lazy morning. We found a cafe for breakfast and I said to Husband that our only objective of the day was too get a Kobe fridge magnet. He responded that I had misunderstood the purpose of the trip. The objective of the day was for England to get a bonus point win over the USA. We walked to Chinatown, through yet another covered shopping mall, cathedral like in its tall presence. Delivery vans drove through the mall, front loading the shops. I was unsure how they all managed to stay open as viable businesses. I decided to adopt a Japanese habit and bought an umbrella (parasol?) to protect me from the sun. Previously, while it had been not, we had been protected from direct sun by the almost constant, and welcome, cloud cover.
Chinatown consisted of little more than one long street selling broadly identical (and broadly unpleasant looking) street food. Kobe was a dull-ish town. We met up with Husband’s cousin and his wife, Ken and Barbie. We had some Kobe beef skewers and, shortly afterwards, a spring roll. They had arrived that morning from Kyoto and went to their hotel to check in while we tried to find the underground. We went downstairs in one of the shopping malls which led us to a dingy, quiet, very Chinese network of alleys of food places, hidden beneath the bright lights of the shopping mall above. More importantly there was a lavatory and I had urgent need of a crap. The facilities were only the hole in the ground, squatting ones. Well it would have to do.
We went back up, and continued in our search for the underground which we eventually found, and then made our way to the stadium. Given the heat, when we picked up some drinks from a vending machine, I opted for an electrolyte drink - Pocari Sweat.
Again, there were no street vendors. Apparently there was a fan zone at the stadium which we weren’t aware of, but we did see the over the road an enterprising family had set up a small beer stall. We were their first customers, which was so exciting for them that we were asked to pose with them for a photo. They had put up a small make shift table, and we sat there, with our beers, trying to encourage other people over as we watched the police gradually and incompetently set up a barrier of cones between the road and pavement. It was a slow start at the street bar but then a couple joined us, and another and before long the hoards had gathered. It was almost too much for them to cope with, and they moved the make shift table to the side, off the pavement as having crowds on the pavement was not the done thing and they were now worried about getting in trouble.
There was a loo at the back of the premises which we needed to take off our shoes for, then put on the lavatory slippers which were just inside the loo door in order to walk the one pace from corridor to inside the loo, before removing them at the threshold of the loo when coming back out. The tap was above the cistern and only ran water as the cistern filled after flushing. Ken and Barbie met us there, and commented that you needed to worry once the loo slipper became soggy.
We went over to the stadium. The roof was on, and it was boiling. Within minutes we were running with sweat. It was another England win, although annoyingly we let through a USA try right at the end.
As before we waited for a while in our seats before contemplating leaving. When we did we were quickly kettled in a slow trudge down the stairs and around the lower concourse, past exits that were closed. It was hot and the crowd was restless. Perhaps because of this, another exit was opened and we all spilled outside to the concourse in front of the stadium. Here again we were held for several minutes before being able to walk down the pavement to the metro. The problem with this process was the assumption we would queue as compliantly and orderly as the Japanese. But we didnt and here and there groups would try and push their way through, causing ripples of upset in the rest of the crowd.
We went back to the British bar for a celebration drink. It was now extremely rammed full, loud and smoky. So we left after a couple of drinks, and in the lift back down some other chaps commented that they would have loved the place when they were in their20’s.
We slept well and had a lazy morning until due to meet Ken and Barbie for an early lunch at Hyotan. It was a tiny place, outside of which a queue soon started to form. Apparently it was did the best dumplings in the area. Two elderly ladies opened the door, and in we filed, along the 7 seats squeezed in between the wall and the counter. The ladies spoke no English and we were saved by a Japanese man who explained the menu. There was one thing on it. The choice was how many you wanted. He was also asked by the ladies if he could take our order, who later chided him for bringing in a tour group. He laughed, and explained the situation to them. He was curious about how we know of the place, and told him that due to the power of the internet and online reviews, Hyotan was famed as serving the best dumplings in town, and was known about to anyone in the world who cared to look. He informed the elderly patrons about their world wide fame. They seemed unimpressed. Food requested, he then ordered our drinks. We went for small beers, which our Japanese friend questioned with ‘I thought the English were beer drinkers’. We pointed out that we were, but it was only 11.30am. We’ve not often been accused of not drinking enough.
He also instructed us in how to mix the sauce for our dumplings using a Kobe specific thick miso, soy and vinegar - with the option of adding garlic. The plates arrived and we tucked in. I can’t say if they’re the best available but they were certainly very tasty. Our friendly Japanese man complemented us on our chopstick ability.
