My blog seems to be a bit messed up at the moment. Since I got back to Iceland, I've had a mutiny of pictures on my hands. They upload just fine, but as soon as I'm not looking they bail, presumably to Bamako or the Caymans or somewhere more interesting than old Thule.
Since the pictures are half the blog, pretty much, I'll be taking a short break from posting the appendices, at least until I get an answer from Blogger on what may be causing the problem.
When and if this gets fixed, I shall of course trumpet it loudly from the rooftops. To make sure none of you escape from my carefully woven web of bloggage in the interim, I will now reveal, for the first time ever, the names of the appendices yet to come.
1. Kyoto (already published, but you haven't seen the pics yet, so it's only half the joy)
2. Osaka
3. The Little Weird Things: Of Japanese Tech & Society
4. Hideo Asano, Lonely Traveller
5. Engrish
Keep 'em peeled, boys and girls. And pray with me. Pray for the pictures.
Smoochies.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
All Good Things
Since I'm mostly done with all of the Tokyo stuff, and since there were pretty much no opportunities for me to sit down and write a blog during the Kyoto-Osaka trip, I'm going to tie up the blog at large now, do the Kyoto-Osaka trip when I get home, and then make a few appendix entries for some subjects that have aroused my interest during this trip.
Basically, then, this is goodbye. I'm sitting alone in the Hodecrib at the moment, watching the laundry on the balcony billow in the breeze. Behind it, towers like broken teeth rise from the cityscape, blinking their red and blue, the town humming along under their watchful gaze. During my time here, I've seen things you people wouldn't believe; attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion, C-beams glittering in the dusk near Tannhauser Gate... err, sorry, wrong movie.
Can't say I blame me, though. Cases in point:
This is an absolute marvel of a city. The technological convenience, the endless array of novelties, the number of people, the combination of linear efficiency and balls-out chaos, the sheer lunacy of this place. Just now as I write this, an ambulance is speeding through the Shinagawa dusk, sirens blaring, shouting a terse and continuous stream of warnings out of a loudspeaker on its roof. At the same time, somewhere else, a policeman is riding his bicycle, ringing his bell at pedestrians who don't see him coming. Vending machines whirr away, selling neck ties and AA batteries. Somewhere down there, in the fading twilight, the Shibuya potato man serenades a lonely street corner.
I am coming back one day. And when I do, I'm staying back.
A small montage for memory: the good, the great and the funny.
To all the beautiful people I've been lucky enough to meet on this strange and fantastic journey - Mark, Wayne, Rei, Kenny, Sina, Lorne, Shu, Neil, Chris, Reffik, Brian - I give much love and respect. I'll see you again some day.
Good night, Tokyo.
Basically, then, this is goodbye. I'm sitting alone in the Hodecrib at the moment, watching the laundry on the balcony billow in the breeze. Behind it, towers like broken teeth rise from the cityscape, blinking their red and blue, the town humming along under their watchful gaze. During my time here, I've seen things you people wouldn't believe; attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion, C-beams glittering in the dusk near Tannhauser Gate... err, sorry, wrong movie.
Can't say I blame me, though. Cases in point:
This is an absolute marvel of a city. The technological convenience, the endless array of novelties, the number of people, the combination of linear efficiency and balls-out chaos, the sheer lunacy of this place. Just now as I write this, an ambulance is speeding through the Shinagawa dusk, sirens blaring, shouting a terse and continuous stream of warnings out of a loudspeaker on its roof. At the same time, somewhere else, a policeman is riding his bicycle, ringing his bell at pedestrians who don't see him coming. Vending machines whirr away, selling neck ties and AA batteries. Somewhere down there, in the fading twilight, the Shibuya potato man serenades a lonely street corner.
I am coming back one day. And when I do, I'm staying back.
A small montage for memory: the good, the great and the funny.
To all the beautiful people I've been lucky enough to meet on this strange and fantastic journey - Mark, Wayne, Rei, Kenny, Sina, Lorne, Shu, Neil, Chris, Reffik, Brian - I give much love and respect. I'll see you again some day.
Good night, Tokyo.
Ninja
Wow, I seem to have built up quite a backlog of posts to work through. We just got back from our trip to Kyoto and Osaka, and so many things have happened that I'm still kind of reeling. I'll just start with Wednesday night and then finish up the Tokyo days, entry by entry. I'm thinking of saving Kyoto and Osaka for last, in an appendix.
Anyway, Wednesday was spent at home taking 'er easy, doing laundry, watching strange television and shooting the shiznit. This was a good thing, because it would take all our energy and wits to survive our encounter with THE NINJA.
Telling us nothing beyond that they were taking us to a really cool restaurant, Hanako and the Hodemonster loaded us into a train and shuttled us off to the Akasaka district, which borders Roppongi and is one of the fancy parts of town. After a short walk from the station, we turned sideways and nearly collided with a door so nondescript it would have been basically hidden from view, had it not been for the strangely illuminated logo next to it.
Stepping inside, we found ourselves in a tiny darkened chamber with no obvious exits, with a tall gentleman standing behind a maitre d' podium. Hanako had a brief conversation with him in Japanese. He nodded courteously, wrote something down, waited a few seconds for dramatic effect, then yelped something really loud and clapped his hands together twice. A shutter opened in the wall next to him and a small dark figure shot out, zoomed up next to us and said: "Hello! I am Yukiko. I will be your ninja. This way, prease."
She clapped her hands once and said "Nin!" loud enough to make my glasses fall off. This caused another shutter to open up. Yukiko led us through the twisting maze of darkened stone passageways that lay behind, past booby traps and over drawbridges, and soon enough we were at our table.
Being in the place was like being in a cross between the movie Kill Bill and the game Thief.
(I can't find an English version of the menu online, so I will use a Babelfish translation for the food names in this entry.)
