Dynargh dhe'n Blogofrob

Thursday 31st August 2006

This blog entry was intended to be an account of the V Festival in mid-August. On the 31 August, I tapped in a "[filler]" note to ensure that the blog actually had an August date on it. But because of the nature of my job and the pressing unfinished tasks facing me in general since moving back to the UK I still haven't found the chance to scribble down an account of spending a couple of days in wellies in Staffordshire. I am sorry. I will try soon. Following that there will be (perhaps) blogs on Singapore, Cuba and North Korea. The last one of those is nearly two years late. I'm utter rubbish.

Meanwhile, if my holiday next week is curtailed or cancelled because of work you can look forward to a violent torrent of sweary vitriol. Watch this space.

11/9/06 (despite the date above).

95 - posted at 17:39:49
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Monday 24th July 2006

This is just a brief postscript to my last post. I was up in the New Territories on Sunday and saw this piece of advice stuck to a wall:

Monkey Advice

Sound advice. I just wish the little scamp we encountered had been a tufty doe-eyed chap, gingerly tip-toeing towards us, rather than a mangy simian wretch with menacing eyes and sharp bloodied claws.

94 - posted at 19:07:03
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Wednesday 19th July 2006

I was mugged the other day.

Claire was still in town, and I had dragged her up into the Kowloon Hills. I wanted to experience the views from the trails around Amah Rock and Lion Rock. As we had headed out directly from the beautiful Tsimshatsui hotel in which we were staying, we were badly equipped - instead of a sturdy rucksack, I clutched a supermarket plastic bag containing maps, a guidebook and our water supply. It was probably too hot to go hiking. The air was heavy and trekking up from the KCR station at Tai Wai was hard going. Ten minutes in and I was drenched in sweat. Mosquitoes were circling. The forested hills echoed with the buzzing and clicking of unseen insects. Giant grubs lay twitching in the middle of the paths.

I had been warned about the dangers of hiking in the New Territories. Like gnarled village locals in a ghost story, colleagues warned me not to go into the hills alone. Illegal immigrants from the mainland lie in wait, ready to pounce on the lone hiker and relieve him of his possessions before tying him to a tree and scampering away. I'd never heeded the warnings and had often walked the trails without incident. And this time I wasn't on my own.

We reached a catch-water and walked down the road that ran alongside it. It was as we turned a corner that I first caught sight of them. A family of shabby looking individuals, loitering by the side of the road. They looked slightly malnourished and their bad posture gave them all a vaguely unnerving stoop. They looked up as we approached. Timidly they moved to the other side of the road and started to disappear into the forest. It was then we noticed the mother clutched a baby, whose mouth tugged desperately at her scrawny breast.

But one remained. He had sat down in the middle of the road and was watching us suspiciously. I noticed that his hair was patchy and unkempt. Although it was probably the wrong thing to do, and in retrospect quite rude, I took a photo of him. I thought his behaviour unusual, but put my camera away and carried on walking. As we veered to the left to walk around him, he got up and moved into our path. We changed direction again. This time he came towards me, a menacing look in his eyes. Grunting, he reached forward to grab my plastic bag. Tenaciously I kept my grip. His long dirty finger nails cut into the bag and its contents tumbled onto the road. He looked down disappointed. He grabbed the bottle of water briefly before dropping it as I shouted at him. He ran away into the forest.

Shaken, we gathered our belongings and trudged on. I shall be passing my photo of our assailant onto the relevant authorities:

Macaque

In other news, the Mercury award shortlist was announced yesterday and I was pleased to see Lou Rhodes' album has got some well deserved recognition. Although she's got brilliant competition in the Thom Yorke and Muse albums, I hope the Mercury judges do their wacko thing again and award it to an outsider (i.e. Lou). And I really hope it doesn't go to Arctic Monkeys (and not because of the experience recounted above) or Editors.

93 - posted at 10:53:00
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Thursday 6th July 2006

We hopped on the bullet train to Sendai and within two hours were in a taxi with the Sensei, heading up to the compound where the university installs its gaijin staff.