We would have had another round of dumplings but our man had left by then and either the women didn’t understood or didn’t want to - they hadn’t been overly charmed by our presence- as we were handed the bill. There was already a queue forming outside, as well as healthy volumes of takeaway sales through their window.
We walked to the station via another, smaller, narrower shopping alley and took the private train back to Osaka. One of the guards helped carry our suitcase up the stairs, which was extremely helpful service although one he may have regretted once he had a measure of how heavy the suitcase was.
On the train when the guard walked through the carriage he would bow on entering and, at the other end, turn to face the carriage and bow again before moving on. All the passengers ignored him.
When we arrived it was sunny and hot. We found the hotel and again, dumped the bags as it was too early to check in. Near the hotel was a covered network of streets housing eateries and bars. Most of the bars were closed until the evening but we gravitated to a lively sounding place called Fab. There was a row of smoking locals inside, and Husband was pretty convinced they were ladyboys. A giggly young girl behind the bar wanted to talk to us and dragged her friend along to do the same. Her friend was reluctant. She knew about as much English as we knew Japanese. So not much all round. Then another bar person was persuaded to engage in the communication awkwardness. Turns out she was curious about what the English word on her T-shirt meant. The thing is, it said Portunity. Which isn’t a word. We worked on the basis that this was a typo in the same way that we would make an error on Japanese symbols, and told her it was opportunity, showing her a translation.
After a quick drink we went back to the hotel to freshen up before heading out to the Ohatsu Tenjin shrine which turned about to be a bit something and nothing, nestled amongst a network of narrow alleys generously populated with amazing looking food places - if only we could understand Japanese and by understood by them. As we meandered back through yet another shopping alley we felt drawn to an interesting side alley in which we located a bar to have a couple of drinks.
It started to get busy as people came out for dinner, and seemed odd for such a grungy side street to be filling with smartly dressed happening young things. We looked at a couple of food places which weren't inspiring, so made our back to the lively side streets around the hotel where equally uninspired or language challenged we ended up in a place that did have an English menu but no acoustic control, and the ambience of a staff canteen. It also had forks, which eased the increasing hand cramp we were getting from continuous chopstick use. Before long it was nearly full. And loud.
We had pizza as we had started to miss carbs. Naturally one pizza arrived before the starters. The second pizza was delivered shortly after one starter with the final starter arriving towards the end. For an otherwise very efficient country this continued to make no sense at all.
It was also interesting that for such a clean country, it was impossible to find a bin.
Breakfast in the hotel the next morning comprised an interesting buffet selection of salad, tuna mayo, scrambled egg and sausages - presumably the latter two items had added for western tourists. Husband chose to devour this with the sole cutlery item available, a butter knife, which was akin to getting a Japanese person to eat a meal with one chopstick.
To start our day out plans we went to Namba station, which was an enormous complex, joining 6 stations. We navigated our way to the Nankai line, where the building was engraved to proudly boast its 1885 foundation. The equally proudly boasted 2009 re-furbishment actually looked like an entire re-build, all modern, glass and swanky shops. We took a train out to Hashimito and it took a long time to feel like we'd left the city and its suburbs, so vast and sprawling are Japanese cities. But after a while the buildings outside started to look more basic, a bit poorer. But the quality of the cars outside these properties implied that the residents were not that hard up.
We then travelled through what looked (to our uninformed eyes) like paddy fields, some of which were having the crops picked with a mini combine harvester.
We needed to change to another train that slowly wound its way up the hill - the train wheels squealing and screeching around the bends and regularly waiting at stations for the downcoming train to clear the single line track. At every station, a white gloved and hatted guard stood to attention. Despite the rising height, it was still warm.
Finally we arrived at the funicular to take us up the final, very steep hill, with bends. It was disorientingly wonky inside.
When we arrived it the top it was finally, refreshingly cool. After a quick bite to eat we wandered around the Danjo Garan complex. Established over 1200 years ago it is considered one of the holiest sites in Koyasan. There are many buildings in the complex although many have been rebuilt following the repeated fires which have occurred at the site, most notably one in 1843. The building are made from wood, and thatched but they've now installed high tech fire protection by having buckets of water on the roof which can be quickly upturned by pulling on a rope leading from the bucket to the ground.
We went into the huge Konpon Daito pagoda which was rebuilt in 1937 and then went to see the Kongobuiji Temple before starting the long journey back.