Every dish we were given was in some way unique, served with a twist or a trick. Take, for example, the Crab and Grapefruit Horizontal Draw Sword Fog Hidden Technique:
One minute I'm sitting there innocently talking with Neil (a friend of the Hodemonster's who was with us at the restaurant), and the next thing I know there's a ninja inside the room right next to me totally flipping out and killing a grapefruit with a wakizashi. He turns the hilt towards me and tells me, in an urgent whisper, to pull it out; as I oblige, the grapefruit begins smoking from its wound. He opens it up and inside is what you see pictured above.
Next up was the Turban Shell Bomb Burning Escargot. A platter of turban shells was placed in front of us, with some sort of oil-and-salt fuse. The ninja in question then flipped out all over it, causing it to explode. Neil, despite being unequivocally the most Cyberpunk individual out of all of us (he lives in Neo Tokyo, is a freelancing codebreaker and security specialist who takes on assignments for global megacorporations, often involving things like social engineering, and he plays EVE), was nevertheless caught slightly unawares when it went off:
After this came some utterly marvelous sushi,
followed by probably my personal favorite of the evening, the Ahead Stomatitis Upper Hand Feather And Cashew Nuts Frying:
WARNING, said the ninja, DO NOT EAT THE RED PEPPERS UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES.
"Okay," I said.
WE ARE SERIOUS, said the ninja. VERY, VERY SERIOUS.
"Okay," I said.
Ten minutes later, after I'd regained enough of my eyesight to clean up the cough-blood (and enjoyed a bit of delicious cashew nut chicken), we were given this:
A very mysterious box indeed. The Hodemonster pulled the string, and we were greeted with this:
The Lost Testicle of Tupac Shakur.
Just kidding. It was the Egg Diagnosing of Secret Treasure Treasured Casket Fish Greens Jelly.
I have no idea how they did it. They somehow filled up an eggshell with a gelatinous glob of oddly spiced vegetable matter, which we were instructed to mix with the rice and other stuff on the plate next to it. The result was an incredibly strange flavor, like green onion-flavored jell-o with raspberry jam.
After this, a deceptively young ninja (who introduced himself as the grand ninja master) paid us a small visit and did some card tricks for us, including a horrifically scary one where he made an entire pack of cards turn into a solid translucent block of polished glass in my hand. It was bizarre.
Next up, another ninja arrived with an ingredient-filled tray. One of the ingredients was a large rock, which she of course totally flipped out on and threw into a pot. Thus was born, before our very eyes, the Specialty Ignition Throwing A Stone Pot Leaf Hidden Technique Salad.
It was delicious, not at all unlike Tom Ka Kai soup. That is to say, Tom Ka Kai soup that has been cooked in front of you. With a scathing rock. By an awesome ninja.
After this, those of us who were still feeling peckish ordered a little more raw fish. The Day Substituting Sashimi Aerial Floating Leaf Quantity (served on a pillar of ice) and the Union Change Sushi of Salmon and White Body arrived presently.
They tasted as delicious as everything else in the place.
Next up were the desserts. We ordered the "Frog looking cheese cake" and the "Bonsai looking cake with three kinds of ice cream."
The Hodemonster got something called The Blackness, which was maple mousse and sweetened black soybeans in cheese sauce, sprinkled with rock salt.
We spent the next twenty minutes in complete silence, each of us savoring our respective slices of heaven as completely as possible. What a meal. What a god damn meal.
As we'd said goodbye at the door and were turning around to hail a taxi, one of the ninjas jumped out behind us with a blood-curdling kiai and unrolled a Ninja scroll containing a mystical and arcane message, which I will now relay to you, even though I will be facing sure death at the hands of the ninja cabal if I am ever found out. I leave you with this gift. Guard it well.
Anyway, Wednesday was spent at home taking 'er easy, doing laundry, watching strange television and shooting the shiznit. This was a good thing, because it would take all our energy and wits to survive our encounter with THE NINJA.
Telling us nothing beyond that they were taking us to a really cool restaurant, Hanako and the Hodemonster loaded us into a train and shuttled us off to the Akasaka district, which borders Roppongi and is one of the fancy parts of town. After a short walk from the station, we turned sideways and nearly collided with a door so nondescript it would have been basically hidden from view, had it not been for the strangely illuminated logo next to it.
Stepping inside, we found ourselves in a tiny darkened chamber with no obvious exits, with a tall gentleman standing behind a maitre d' podium. Hanako had a brief conversation with him in Japanese. He nodded courteously, wrote something down, waited a few seconds for dramatic effect, then yelped something really loud and clapped his hands together twice. A shutter opened in the wall next to him and a small dark figure shot out, zoomed up next to us and said: "Hello! I am Yukiko. I will be your ninja. This way, prease."
She clapped her hands once and said "Nin!" loud enough to make my glasses fall off. This caused another shutter to open up. Yukiko led us through the twisting maze of darkened stone passageways that lay behind, past booby traps and over drawbridges, and soon enough we were at our table.
Being in the place was like being in a cross between the movie Kill Bill and the game Thief.
(I can't find an English version of the menu online, so I will use a Babelfish translation for the food names in this entry.)
Every dish we were given was in some way unique, served with a twist or a trick. Take, for example, the Crab and Grapefruit Horizontal Draw Sword Fog Hidden Technique:
One minute I'm sitting there innocently talking with Neil (a friend of the Hodemonster's who was with us at the restaurant), and the next thing I know there's a ninja inside the room right next to me totally flipping out and killing a grapefruit with a wakizashi. He turns the hilt towards me and tells me, in an urgent whisper, to pull it out; as I oblige, the grapefruit begins smoking from its wound. He opens it up and inside is what you see pictured above.
Next up was the Turban Shell Bomb Burning Escargot. A platter of turban shells was placed in front of us, with some sort of oil-and-salt fuse. The ninja in question then flipped out all over it, causing it to explode. Neil, despite being unequivocally the most Cyberpunk individual out of all of us (he lives in Neo Tokyo, is a freelancing codebreaker and security specialist who takes on assignments for global megacorporations, often involving things like social engineering, and he plays EVE), was nevertheless caught slightly unawares when it went off:
After this came some utterly marvelous sushi,
followed by probably my personal favorite of the evening, the Ahead Stomatitis Upper Hand Feather And Cashew Nuts Frying:
WARNING, said the ninja, DO NOT EAT THE RED PEPPERS UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES.