Although northern Honshu's largest city, Sendai retains a provincial air. Pleasant and laid back, its wide tree lined avenues and spacious malls contrast with the more claustrophobic and intense geography of Tokyo. That evening we paced said spacious malls, ate sushi and fell victim to the arcades once more. Stuffed creatures stared out of glass cases, begging to be plucked to freedom by large metal claws. But all they did was steal more of my yen, and we finally escaped to a tiny pub - so small that that the area behind the bar rivalled that in front of it. We propped up the bar and drank endless Coronas, assuring the concerned barman that, owing to our nationality, we didn't object to their warmth.

On Friday we woke to unrelenting rain, which was to continue for the rest of the day. Our enthusiasm undiminished (Ok, only slightly diminished) we returned to the train station, and eventually, after a missed connecting train, arrived in Hiraizumi. Hiraizumi's splendour apparently once rivalled that of Kyoto. That all changed at the end of the twelfth century after the violent and destructive downfall of the Fujiwara clan. Matsuo Basho, whose statue nestles amongst the trees of the Chuson-ji temple complex, referred to the town's glory days as 'a brief remembered dream'. As we trudged from the station to Chuson-ji, it somehow reminded me of a windswept Cornish or Breton village.

The rain couldn't dampen the delights of Chuson-ji. Climbing up from the town into a forest, the complex's main path takes visitors past numerous wooden temples, red-bibbed Jizos, tombs and other shrines and buildings. Occasionally, the trees opened up to offer views over the sodden valley below. Souvenir stalls liberally dotted the site offering phone fobs from which Hello Kitty hung, dressed as the cycloptic Date Masumane, the area's greatest feudal lord known as "the one-eyed dragon".

Chuson-ji's centrepiece is Konjiki-do, the golden temple. Housed in a specially built pavilion (to protect it from the elements) the temple contains an Amida Buddha surrounded by gold leaf, exquisite laquerwork and mother-of-pearl. As we passed through the pavilion the attendants thoughtfully played an English language commentary which informed us that generations of mummified Fujiwaras were also stuffed into niches in the temple.

After some warming ramen at a small restaurant below Chuson-ji we took a quick tour through the graceful Heinan gardens at Motsu-ji on the other side of Hiraizumi, before heading back to Sendai. There we stocked up on food and sake, the latter making it fairly hard for me to get out of bed the following morning.

Another train ride, this time through fresh rain-free air, took us to Hon-Shiogama. There, with dozens of Japanese tourists, we boarded a small ferry. As it slowly chugged out of Hon-Shiogama's industrial harbour I noticed the sky was thick with seagulls, swooping and arcing around the back of the boat. The reason soon became apparent, as the tourists bought bags of Wotsit style crisps and started lobbing them at the appreciative birds, which put on a display of dog-fight like aerial acrobatics in order to catch the crisps before they hit the water. The more adventurous tourist stood by the rails, arm stretched proffering the cheesy snacks to whichever gull was brave enough to wheel in and snatch the food before making a sharp turn to avoid the hard metal of the boat. Stocking up on crisps, I only broke off baiting the gulls as the ferry entered Matsushima Bay.

Officially one of the three most scenic views in Japan, Matsushima Bay is an archipelago of around 250 islands. Legend tells that Basho was so overawed by its beauty that he could not describe it in words, his poem on the place reading merely

Matsushima!
Ah Matsushima!
Matsushima!


(Apparently this is a perfect haiku in the original Japanese.)

It is certainly striking. Countless islets sit in the bay, on which fir trees perch over rocks distorted by centuries of the sea's attention. We arrived at the town of Matsushima and walked along the waterfront for a while, before crossing a short bridge to the crowded island that plays host to Godai-do, a small wooden temple. We briefly admired the Shinto shrine. The temple houses the statues of 5 Buddhist deities that are only put on show to the public every 33 years. Fortunately 2006 is one of the years. Unfortunately I didn't realise this until I was back in Hong Kong. I don't remember seeing any ancient statues sitting around there, but then again, it would explain why the island was so crowded, but I don't think that the 2006 display had started.

We also crossed the long red (and scaffolded) bridge to the pleasant wooded island of Fukura-jima before returning to the shore and gorging on unidentifiable raw sea creatures - they could have been Nemo and SpongeBob Squarepants for all I could tell. We then headed up a wide cedar lined avenue to the unfortunately closed gates of Zuigan-ji, Matsushima's most famous temple. All was not lost though, as lining the avenue were dozens of stone Buddhas and Bodhisattvas along with the odd Shinto shrine and mysterious caves carved into the surrounding cliffs.