On they way we listened to the Ireland v Japan game on the radio, and Japan's incredible win, which no one else on the train seemed remotely aware or even interested in. Husband was wearing a red and white striped England top that looked rather similar to Japan rugby shirts. Deliberately. Once in town we did get a couple of cheers.
It proved taxing to find our way back out of the monolithic Namba station. Once released we went to Hozenji-Yochocho alley for dinner and a restaurant on the second floor of a high rise. We were put into a cosy, entirely secluded booth, curtained off floor to ceiling from anything outside if we chose to close the curtains. We were given an i-pad which contained the menu and the process for ordering. But it was time consuming and not straight forward to locate instructions in English on all pages. So instead we reverted to the old fashioned method of giving our order to the waiter. Dinner comprised good salad, good steak and questionable skewers one of which was a skewer of chicken skin.
It proved taxing to find our way back out of the monolithic Namba station. Once released we went to Hozenji-Yochocho alley for dinner and a restaurant on the second floor of a high rise. We were put into a cosy, entirely secluded booth, curtained off floor to ceiling from anything outside if we chose to close the curtains. We were given an i-pad which contained the menu and the process for ordering. But it was time consuming and not straight forward to locate instructions in English on all pages. So instead we reverted to the old fashioned method of giving our order to the waiter. Dinner comprised good salad, good steak and questionable skewers one of which was a skewer of chicken skin.
We had an earlyish start the next day to get our Nozomi tickets to Hiroshima on the same train as Ken and Barbie, which were eye wateringly expensive. We did a bit of train spotting at the station before our bullet train arrived.
We set off. It felt fast, that pit of stomach sensation you get when a plane goes down the runway for take off. But most of the journey was in a tunnel so you couldn't get a full sense of the speed at which we were moving across the land.
On arrival we took a taxi to the A bomb dome. The taxi was like an old fashioned police car, boxy with wing mirrors on the end of the bonnet and the interior decorated with a lot of crochet coverings. Ken was determined to be politically incorrect, commenting the city all looked quite new. When I talked about getting a fridge magnet he asked if it might glow in the dark.
The A bomb dome seemed oddly out of place in all the surrounding sprawl and modernity. Due to earthquake risks in the area the ruin had been getting reinforcement to ensure it won't collapse during a significant seismic event.
Across the river from the dome was the Hiroshima peace park, which hosted a statue to the children. At the far end of the park was the eternal flame, below an arched monument designed to give a clear, direct view back to the A bomb dome. It was all rather sobering.
There were some people there making insistent demands on everyone so sign petitions for goodness knows what. We didn't partake.
Inside the museum there were images of the huge area destroyed by the bomb as well as the remains of clothes, bicycles and other personal possessions and photos of the victims. There was no reference or acknowledgement to how the situation arose in the first place, nor any comment about Japan's role in the war. To anyone who didn't know their history, the message you would have left with was that an entirely innocent nation was minding its own business when the West decided to wipe the city off the map for no reason whatsoever. That's not say dropping the bomb was right. Just there is always more than one side to the story, more than one point of view.
Feeling unduly sobered, we made our way to Molly Malone Irish pub to watch the Wales v Australia game. Arriving a couple of hours before the game we grabbed the last available seats and squeezed ourselves into an awkward corner. We ordered up messy cheeseburgers for lunch, made all the messier by not having cutlery to aid in the eating process. The pub filled. And warmed. At the start of the game one sole Welsh fan in the pub did a fine solo job with the national anthem.
After the game finished we got a taxi back to the station and were cuaght in a small traffic jam, solely caused by the acts of a woman driver. We caught an earlier train back to Osaka.
The hotel bar was already closed so we foraged for alcohol at a nearby 711. We passed kids playing football in a dusty park, the pitch size determined by the reach of the flood lighting.
The following day it was a sunny morning. Which was exciting as it meant brolly (parasol) day. Ladies bicycles in Japan had special brolly holders on them so that you stay shaded while cycling. As well as being sunny, it was also hot. We made our way to Osaka-Jo for a warm walk through the gardens and the outer perimeter of the huge moat that surrounded the castle. The garden housed Ming dynasty Chinese statues that had been stolen by the Japanese during a war in the 20th century and subsequently gifted by the Chinese in 1984 to the city of Osaka and now serve as a symbol amicable relations and friendly ties.
A lot of the grounds were quite overgrown and many of the structures had ben rebuilt, although there had been a fire during restoration works. The stone work was reminiscent of Peru in their earthquake protective structural design.
We went into the castle, which was not interesting. However, from the top there were good views over the enormity of Osaka.