"Okay," I said.
WE ARE SERIOUS, said the ninja. VERY, VERY SERIOUS.
"Okay," I said.
Ten minutes later, after I'd regained enough of my eyesight to clean up the cough-blood (and enjoyed a bit of delicious cashew nut chicken), we were given this:
A very mysterious box indeed. The Hodemonster pulled the string, and we were greeted with this:
The Lost Testicle of Tupac Shakur.
Just kidding. It was the Egg Diagnosing of Secret Treasure Treasured Casket Fish Greens Jelly.
I have no idea how they did it. They somehow filled up an eggshell with a gelatinous glob of oddly spiced vegetable matter, which we were instructed to mix with the rice and other stuff on the plate next to it. The result was an incredibly strange flavor, like green onion-flavored jell-o with raspberry jam.
After this, a deceptively young ninja (who introduced himself as the grand ninja master) paid us a small visit and did some card tricks for us, including a horrifically scary one where he made an entire pack of cards turn into a solid translucent block of polished glass in my hand. It was bizarre.
Next up, another ninja arrived with an ingredient-filled tray. One of the ingredients was a large rock, which she of course totally flipped out on and threw into a pot. Thus was born, before our very eyes, the Specialty Ignition Throwing A Stone Pot Leaf Hidden Technique Salad.
It was delicious, not at all unlike Tom Ka Kai soup. That is to say, Tom Ka Kai soup that has been cooked in front of you. With a scathing rock. By an awesome ninja.
After this, those of us who were still feeling peckish ordered a little more raw fish. The Day Substituting Sashimi Aerial Floating Leaf Quantity (served on a pillar of ice) and the Union Change Sushi of Salmon and White Body arrived presently.
They tasted as delicious as everything else in the place.
Next up were the desserts. We ordered the "Frog looking cheese cake" and the "Bonsai looking cake with three kinds of ice cream."
The Hodemonster got something called The Blackness, which was maple mousse and sweetened black soybeans in cheese sauce, sprinkled with rock salt.
We spent the next twenty minutes in complete silence, each of us savoring our respective slices of heaven as completely as possible. What a meal. What a god damn meal.
As we'd said goodbye at the door and were turning around to hail a taxi, one of the ninjas jumped out behind us with a blood-curdling kiai and unrolled a Ninja scroll containing a mystical and arcane message, which I will now relay to you, even though I will be facing sure death at the hands of the ninja cabal if I am ever found out. I leave you with this gift. Guard it well.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
An Izu Excursion
On Tuesday morning, the Hodemonster family (along with us, the honorary members) rented a car and headed southwest of Tokyo, down to a cute little town called Izu, which, despite what you might think, is located on the Izu Peninsula.
After a roughly two-hour drive, we arrived at our destination. It looked pretty much exactly like I expected a Japanese seaside town to look.
Hanako headed into a nearby restroom with Galactic Overlord Hodemonster V for his daily feeding (which consists partly of breast milk, partly of the innocence of newborn puppies), while Krust, Hodezor and I headed into the nearest local convenience store, where a pretty young girl with the most shockingly blackened teeth I've ever seen in my life sold us some of the local brew. Among the selection on offer was this:
Beer brewed with cherry blossoms.
You know, I'm not sure why all this stuff still surprises me. Somebody could come up to me and go "Hey, did you know that when the original Space Invaders came out in the arcades, the country was so swept up in the craze that the entire island's supply of 100-yen coins got used up and the national mint had to triple their production in response?!" and I'd be all, "Wow, that's amazing!"
Or someone could go, "Hey, did you know that a while ago there was a Bulgarian sumo wrestler competing in the national tournament who beat the reigning champion, which prompted the advertising agencies to use him as their poster boy for Bulgarian yoghurt, making Japan the only nation in the world that buys more Bulgarian yoghurt than Bulgaria?!" and I'd be like "Get outta here, man!"
Yeah.
As an aside:
I am definitely moving to this country.
So. After Hodemonster the Younger had had his fill, we headed to a kaiten sushi restaurant situated right across the street from the convenience store. It had some beautiful traditional furnishings and a lovely view of the Pacific Ocean.
The sushi was absolutely exquisite. I now see the difference between okay sushi and good sushi. The first place we went to was merely okay; this place was, to put it lightly, DA BOMB ASS MOTHERFUCKING DIGGITY.
Note how intently Hodemonster V is studying the food. Mark my words: years from now, when the mind control ray is activated and the dropships descend from the sky, you can bet your ass it's gonna have something to do with sushi.
One lip-smacking meal later we headed down to Jogasaki Coast, where an unusually penile lighthouse towered over vast tracts of incredible natural beauty.
Just as I was preparing to take the photograph of all photographs, the most beautiful slice of nature photography ever pixel-rushed onto digital form by a human eye, my camera, with a schadenfreudian whirr and an obnoxiously laconic "BATTERY EMPTY" message, gave up the ghost. Words will therefore have to try and do the sight justice. Here goes:
It was really cool. No, seriously. REALLY, REALLY cool.
I hope you get the picture.
After bounding around Jogasaki coast for a while, getting awful scared on an awful big bridge, ruining our shoes on some sharp rocks and generally having lots of Japanese people stare at us more than they stared at the scenery (which, in all fairness, might have had something to do with Hodemonster V, who possesses an hypnotic power over mortals which automatically forces them to hover around him making arcane faces that look like this ^_^ and perform mystical chants that sound something like: "AAAAA KAWAAAIIIIII"), we headed back to the car. Next up: onsen.
Onsen are Japanese hot spring bath houses. They're really something else. The place we went to was more than just an onsen, really; it was pretty much a full-blown spa, offering just about anything you could possibly want to refresh and relax yourself.