That evening, back in Sendai, we followed a sign to Eric's Bar, and found ourselves drinking in a room covered from floor to ceiling with photos, magazine covers, posters and album sleeves featuring Eric Clapton. The toilets were wallpapered with gig reviews of Clapton's performances. On the bar's large television, Eric strummed in an interminable compilation of live appearances.

Departure came all too quickly - the following day, after thanking the Sensei for his excellent hospitality, the bullet train rushed us back to Tokyo. After a few nervous minutes trying to locate the correct train (and station) in Ueno, we set out for Narita. At the airport we found that, oddly enough, the only thing in Japan which is utterly disorganised and inefficient is the airport checking-in system. In spite of this we made it onto the plane, which was a pity, as I really fancied staying in Japan for much longer.

Some selected Japan photos can be found here, while some of Claire's are here.

92 - posted at 15:53:57
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Tuesday 27th June 2006

Shinkansen

"They look like Bond villain henchmen," I remarked to Claire as I stared from the plane window onto the runway at Narita airport. Hard-hatted airport workers were driving forklift trucks up to the plane as it disgorged our luggage.

Although I like to think of my self as fairly well-travelled, a bit cosmopolitan, my comment suggested that perhaps this visit to Tokyo should consist of a bit more than getting pissed in the red-light district and staying in a capsule hotel.

Overland and subway trains took us to Asakusa, a district in the North East of central Tokyo. As we emerged from the bowels of the subway station, the cool bright afternoon was a refreshing change from the heavy humid air we'd left behind in Hong Kong. We found our hotel with ease - a Ryokan down a quiet side street. Our traditional Japanese room at the top of the hotel was authentic down to the rattan flooring and paper screens. Unfortunately its authenticity extended to its lack of a private bathroom - we had to use the very pleasant but small traditional communal baths next door.

After making certain bathroom related enquiries at the reception desk, Claire and I wandered the area before eating at a Shabu-shabu restaurant. Diners cook their own food by dropping thin slices of meat into a boiling broth. We were placed in a room on our own and had to phone for the bill.

The next morning, bathed in the traditional Japanese style, we hit Nakamise-Dori, which was next to the hotel. Nakamise-Dori is a long pedestrianised market street lined with stalls selling tourist tat, Japanese sweets and assorted kitsch. At one end of the street a huge red lantern sits under Kaminarimon (the Thunder Gate) while at the other is Senso-ji, the oldest temple in Tokyo and the location of the pagoda glimpsed from our room. After taking in the temple, we ambled down the busy market and were approached by school children on a field trip. Obviously with orders to stop Westerners and practice their English, they handed us information about the part of Japan they were from, told us their names, asked us where we were from, asked for my signature and then requested a photograph. We asked their teacher, who was loitering nearby, to return the favour, hence this:

On Nakamise-Dori

Then we dived into Tokyo, starting an energetic and wide-ranging three day tour of the city. It started in Marunouchi, where we took a turn in the Imperial Gardens. It was here we first noticed the preponderance of jungle crows in Tokyo - large, fat creatures, insistently cawing and languidly flapping from tree to tree. Then we struck out for the swanky shopping area of Ginza where we mucked around with camcorders, digital camera and other assorted gadgets in the Sony Centre, which also features a Playstation 3 in a glass box, complete with ineffectual looking security guard.

From Ginza we walked to Zojo-ji temple, a Buddhist centre overlooked by the Tokyo tower. Perhaps the most remarkable (and moving) thing about this temple are the rows of hundreds of small Jizo statues. Jizo is a Mahayana Buddhist Bodhisattva associated with, amongst other things, aborted and miscarried foetuses. Here, each of the red bibbed and hatted statues (which look more like babies than Bodhisattvas) commemorate a deceased baby, and each one has its own plastic windmill, which rattles in the breeze.

I was ambling the around the grounds of the temple, trying to take a photo of a small shrine, when I heard a shriek and an accusing shout. Claire emerged from behind a tree claiming to have been the victim of a crow attack - she had been standing around, supposedly minding her own business (a likely story) when, after only the briefest of warning caws, she was dive-bombed. It transpired that she hadn't actually seen the offending creature, but we swiftly left the temple grounds after that, wishing to avoid an Omen type scenario.