After coming back down we google searched Irish pubs but there were all closed until 5, So we search for any pub and made our way to the nearest one, where we had lunch comprising a very nice steak and spicy minced chicken. It was served with salad and a cup of tasty, refreshing, chilled soup.
We went back to the hotel for a siesta and to watch the Scotland v Samoa game in our room. My neck was still aching from watching the previous days match side on so watching a game front on had a certain appeal.
On our way out to dinner later a a fire grill place (where we had amazing food) we picked up some more money from a cash point where we were now starting the enjoy the 'here's your money' tune that gets played in the short wait between taking your card back and waiting for the money.
We then went to Hibiki whisky bar to the immense surprise of Shun, the young man standing in the street trying to incite custom. We had passed him before dinner and promised we would come back. He probably hears that a hundred time a day. But we honoured our word to come back. Shun was very friendly and accommodating, introducing us to an interesting range of Japanese whiskies. He also gave us some very good hints and tips for visiting the torri near Kyoto, which was our next stop. Unsurprisingly, it was a late night.
The following morning, suffering no headache at all, we took the train to Kyoto and a taxi to the hotel. The taxi driver was a bit unsure where the hotel actually was, and when we got there we let him off a bit as it was a bit out of the way. We dumped the bag and made our way to Nishiki Dori which comprised narrow streets, largely filled with food outlets including sparrow on a stick, octopus on a stick and eel on a stick. We had some scallops and octopus dough balls - which were a joy to watch being made - followed by pineapple on a stick.
We ambled off to Pontochu alley where there were a number of girls in kimonos. But Kyoto did operate a tourist 'dress up as a geisha girl or in kimonos' experiences so most of theses girls were either the advertising or customers paying for the privilege rather than being genuine locals - it was extremely unlikely to see a genuine geisha.
It was hot and sunny, and the weather then broke into a thunder storm, heavy rain and flashes of lightning. We heart the temple gong being rung, which comprised a railway sleeper being used as the hammer, and driven into the large bell.
We had gone back to the hotel to hunker down during the storm. But dinner time was nigh. The rain was easing but there were still flashes of light and background rumbles of thunder. When we returned to the hotel after dinner the restaurant tried to give us an umbrella to take back with us in what felt an example of a highly disposable society.
We got up early the following morning to go to see the torri at Fushimi-Hari shrine. This was very much on the advice of Shun. He had said that the shrine was open 24 hours a day, so you could go there for dawn. We didn't do that, but armed with his warnings about the immensity of crowds, we got an early train and arrived soon after 8am. Despite that, there were already a few people there, but we were able to see the torri with relatively few crowds. I wanted to scamper a fair way up the hill - but not to the temple at the top. Husband was less keen so we agreed on the spot at the bottom where we would meet up after I came down. The brightly coloured torri wound their way along the path through the woods and before long there was virtually no one else about. After a while one tunnel of torri in the woods is pretty much like the next tunnel of torri in the woods, so I decided to head back down. Presumably as part of traffic control, part way down the return route went down a different path, past a cluster of small shrines.
I got back to the bottom which was now extremely crowded. Husband was not at the agreed meeting point. I wandered around a bit, to see if he was perhaps in the shade or had found somewhere to sit instead. But he was nowhere to be seen. I had only been gone for 15-20 minutes.
There was no phone signal so I couldn't call and texts wouldn't send. I tried to suppress the rising wave of panic.
There were now hoards of people filing through the first stages of the torri, all bustling for tiny bit of free space to try and take photos. I decided to go back up, in case he had followed me. And found him happily sitting and resting outside a double torri tunnel waiting for me to come back down. He of course hadn't realised that as you go higher up, you get sent down via another route. And apologised for the unnecessary alarm he was aware he had caused me. We both sat there for a bit while my adenalin levels returned to normal and watched a tour group leader take people to this junction (about 2 minutes from the start) and then send them back down, which seemed a bit mean.
We went back down to the start. It wasn't yet 10am but there were hoards of people and large numbers of school children. We saw crowds of children every day and wondered why they weren't in school.
We went back to the station and had the excitement of the level crossing gates being closed, with us on one side and the station on the other. However, before long we were on a train back to Kyoto which boasted a Premium car and Elegant Saloon car.
Back in town we went explore Gion, an area of shuttered tea houses with lanterns outside and bamboo fences. We did not, of course, see any geisha girls but did see a lot of people dressed up in geisha style, posing for photos. Some were wearing the traditional tiny, flip flop style platform shoes but with their heels extending far over the backs like modern ugly sisters trying to squeeze into Cinderella shoes. Others had chosen to keep their own footwear on, so had kimonos paired with bovver boots.