It began, as many things do, with a shower. For anyone who's been in a shower in, say, a swimming pool in Iceland, this particular shower would be something of a surprise. None of this standing around in a big brightly-lit area and trying your luck with shower spouts that are either hot enough to boil ice cream or cold enough to freeze fire, coaxing horror-movie green goop out of a hostile-looking plastic box on the wall in ritual preparation for a chlorine-ridden swim through some thirteen-year-old prankster's bodily fluids.* No no.
Here, you have booths. Partitions between each shower. Each booth has a removable shower head and multiple places to fasten it. There are four different soap containers - shampoo, conditioner, body shampoo and face wash - and there's a seat. Everybody sits down while they're washing up. It's entirely conceivable that this was the best damn shower I've ever had in my life. I don't know whether to be happy or sad about that.
After this, we sat down in rock-ringed outdoor hot spring waters (pumped up to the third floor of the building, into an outdoors area with absolutely no barriers between the bathers and the ground below) and enjoyed a breathtaking view of the surrounding bay. Sitting there, with nothing but a sheer drop between you and the Pacific, the majesty of the environment filling your heart to the brim, there is only one thing you can think:
"God damn, there's a lot of totally naked dudes all around me."
Okay, that's second. The first thing I thought was "I could collapse from a massive coronary right now, and I'd be content in the knowledge that at least I'd die in paradise."
After an hour spent jumping between different tubs, including a soul-nourishing stint in the blue olive-smelling water of a small tub (which kind of felt like the Blue Lagoon without all the German tourists), we headed down to the first floor to grab some food. I forget the names of what people had, but since the food pictures are always popular I did of course take pains to oblige:
(Hanako's food is not pictured; she wasn't there when we got our food [Hodemonster The Younger needed feeding at the time] and, having put the camera away, I completely forgot to ask her about it when she got back. Sorry, Hana-chan.)
After a meal which was, by all accounts, delicious (with the notable exception of the Japanese egg pudding, a concoction I am certain would be capable of murdering my soul, were I to ever eat more than two spoons of it without throwing up), we headed back out to the car and began the long drive home. Before we left, I snapped a few shots through the window of the onsen cafeteria. I beg pardon for the spots, but this is the closest approximation I can give of the view from the third-floor spring itself.
Two and a half hours later, we were home. A chilled-out evening ensued, wherein the Hodezor's card-gaming friends showed up and commenced collaborative preparations for this weekend's tournament. Yours truly, exhausted from hours of sitting in a car and playing Everybody's Golf on the PSP, conked out early.
Next up: a trip to Arguably The Coolest Restaurant In The World. Stay tuned, lords and ladies. Love and peace.
*It must, at this point, be noted that my perception of Icelandic swimming pools is in all ways healthy and natural, and that I have no idea what you're talking about.
After a roughly two-hour drive, we arrived at our destination. It looked pretty much exactly like I expected a Japanese seaside town to look.
Hanako headed into a nearby restroom with Galactic Overlord Hodemonster V for his daily feeding (which consists partly of breast milk, partly of the innocence of newborn puppies), while Krust, Hodezor and I headed into the nearest local convenience store, where a pretty young girl with the most shockingly blackened teeth I've ever seen in my life sold us some of the local brew. Among the selection on offer was this:
Beer brewed with cherry blossoms.
You know, I'm not sure why all this stuff still surprises me. Somebody could come up to me and go "Hey, did you know that when the original Space Invaders came out in the arcades, the country was so swept up in the craze that the entire island's supply of 100-yen coins got used up and the national mint had to triple their production in response?!" and I'd be all, "Wow, that's amazing!"
Or someone could go, "Hey, did you know that a while ago there was a Bulgarian sumo wrestler competing in the national tournament who beat the reigning champion, which prompted the advertising agencies to use him as their poster boy for Bulgarian yoghurt, making Japan the only nation in the world that buys more Bulgarian yoghurt than Bulgaria?!" and I'd be like "Get outta here, man!"
Yeah.
As an aside:
I am definitely moving to this country.
So. After Hodemonster the Younger had had his fill, we headed to a kaiten sushi restaurant situated right across the street from the convenience store. It had some beautiful traditional furnishings and a lovely view of the Pacific Ocean.
The sushi was absolutely exquisite. I now see the difference between okay sushi and good sushi. The first place we went to was merely okay; this place was, to put it lightly, DA BOMB ASS MOTHERFUCKING DIGGITY.
Note how intently Hodemonster V is studying the food. Mark my words: years from now, when the mind control ray is activated and the dropships descend from the sky, you can bet your ass it's gonna have something to do with sushi.
One lip-smacking meal later we headed down to Jogasaki Coast, where an unusually penile lighthouse towered over vast tracts of incredible natural beauty.
Just as I was preparing to take the photograph of all photographs, the most beautiful slice of nature photography ever pixel-rushed onto digital form by a human eye, my camera, with a schadenfreudian whirr and an obnoxiously laconic "BATTERY EMPTY" message, gave up the ghost. Words will therefore have to try and do the sight justice. Here goes:
It was really cool. No, seriously. REALLY, REALLY cool.
I hope you get the picture.
After bounding around Jogasaki coast for a while, getting awful scared on an awful big bridge, ruining our shoes on some sharp rocks and generally having lots of Japanese people stare at us more than they stared at the scenery (which, in all fairness, might have had something to do with Hodemonster V, who possesses an hypnotic power over mortals which automatically forces them to hover around him making arcane faces that look like this ^_^ and perform mystical chants that sound something like: "AAAAA KAWAAAIIIIII"), we headed back to the car. Next up: onsen.
Onsen are Japanese hot spring bath houses. They're really something else. The place we went to was more than just an onsen, really; it was pretty much a full-blown spa, offering just about anything you could possibly want to refresh and relax yourself.
It began, as many things do, with a shower. For anyone who's been in a shower in, say, a swimming pool in Iceland, this particular shower would be something of a surprise. None of this standing around in a big brightly-lit area and trying your luck with shower spouts that are either hot enough to boil ice cream or cold enough to freeze fire, coaxing horror-movie green goop out of a hostile-looking plastic box on the wall in ritual preparation for a chlorine-ridden swim through some thirteen-year-old prankster's bodily fluids.* No no.