That evening we wandered the neon soaked streets of Shinjuku and ate conveyor belt sushi. It was in Shinjuku that we first succumbed to the lure of the arcades - not the deafening packed pachinko parlours, but the places full of computer games and machines offering cutesy animals teetering invitingly on ledges or large stuffed pigs ready to be scooped up and dropped into the hands of the dextrous deserving. Here I developed a passion for the Taiko Drum Master, and bashed away to various songs including the Doraemon theme tune and YMCA, while behind me, Claire addictively continued her quest to pick up as many winsome trinkets as possible.

We started the following day at the Meiji shrine, a large shrine in the middle of extensive gardens dedicated to the Emperor Meiji, which like so much of Tokyo was destroyed in the Second World War - what's there now was built in the 1950s. Then we crossed the train tracks into Harijuku and wandered down Takeshita Dori, the Tokyo equivalent of Camden market, except with more French maid costumes for sale. We eventually found ourselves at the large Kiddyland toyshop. In the course of the day, at Kiddyland and then department store Tokyu Hands in Shibuya, I ill-advisedly spent thousands of yen on assorted off-the-wall Japanese toys and other quirky collectibles. Studio Ghibli phone fobs, weird Bandai figures and armoured bears now sit in my desk in Hong Kong. I have no idea what to do with them.

Shibuya was endlessly fascinating - hundreds of shops, restaurants, arcades, bars and clubs provide the backdrop for some of the best people watching in the world. Disorientated we veered up and down various streets, in and out of shops and past a television studio where an incomprehensible game show was being filmed. We poured more coins into arcade machines and then, as night fell, found ourselves at the Hachiko crossing, the centre of it all, surrounded by bright neon clad buildings and huge blaring LCD screens.

Then, armed with a list of recommendations in the Time Out Tokyo guidebook, we decided to seek out a love hotel, Tokyo's quintessentially Japanese short stay hotels. We ended up at P&A Plaza, one of the best known of these establishments. Shuffling coyly through the frosted automatic doors, we were confronted with a wall mounted electronic menu showing pictures of the various rooms available. It was around 9pm, but many of the rooms we already taken. We chose a room, and pressed various buttons, muddling through the Japanese prompts. Eventually the machine spat out a key card. In many respects the room was like a regular hotel room - bathroom, bed, sofa and television. But in others it was not - the porn menu on top of the TV, the "minibar" of sex toys, the swimming pool...Then again, not many regular hotels have a fish tank full of jelly fish in the lobby.

The following morning was our last in Tokyo. We had reserved tickets on the Shinkansen up to Sendai in order to visit a friend of ours who is a Sensei at the university there.

The trains in Japan never leave late and they never leave early. Apparently if the subway trains are delayed in the morning, the rail operator gives out apology slips for the Salarymen to show their bosses. The Sensei told us of an occasion when he saw the rail staff come onto the platform and bow to the passengers on a delayed Shinkansen in humble apology. Therefore we were conscious that we had to be queuing for the train in the one neat lanes painted on the platforms by 3:02pm.

We headed to Ueno park, and strolled around there, avoiding the crows and visiting the Toshogu Shrine, a beautiful old (17th century - it has withstood wars and earthquakes) Shinto shrine, the grounds of which are covered in large elegant stone lanterns.

Emerging into the quiet and attractive neighbourhood of Yanaka on the other side of the park we made our way to the peaceful cemetery before heading back to Asakusa for lunch in a Korean restaurant (where once again we cooked our own food - this time marbled beef on a grill in the table) and to pick up our bags. But as we made a beeline for the Shinkansen station at Ueno we passed an arcade. In unspoken agreement we headed in, the waiting Shinkansen suddenly losing its importance.

After feeding various machines (including the Drum Master) with cash we decided to give the Purikura booths a go. In our various visits to arcades around Tokyo, large portions of the places were dedicated to Purikura and they were always full of giggling schoolgirls. One arcade had a sign at the entrance to the Purikura section declaring that only women and couples were allowed into the area - no single men. It took us a while to work out how to use the things, which included figuring out that once the initial photos are taken you head into a second booth to mess around with the images - shove hearts all over them, or a cartoon pig's head for example. The end results were colourful, jolly and incomprehensible. Obviously I would post a picture of them here, but sadly I can't get a good enough image to put on Flickr. Shame. However some selected pictures can be found here.

91 - posted at 19:07:39
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