It was too early in the day for any pubs to be open - the pub situation was something we mentioned in the many surveys we were approached for, presumably to get a feel for how successful their hosting of the world cup had been with the foreigners. So instead we had a matcha ice cream which was remarkably unpleasant with a quite a bitter flavour.
We had lunch next to the waterway lined by trees that product the spring blossoms that for which Kyoto is known and that attract a multitude of tourists. A man was standing in the water, cleaning the bottom with a broom.
Kyoto is one of the less ugly Japanese towns, partly due to its buildings generally not being more than 2 storeys high and appearing to be made from or clad in wood. Centre of town was still overlooked by a mass of cabling but there were many mildy attractive many alley ways.
The Pig and Whistle was our chosen venue to watch the France v USA game but there were horrendous queues for the bar. They had really not got this sorted out, which seemed poor for an Irish pub. We went for dinner at half time in the All Blacks game in Pontocho alley which had several food place - but was very busy. The buildings in alley were small, two storey high places so filled pretty quickly. We went upstairs in one and managed to get the last two seats available and tucked into a delicious dinner of kimchi, udon and yakisoba. This was a relief as most places proudly boasted yakitori and we had decided that generally we didn't like things on sticks - especially when you couldn't see it first. But yakisoba (meat and veg on soba noodles) was spectacular.
We wandered back past the now open bath house. This was tempting us but there was no English information and we had a feeling that we would quickly come unstuck. Also the English translations of reviews were a bit questionable.
Back at the hotel a load of French guests were microwaving pot noodles. It was unclear why they didn't go to an of the multitude of delicious local restaurants. And knowing the sort of stuff the French eat, they would probably have lapped up the stick based food choices.
The following morning I got up very early, leaving Husband still in bed to see the old streets and Kiyomizo temple before the rush. It was a warm, uphill climb but relatively quiet, with good views of the city.
Mission accomplished I went back to the hotel where we had an unsatisfactory vegan breakfast before making our way to the railway museum. We were discovering that the underground network in Kyoto was quite limited in coverage and connectivity, involving a lot of changes between lines to still not really get you to where you wanted to be.
There were a lot of school parties, groups of children with coloured caps and matching coloured rucksacks to indicate which group they were part of. Ones in yellow did look (and sound) a lot like The Minions.
We took a ride on a steam train that ran in between normal service tracks so had shinkansen, underground and JR lines regularly hurtling along next to us. The Minions all lined up for the next ride.
We looked at the engines on the run off lines around the turntable all of which were black and held together with gaffa tape.
All trained out we visited Sanjusangen-do temple which was a old timbered building, allegedly originating in the 1200's (and probably did as the building had a a wonderful smell of wood and incense) which waas filled with statues of Buddhist guardian deitites and 1001 golden statues of thousand armed Kannon, the goddess of compassion lined up along the length of the vast building. As is the way with the Japanese preference for wooden buildings, there had been a previous fire which destroyed the temple complex and many of the statues - so new ones were built to replace those which had been lost, along with a the new great hall which was rebuilt in 1266.
When we came out it was raining with intent, so we took a taxi back to the hotel. The lounge area of the hotel was filled with French people. It wasn't clear what they here were for but there were certainly a lot of them and they spent an above average amount of time in the hotel. They periodically went outside only to return declaring it still pleu. We concluded they had come here for watercolour painting.
We went to our room to freshen up and then took a taxi into town as the rain was even more vigorous. We found a pub for pre dinner drinks, which only let people in if it could find a seat for them. So consequently it felt quite spacious and the beer queue was substantially better than a Pig and Whistle. It's strange the things you take for granted in the UK. The pub had a stack of beer kegs piled up behind the makeshift additional bar. With their current admittance criteria, I wondered how - or indeed if - they would ever get through this supply. We tucked into pasties, realising we had been missing pastry and watched the Ireland v Russia game, noticing here and there some people we recognised from the pub in Hiroshima.
We walked back to the hotel where the frogs were still in the lounge.
During the night there was a substantial storm. The next day we got up, packed and made our way to the station. The hotel staff all came out to wave and bow, including the lady who had come over the prune the plants.
The frogs ventured out as we left, but I could see grey clouds bubbling overhead so suspected that more pleu may be on the way for them.
We got on the bullet train for the 2 hours 20 minute journey at 150mph to Tokyo. On the way, we went past Mount Fuji, its snow capped peak looking resplendent in the sunshine.