Here, you have booths. Partitions between each shower. Each booth has a removable shower head and multiple places to fasten it. There are four different soap containers - shampoo, conditioner, body shampoo and face wash - and there's a seat. Everybody sits down while they're washing up. It's entirely conceivable that this was the best damn shower I've ever had in my life. I don't know whether to be happy or sad about that.
After this, we sat down in rock-ringed outdoor hot spring waters (pumped up to the third floor of the building, into an outdoors area with absolutely no barriers between the bathers and the ground below) and enjoyed a breathtaking view of the surrounding bay. Sitting there, with nothing but a sheer drop between you and the Pacific, the majesty of the environment filling your heart to the brim, there is only one thing you can think:
"God damn, there's a lot of totally naked dudes all around me."
Okay, that's second. The first thing I thought was "I could collapse from a massive coronary right now, and I'd be content in the knowledge that at least I'd die in paradise."
After an hour spent jumping between different tubs, including a soul-nourishing stint in the blue olive-smelling water of a small tub (which kind of felt like the Blue Lagoon without all the German tourists), we headed down to the first floor to grab some food. I forget the names of what people had, but since the food pictures are always popular I did of course take pains to oblige:
(Hanako's food is not pictured; she wasn't there when we got our food [Hodemonster The Younger needed feeding at the time] and, having put the camera away, I completely forgot to ask her about it when she got back. Sorry, Hana-chan.)
After a meal which was, by all accounts, delicious (with the notable exception of the Japanese egg pudding, a concoction I am certain would be capable of murdering my soul, were I to ever eat more than two spoons of it without throwing up), we headed back out to the car and began the long drive home. Before we left, I snapped a few shots through the window of the onsen cafeteria. I beg pardon for the spots, but this is the closest approximation I can give of the view from the third-floor spring itself.
Two and a half hours later, we were home. A chilled-out evening ensued, wherein the Hodezor's card-gaming friends showed up and commenced collaborative preparations for this weekend's tournament. Yours truly, exhausted from hours of sitting in a car and playing Everybody's Golf on the PSP, conked out early.
Next up: a trip to Arguably The Coolest Restaurant In The World. Stay tuned, lords and ladies. Love and peace.
*It must, at this point, be noted that my perception of Icelandic swimming pools is in all ways healthy and natural, and that I have no idea what you're talking about.
Monday, March 12, 2007
The Weekend Starts Here
Wow, lots of days to cover. Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday. We'll do them one by one. That makes sense to me.
Friday
After rendezvousing with our Icelandic friend Eyvi (who lives in Tokyo also), we headed out to the district where the Hodemonster's school, Waseda University, is located. The Hode wanted to take us to one of his favorite ramen joints, renowned for offering some of the spiciest god damn noodles to be found in Tokyo. It was a cozy little wood-furnished corner place, the kind of restaurant where you feel right at home from the moment you walk in. There was even a tiny Manga library by the entrance.
We were given this:
Tsukemen-style ramen, is what it was called. Tsukemen differs slightly from traditional-style ramen in that the soup and the noodles come in separate dishes, and the idea is to grab a bundle of noodles and douse them in the soup, then suck 'em up. It was, in a word, exquisite. The soup was nice and spicy as hell and the noodles were just right, and I actually managed to not commit any chopstick-related crimes against humanity. I guess I'm learning.
After this, we took a walk through the Waseda campus. It was much like your average college campus (full of awfully symmetrical plazas, beige buildings and the odd statue). We went into one of the taller buildings there, where I snapped some vista shots of the neighborhood.
After that, we headed out to the main street of Takadanobaba ('Baba' for short), where Hodezor felt compelled to inflict upon us this horrid travesty of a snack:
It's called dango. It's basically a few compressed balls of rice flour on a stick, covered in some form of sickly sweet sugar sauce. As with so many of the snacks I've had here, the first bite was okay. The second bite, however, mixed with the aftertaste of the first, was waaay too much. I was ready to hurl my liver, my lungs and my pancreas. I looked over at Krust, and this was his expression:
The actual picture itself is taken on a different occasion but I assure you, this was exactly what he looked like just then. We ended up giving our rice balls to Hodezor, who gobbled them up with what can only be described as frightening enthusiasm.
After browsing through a number of shops where we found clothes, souvenirs and gifts for the people back home, we picked up some groceries at the local Tokyu store and then landed back at the pad. We had an absolutely delicious taco feast (using a special kind of japanese beef, the name of which eludes me at the moment), and then headed out, to finally experience karaoke as it is supposed to be experienced.
At this point I must declare that I have never been a big fan of the whole karaoke thing, at least not the way it's done back home. I don't know about the rest of the West, but in Iceland karaoke is something you do at karaoke bars, on a stage in front of a whole bunch of people you don't even know. It's always seemed to me like something that's only done by really really drunk people, out to show how ruthlessly self-conscious they're not (because they're, like, really really drunk and stuff).
In Japan, Karaoke is something you do with a select group of friends in a small room. You're not out to prove any single thing, you're not out to show yourself off; you're just there to get the fuck on down with your friends. And there's free beer for the duration of your stay in the booth.
Icelanders + free beer = calamity.
Needless to say, we had an absolute blast.
I now understand what the whole karaoke thing is really about. Us westerners, as is our wont, have completely missed the point.
After this bout of shackle-throwing fun, we headed back to the crib for rest and recuperation. We had a big
Saturday
ahead of us, after all.
Krust had a bit of schoolwork to do, so he opted to stay home while the Hodemonster and I headed out to Akihabara, the major nerd shop and electronics district of Tokyo. It was quite amazing; establishments, small and large, selling everything from second-hand circuit boards, through complete sets of Japanese trading card games, to the latest in cutting-edge electronics. It was kind of like if you'd mix Shibuya with Shinjuku, and then replace the decadence with a sort of sweaty nerdness. I absolutely loved it.