At Tokyo I put my ticket into the barrier gate. It was popped back up again on other side of the long barrier. Thinking it might be a fun souvenir to keep, I took it. Husband didn't notice this happen, so he did not collect his and the barrier - after a moment or two - sucked the ticket into its entrails.
Tokyo station was enormous. I think I have been to towns that are smaller. It took a while to find where our connecting train to Ueno went from. When we did eventually find it, it was the other side of a ticket barrier. I found someone to ask where we got tickets from and she said that the ticked we had come in with covered the onward journey. So now we had a problem. I had my ticket still. Husband did not. The station had a number of Japaneses helpers dotted around, in anticipation of Western rugby fans being totally out of their depth. Within a very short amount of time, a lady helper came over to ask if we were ok. We explained the problem. Initially I thought let's just go back to the barrier where Husband's ticket had been taken. But we had no idea where it was. So, leaving Husband and luggage put, the lady asked me to follow her. She went and spoke to guard who looked for the ticket in the barrier (which I was reasonably convinced was not even in the same postcode as the one we had actually come through). Then she took my ticket, took that to the guard and a little while later returned with two tickets. there had been enough information on mine for him to do a re-print. I have no idea what magic she worked but do know we could not have achieved this success without her. She then performed another miracle by taking me back through the station to where we had left Husband. Tokyo is the planet's largest metropolis and if couldn't even navigate the station, the next few days did not bode well.
However, we could now proceed to Ueno and the hotel, along streets with untidy webs of overhead cables which jarred with the otherwise incredibly clean, ordered, well function and high tech country.
Once we had dumped the luggage we went for a wander through the narrow narrow streets near the station - seeing a go cart tour group go by. We found a ramen place that we popped into for lunch and then wandered on through streets of shops squeezed in under the railway.
The stalls had amazing arrays of unrefrigerated fish. Tokyo is a pulsating place,, plagued by incessant noise. But the Ueno area has parks, museum and zoo making it ever so slightly less of a sensory overload.
We walked through Ueno Koen park to Shinobazu pond which wasn't really a pond as it was completely filled with waterlilies. Husband referred to it as mangrove swamp.
The tiny amount of pond water that was visible was thick soup of huge fish. The guide book had promised a glorious pond hosting a colony of black cormorants with a causeway that leads out across the reeds and lotus beds to a leafy island occupied by an octagonal roofed temple. Instead we admired the shrine to spectacles, saw a man in a tiny mini skirt and then decided to return to the hotel for a instant tea.
The following day we had a lazy morning and took our time going to the stadium. As with the other stadiums, there was pretty much nothing available on site. So we added ourselves to the developing crowd around a local supermarket to consume sandwiches and beer. Gathering Argentinian fans started to become high spirited, singing and dancing, to the consternation of the local police who kept playing a continuous round of announcements. 'Follow the person in front. Do not stop. Do not block the road. Do not sit in the road'. We all continued to stand where we were. Not moving anyway, nor attempting to. And equally frequently 'A car is coming. Please clear the road'. When a car did appear half an hour later it was met with a rousing cheer. The policy then started announcing 'Please go to the stadium'. And tried to encourage the streets to clear so they could all start relaxing. All they had had to do was provide food and drink in the stadium which didn't involve an hour long queue and none of this panic inducing situation for them would have arisen. A person near to us wondered if perhaps the Japanese police had really meant to say 'relax, enjoy yourself, have a beer'.
Before long, we did start making our way to the stadium and our seats which were fortunately on the shady side. It was a tight start to the game but ended in an England win. Initially it had been easy to see the Argentinians in the crowd as they were jumping up and down. That soon stopped. And swing low took over, making it feel more like a game at Twickenham.
It was a steady walk back to the station with the crowd afterwards and we got back to Ueno close to 10pm so dinner options were in short supply. We found a pizza place which had 10 minutes until last orders. A Japanese twist had been added to the menu with pizza toppings including eel, fois gras, sea urchin or sardines.
We slept well that night and woke late. But for the first time we had a couple of quiet days as there wasn't much we wanted to visit in Tokyo (of course we didn't know then about the railway museum an hour out of town). We had breakfast at a nearby Wendy's and then went to Hinode pier via metro (which played happy get on the metro music at the station - no lowering of the mood on this train) then monorail in order to catch the water ferry to Asakusa, Tokyo's most traditional district. Which can be reached by metro - but taking a boat seemed far more fun.
The boat was wonderfully elaborate and more or less empty.
The skies cleared as we travelled, taking away the morning rain. We went under an extensive series of low bridges as we made our way along the river to Asakusa from where we had a view of the Ahari beer hall, topped with what is meant to be a golden flame but known to all as the golden turd statue, and the soaring Tokyo Skytree dominating the skyline behind which frequently had its top enshrouded in cloud.
Once docked we wandered to Nakamise shopping street and Denboin-Dori street. We lunched at a tuna restaurant but chose to pass on the eyeballs dish. What the guide book upsells as an infectious carnival atmosphere I would describe as horrific, crowded alleys, overflowing with stalls peddling tourist tat and cheap trinkets and kimono hire shops, adorned by a multitude of young Japanese girls dressed like children.
Senso-Ji temple with its giant lanterns and Kaminari-mon (thunder gate) entrance was crowded. All our other temple visits had been relatively well timed so we had not previously experienced such levels of tourism which somewhat killed the alledged sense of atmosphere.
We soon decide we'd had enough and ambled back to the underground. Returning to the hotel we tried, and failed, to find the France v Tonga game on TV so listened to it on the radio instead. And fell asleep.
We went to a local Italian place for dinner. I had very tasty pasta which I had nearly finished by the time Husband's pizza appeared.
Deciding we might be tired we had an earlyish night and also woke early the next day.
We took a convoluted trip through the metro system (which played different bird song at each station) to the musical instrument street, Meidai Dori. We visited a number of bass guitar shops and then moved on to the second hand book quarter.
We found a place for lunch where I chose a bitter gourd stir fry. The waitress suggested rather stuffily that it is usually too bitter for foreigners. In other words, it is an acquired taste which I almost certainly didn't have. I decided to order it anyway and it wasn't too bad at all - like a strong brussel sprout (the way they tasted in the old days) but virtually unnoticeable bitterness when eaten with other stuff. Even if it had been disgusting, I would have devoured the lot rather than prove the haughty waitress right.
Over lunch Husband decided to buy one of the guitars he had tried - then there was the fun of getting the shop to pack it up so that we could get it home safely in hold luggage. Then, armed with a bass and a Something to Declare notice stapled into Husband's passport, we went to Shibuya to see the world's busiest crossing. Which is only busy because it has that title, consequently hundreds of people descend on it every to cross a road they don't actually want to be on the other side of. And therefore have to cross back. This was evidenced by the fact that most people had cameras or videos to record the whole process of not actually needing a cross the road in the first place. And it didn't actually seem that busy.
We went back to the metro, which was modern but designed to look retro with soft lighting lamps, and to a Hard Rock cafe near the hotel to get a badge and breast cancer T shirt. Bizarrely this needed further Something to Declare receipts stuck into our passport. Husband's knee was very sore so we decided to have dinner in restaurant in the hotel rather than go out for a wander. This ended up being a good choice. Hotel dinner was excellent. Fabulous pasta and beef skirt steak and Husband wondered if this restaurant is where the locals came to practice using a know a fork. We found our non dominants hands cramping due to lack of use from primarily eating one handed with chopsticks. The menu advised an hour wait if your ordered rotisserie chicken which was available in no time at all at Asda. Salt ice cream pudding was odd and interesting. We were doubly glad on our dinner choice when we observed torrential rain outside, which the forecast had threatened periodically through the day but it never came. Until now.
The following morning we found an excellent bakery for breakfast then took the metro to the Yurikamome monorail, which we realised was running on tyres in gulleys on either side of a central hump. So was really a bus in the sky rather than a monorail.
We took it to the reclaimed island of Odaiba in Tokyo Bay, first going to Tokyo Big Sight just for the views, then came back and got out at Daiba. We looked at the huge transformer and then the huge suspended sphere in the sci-fi styled Fuji TV building.
We ambled along Odaiba beach, where there was a miniature statue of liberty. We sat on the promenade to admire the view of Rainbow Bridge and Tokyo city beyond. We saw fish jumping in the sea and the people of Tokyo coming here for some space, fresh air and quietness in comparison to the city centre. This includes one couple who had rough their cat along a lead for a walk, before putting it into a pram so that they could continue their walk.
Posters gave warnings about poisonous spiders and fire ants, which made us less enthusiastic about throwing our shoes off to play in the sand and paddle in the minimal tidal movement water. So instead we played it safe and sat at a beach front bar where we became increasingly depressed by the surrounding obsession of selfies, videos and pouting poses, the endless need to do something in photos now rather than just be - jump, pull a face, stick your tongue out, do a V sign. Although we cheered up remarkably when one such narcissist nearly fell off the promenade as her focus was on filming herself. She didn't even notice that she nearly trampled a child as part of the process.