A funny thing is happening in this neighborhood. I don't know if it's particularly weird by Japanese standards, but it's definitely bizarre enough to easily fit into any of the "Oh, those kooky Japanese!" stories that constantly float around on the intarwebs. Basically, the latest craze in Akihabara is something called a Maid Café, which is - yes, you guessed it - a café where all the waitresses are dressed in french maid outfits.
Feeling we had to get some first-hand experience with this particular form of insanity, the Hode and I made our way to one of these coffeeshops. We were shown into a room that was vaguely modeled after a classroom, with rows of seats all facing forward towards a big blackboard, underneath which was the main cash register.
After deciding what we would like to order, we sat there for fifteen minutes with a closed menu in front of us, basking in the warmth of complete indifference from every single one of the SEVENTEEN THOUSAND waitresses in the place. It wasn't until I got out my camera and started snapping pictures that one of the waitresses glid over to us, arms waving.
"No no no no no no no no no!" she said, panicky, like I'd been pissing on the blackboard or something.
"¿Que?" I said, innocently, snapping pictures the whole time.
"No picture!" she said, wagging her finger at me.
"Oh," I said. "Well, then, can you take our order, perha..."
She said something in Japanese, smiled politely, opened our closed menu back up, pointed to it in a vague manner that somehow managed to communicate the words "fuck off," and walked away.
Turns out these places have strict rules against customers photographing the girls. Why? Well, they have special customer cards, and they work like this: the more points you amass through buying overpriced coffee or soft drinks or food at these places, the closer you come to your goal: at 1000 points (which represents God knows how many meals), you are actually allowed to take pictures of the waitresses.
Anyway, we know how to take a hint. Eventually. So we went to this place instead:
A kebab stand, right down the street from that ridiculous excuse for a café. This place gave me one of the most absolutely god damn delicious pieces of fast food I have ever tasted in my life.
Kebabs in Iceland are a complete joke compared to this. This stuff had actual flavor, and plenty of it. Definitely coming back to this neigborhood, if only to have a kebab.
Before we left, the Hode snapped a picture of me in front of a particularly typical portion of Akihabara. It turned out to be a minor masterpiece of photography, and strangely emblematic of the whole trip. We've decided to call it "Gauti in Tokyo," because that, in a nutshell, is what it represents.
As we sped through the bowels of the city on our way back home, the Hodemonster spun his intricate social web through his telephone. Our plan for the night had been to go to Womb (the club from last weekend) to see Layo & Bushwacka tear the roof off the sucker, but there was nothing nailed down for the first part of the evening. By the time we got home, due to Hodezor's masterful people-wrangling, it had been established that we would meet up with some guys for some karaoke before heading out to the club.
We met up with Mark, along with fellow cool cats Tatsuro, Yohei and Yu, at a Shibuya karaoke joint owned by one of Mark's acquaintances. After a good deal of beer and some extremely hip-hop centric karaoke (just the way I like it; I got to rip up some Beastie Boys and Fugees shit), we headed out to Womb.
There is no adequate way for me to describe what a good night this was. I've had some tremendous clubbing nights in my time, but there is nothing that quite comes close. There was pretty much no downside to the entire evening. The music was absolutely massive on all floors; the people were friendly and outgoing; the alcohol was abundant and inexpensive; everything was basically perfect. After the club closed, a bunch of us headed out to an after-hours club called the Ruby Room (basically an afterparty with a bar), where I made the acquaintance of some extraordinary people, including a petite humorist who may be the single prettiest human being I have ever laid eyes on. I swear, the arguments for my moving to Tokyo just keep piling up.
After an absolute stunner of a night, we taxied home and glid into dreamland.
Sunday
Hodezor had promised us since we got here that we would get to go to Harajuku, the district where all the cosplay people hang out. It had to be on a Sunday, though, because that's when all these guys and gals come out to play.
This being a Sunday, we decided that we'd head out there and try our luck. The weather forecast had been fairly bad, though, so we were warned not to expect much. Indeed, when we got there, it was a wasteland. The Hodemonster remarked that this was the worst turnout he had ever seen.
We walked through the park, encountering a few rogue performers along the way; foremost among them, the Nunchuk Guy and the Old Man on the Drum.
Heading back towards the station, having given up any hope of seeing cosplayers, we were suddenly struck by the unmistakable sound of 50s rockabilly. Veering towards the sound, we were greeted by this delightful troupe of madmen:
They were so madly up for it, so perfectly devoid of self-consciousness, that they made me want to dive right in and join them. I was seriously contemplating it for a while there.
And then, just as I thought things couldn't get any weirder, lo and behold! Like a ray of warped sunshine, the cosplayers showed up en masse. And, of course, started dancing along.
This marked the beginning of a small influx of cosplayers to Harajuku. I guess they realized the weather wasn't that bad, despite the forecast, so they decided to come out. I was happy for that fact, because it meant I was able to get some authentic shots of this rare and beautiful breed.
I also at this point had an encounter with one of the more interesting characters I've had the privilege of meeting in recent memory, but I've decided to give him his own entry later and thus I won't say more here.
We enjoyed a crêpe meal at a french café, then headed on home for a nice evening of television-watching, book-reading and general relaxation.
Monday
Krust, the Hodemonster and I headed out to Nakano Broadway. Seriously, you can't call Akihabara a true nerd place once you've been to Nakano Broadway. It's a 4-floor shopping arcade, and it's packed to the gills with action figures, toys, memorabilia and comics. I swear, I have never seen so many glass cabinets in my life.
Every single floor, packed with memorabilia and collectibles and comics. I don't know whether I'm growing out of the nerd phase or just plain ol' growing old, but I found myself wondering at several points, "Who actually needs all this junk?"
I mean, take a look at this:
One hundred and fifty-seven thousand five hundred yen, for a near-microscopic, bug-eyed action figure older than me and you combined (and probably possessing quite a bit fewer conversational skills). That's ninety thousand Icelandic krónur; roughly thirteen hundred US dollars. For something that sits on your mantle and does... what? Look bug-eyed?
I just don't understand.