There was a layer of cloud cover overhead but it was warm and breezy, and the evening light was starting.
We went back to the hotel and its embedded restaurant to try its famous rotisserie chicken - and see if it was any better than Asda's. And to claim our free bottle of wine. It was a lot busier and noisier this time.
This time I had pretty much finished my main course before Husband's arrived. Having a romantic dinner must be very tricky in Japan.
It was hot in the night, not helped by our being unable to work the window.
We were up early the following morning to get a train from Tokyo station - in rush hour, so it was a fraction busy - and then onto the bus for the trip to Kawaguchi-Jo to see Mount Fuji, Japan's most sacred volcano. It was a beautiful sunny day and, after taking time to get out of Tokyo streets and onto the Expressway, the bus started to drive us out of town and headed into the mountains. Oddly most of the Japanese people on board had closed the curtains on the bus windows. The woman in front of us kept trying to push the curtain further back, across our window, which we kept resisting.
We arrived in cooler weather, after initially stopping at the fun fair resort. We decided to do a cable car up Tenjo-zan (for unclear reasons, children's music played in the cable car) from where there are great views both of Mount Fuji and the lake on which we would also do a boat trip. In the event both did indeed afford stunning views - of the cloud covered Mount Fuji.
In the other direction, the sky was blue, the sun was out and we could see for miles.
As there's only so long you can look at a cloud and pretend you can see a mountain, we went into the small town for lunch and found a fantastic restaurant accommodating a wood fired pizza oven.
According to a Japanese proverb 'a wise man climbs Fuji once. A fool climbs it twice'. I wondered if our initial clear view of Mount Fuji from the train should have been where the wise stopped, instead of foolishly trying to see it twice.
We went back to the bus station for a blue rose ice cream before getting on the bus back. We pondered whether pretty houses existed in Japan. From what we had seen, it seemed that most were based on practicality and efficiency rather than aesthetics. The same mentality presumably led to the large concrete high level roads that imposed their way through cities.
They had an odd culture as well, being clearly very clever but also very childish. And they can sleep at the drop of a hat. We joined them in a nap on the bus ride back, which dropped us off at different place at Tokyo station. As the station is the size of modest town it took us some time to work where we needed to go for the train back to Ueno.
On arriving I went to get refunds on the unused Pasmo credit (equivalent of an Oyster card) and then met up with Husband in Hard Rock cafe. We had dinner there while watching Wales v Fiji on our tablet. As we tucked into fajitas we realised that part of what we were missing foodwise was variety, cultural variety.
That was our last night in Tokyo. The following morning we took the train to Yokohama.
Initially we weren't sure that the train we were on would go to the stop we wanted but it all worked out ok. We took at taxi to the hotel, and had a mildly amusing time with the taxi driver trying to find the hotel. We were too early to check in so we left our luggage in the smokiest room in the world and went out to explore.
We quickly established that Yokohama's public transport was poor. We found a bar that claimed to sell Yokohama Rugger Beer - but not until 3pm. So we went to the marina where we hear that the upcoming England game has been cancelled because of a forecasted typhoon. We happened across a couple of chaps who were calling Cathay Pacific to re-arrange their flights home. We decide to do the same. Our current booking was in a couple of days time. With the coming typhoon not only was there not a final group stage game to watch - giving us spare time with no specific plans or objectives and the risk that transport connections back to the airport might be compromised.
Following a relatively quick and easy phone call we managed to secure tickets for the last available flight the following morning (Friday). This means that staying overnight in Yokohama was no longer an option. So we looked for a hotel near the airport, then took a taxi to the hotel and got him to wait while we explain to the man who took our luggage that we need our bags back, cancel that hotel booking and head to the station.
We found a Narita bound train with the help of a friendly local and start the 1.5 hour train journey towards the slightly premature end of the holiday.
The airport hotel felt somewhat tired but the room was large and dinner was good. We were up early and joined the queue of escaping Brits. The connection flight from Hong Kong to the UK was quite empty and it seemed a shame that it hadn't been possible to get more people out. We arrived safely back in the UK to news of impending damage from the typhoon Hagibis, and stories of supermarkets being cleared out as people hunkered down for the worst. Also, everything was closing on Saturday, including trings and over 1000 flights cancelled. In the event, the storm was not as forceful as initially feared but we were pleased to have left given the transport chaos that been created for precautionary measures.
The guitar survived hold baggage safely and the suitcase was returned to us with a 'heavy' label on it, which implied wussy baggage handlers as we had been carrying the thing around for three weeks.
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