After a day spent in amazement at the variety of things human beings are able to assign meaning to (it wasn't our meaning, you see, so of course it was just plain weird), we headed to the Korean quarter, to partake of delicious Thai food at a place the Hodezor has recommended to us on a number of occasions. We were served satay pork skewers, cashew nut chicken and a spicy southern Thai curry in an extremely pleasant environment, marked by the kind of heartfelt, down-home friendliness you somehow only ever encounter at Thai restaurants.
It was perfectly delicious. The Satay sauce was exquisite, all the ingredients were fresh as could be, and the curry was nicely spicy. It wasn't Ban Thai, of course (nothing in this world beats Ban Thai), but it was an excellent Thai meal at an affordable price. Lovely mood and good service.
Following this, we dove deep into the heart of the Korean quarter for some Korean pancakes. Nothing could have prepared me for the flavor bomb that is the Korean pancake. Jesus.
It's basically a pancake filled with your choice of honey, japanese beans (vaguely cocoa bean-like), or cheese. We tried both the honey and bean varieties, and I'm happy to report that they were the absolute best pancakes I have ever had in my life. We literally battled over the last bite on the way back to the train.
That's about it. I've spent the past three hours constructing this entry and I'm quite a bit tired, so I beg your forgiveness for the lack of eloquent closing words.
Tomorrow, we're grabbing a rental car and heading out to Yokohama and some other outlying areas of Tokyo. Expect a full report in due time.
Much love, as always.
Friday
After rendezvousing with our Icelandic friend Eyvi (who lives in Tokyo also), we headed out to the district where the Hodemonster's school, Waseda University, is located. The Hode wanted to take us to one of his favorite ramen joints, renowned for offering some of the spiciest god damn noodles to be found in Tokyo. It was a cozy little wood-furnished corner place, the kind of restaurant where you feel right at home from the moment you walk in. There was even a tiny Manga library by the entrance.
We were given this:
Tsukemen-style ramen, is what it was called. Tsukemen differs slightly from traditional-style ramen in that the soup and the noodles come in separate dishes, and the idea is to grab a bundle of noodles and douse them in the soup, then suck 'em up. It was, in a word, exquisite. The soup was nice and spicy as hell and the noodles were just right, and I actually managed to not commit any chopstick-related crimes against humanity. I guess I'm learning.
After this, we took a walk through the Waseda campus. It was much like your average college campus (full of awfully symmetrical plazas, beige buildings and the odd statue). We went into one of the taller buildings there, where I snapped some vista shots of the neighborhood.
After that, we headed out to the main street of Takadanobaba ('Baba' for short), where Hodezor felt compelled to inflict upon us this horrid travesty of a snack:
It's called dango. It's basically a few compressed balls of rice flour on a stick, covered in some form of sickly sweet sugar sauce. As with so many of the snacks I've had here, the first bite was okay. The second bite, however, mixed with the aftertaste of the first, was waaay too much. I was ready to hurl my liver, my lungs and my pancreas. I looked over at Krust, and this was his expression:
The actual picture itself is taken on a different occasion but I assure you, this was exactly what he looked like just then. We ended up giving our rice balls to Hodezor, who gobbled them up with what can only be described as frightening enthusiasm.
After browsing through a number of shops where we found clothes, souvenirs and gifts for the people back home, we picked up some groceries at the local Tokyu store and then landed back at the pad. We had an absolutely delicious taco feast (using a special kind of japanese beef, the name of which eludes me at the moment), and then headed out, to finally experience karaoke as it is supposed to be experienced.
At this point I must declare that I have never been a big fan of the whole karaoke thing, at least not the way it's done back home. I don't know about the rest of the West, but in Iceland karaoke is something you do at karaoke bars, on a stage in front of a whole bunch of people you don't even know. It's always seemed to me like something that's only done by really really drunk people, out to show how ruthlessly self-conscious they're not (because they're, like, really really drunk and stuff).
In Japan, Karaoke is something you do with a select group of friends in a small room. You're not out to prove any single thing, you're not out to show yourself off; you're just there to get the fuck on down with your friends. And there's free beer for the duration of your stay in the booth.
Icelanders + free beer = calamity.
Needless to say, we had an absolute blast.
I now understand what the whole karaoke thing is really about. Us westerners, as is our wont, have completely missed the point.
After this bout of shackle-throwing fun, we headed back to the crib for rest and recuperation. We had a big
Saturday
ahead of us, after all.
Krust had a bit of schoolwork to do, so he opted to stay home while the Hodemonster and I headed out to Akihabara, the major nerd shop and electronics district of Tokyo. It was quite amazing; establishments, small and large, selling everything from second-hand circuit boards, through complete sets of Japanese trading card games, to the latest in cutting-edge electronics. It was kind of like if you'd mix Shibuya with Shinjuku, and then replace the decadence with a sort of sweaty nerdness. I absolutely loved it.
A funny thing is happening in this neighborhood. I don't know if it's particularly weird by Japanese standards, but it's definitely bizarre enough to easily fit into any of the "Oh, those kooky Japanese!" stories that constantly float around on the intarwebs. Basically, the latest craze in Akihabara is something called a Maid Café, which is - yes, you guessed it - a café where all the waitresses are dressed in french maid outfits.
Feeling we had to get some first-hand experience with this particular form of insanity, the Hode and I made our way to one of these coffeeshops. We were shown into a room that was vaguely modeled after a classroom, with rows of seats all facing forward towards a big blackboard, underneath which was the main cash register.
After deciding what we would like to order, we sat there for fifteen minutes with a closed menu in front of us, basking in the warmth of complete indifference from every single one of the SEVENTEEN THOUSAND waitresses in the place. It wasn't until I got out my camera and started snapping pictures that one of the waitresses glid over to us, arms waving.
"No no no no no no no no no!" she said, panicky, like I'd been pissing on the blackboard or something.
"¿Que?" I said, innocently, snapping pictures the whole time.
"No picture!" she said, wagging her finger at me.
"Oh," I said. "Well, then, can you take our order, perha..."
She said something in Japanese, smiled politely, opened our closed menu back up, pointed to it in a vague manner that somehow managed to communicate the words "fuck off," and walked away.
Turns out these places have strict rules against customers photographing the girls. Why? Well, they have special customer cards, and they work like this: the more points you amass through buying overpriced coffee or soft drinks or food at these places, the closer you come to your goal: at 1000 points (which represents God knows how many meals), you are actually allowed to take pictures of the waitresses.
Anyway, we know how to take a hint. Eventually. So we went to this place instead:
A kebab stand, right down the street from that ridiculous excuse for a café. This place gave me one of the most absolutely god damn delicious pieces of fast food I have ever tasted in my life.
Kebabs in Iceland are a complete joke compared to this. This stuff had actual flavor, and plenty of it. Definitely coming back to this neigborhood, if only to have a kebab.
Before we left, the Hode snapped a picture of me in front of a particularly typical portion of Akihabara. It turned out to be a minor masterpiece of photography, and strangely emblematic of the whole trip. We've decided to call it "Gauti in Tokyo," because that, in a nutshell, is what it represents.
As we sped through the bowels of the city on our way back home, the Hodemonster spun his intricate social web through his telephone. Our plan for the night had been to go to Womb (the club from last weekend) to see Layo & Bushwacka tear the roof off the sucker, but there was nothing nailed down for the first part of the evening. By the time we got home, due to Hodezor's masterful people-wrangling, it had been established that we would meet up with some guys for some karaoke before heading out to the club.
We met up with Mark, along with fellow cool cats Tatsuro, Yohei and Yu, at a Shibuya karaoke joint owned by one of Mark's acquaintances. After a good deal of beer and some extremely hip-hop centric karaoke (just the way I like it; I got to rip up some Beastie Boys and Fugees shit), we headed out to Womb.
There is no adequate way for me to describe what a good night this was. I've had some tremendous clubbing nights in my time, but there is nothing that quite comes close. There was pretty much no downside to the entire evening. The music was absolutely massive on all floors; the people were friendly and outgoing; the alcohol was abundant and inexpensive; everything was basically perfect. After the club closed, a bunch of us headed out to an after-hours club called the Ruby Room (basically an afterparty with a bar), where I made the acquaintance of some extraordinary people, including a petite humorist who may be the single prettiest human being I have ever laid eyes on. I swear, the arguments for my moving to Tokyo just keep piling up.
After an absolute stunner of a night, we taxied home and glid into dreamland.
Sunday
Hodezor had promised us since we got here that we would get to go to Harajuku, the district where all the cosplay people hang out. It had to be on a Sunday, though, because that's when all these guys and gals come out to play.
This being a Sunday, we decided that we'd head out there and try our luck. The weather forecast had been fairly bad, though, so we were warned not to expect much. Indeed, when we got there, it was a wasteland. The Hodemonster remarked that this was the worst turnout he had ever seen.
We walked through the park, encountering a few rogue performers along the way; foremost among them, the Nunchuk Guy and the Old Man on the Drum.
Heading back towards the station, having given up any hope of seeing cosplayers, we were suddenly struck by the unmistakable sound of 50s rockabilly. Veering towards the sound, we were greeted by this delightful troupe of madmen:
They were so madly up for it, so perfectly devoid of self-consciousness, that they made me want to dive right in and join them. I was seriously contemplating it for a while there.
And then, just as I thought things couldn't get any weirder, lo and behold! Like a ray of warped sunshine, the cosplayers showed up en masse. And, of course, started dancing along.
This marked the beginning of a small influx of cosplayers to Harajuku. I guess they realized the weather wasn't that bad, despite the forecast, so they decided to come out. I was happy for that fact, because it meant I was able to get some authentic shots of this rare and beautiful breed.
I also at this point had an encounter with one of the more interesting characters I've had the privilege of meeting in recent memory, but I've decided to give him his own entry later and thus I won't say more here.
We enjoyed a crêpe meal at a french café, then headed on home for a nice evening of television-watching, book-reading and general relaxation.
Monday
Krust, the Hodemonster and I headed out to Nakano Broadway. Seriously, you can't call Akihabara a true nerd place once you've been to Nakano Broadway. It's a 4-floor shopping arcade, and it's packed to the gills with action figures, toys, memorabilia and comics. I swear, I have never seen so many glass cabinets in my life.
Every single floor, packed with memorabilia and collectibles and comics. I don't know whether I'm growing out of the nerd phase or just plain ol' growing old, but I found myself wondering at several points, "Who actually needs all this junk?"
I mean, take a look at this:
One hundred and fifty-seven thousand five hundred yen, for a near-microscopic, bug-eyed action figure older than me and you combined (and probably possessing quite a bit fewer conversational skills). That's ninety thousand Icelandic krónur; roughly thirteen hundred US dollars. For something that sits on your mantle and does... what? Look bug-eyed?
I just don't understand.
After a day spent in amazement at the variety of things human beings are able to assign meaning to (it wasn't our meaning, you see, so of course it was just plain weird), we headed to the Korean quarter, to partake of delicious Thai food at a place the Hodezor has recommended to us on a number of occasions. We were served satay pork skewers, cashew nut chicken and a spicy southern Thai curry in an extremely pleasant environment, marked by the kind of heartfelt, down-home friendliness you somehow only ever encounter at Thai restaurants.
It was perfectly delicious. The Satay sauce was exquisite, all the ingredients were fresh as could be, and the curry was nicely spicy. It wasn't Ban Thai, of course (nothing in this world beats Ban Thai), but it was an excellent Thai meal at an affordable price. Lovely mood and good service.
Following this, we dove deep into the heart of the Korean quarter for some Korean pancakes. Nothing could have prepared me for the flavor bomb that is the Korean pancake. Jesus.
It's basically a pancake filled with your choice of honey, japanese beans (vaguely cocoa bean-like), or cheese. We tried both the honey and bean varieties, and I'm happy to report that they were the absolute best pancakes I have ever had in my life. We literally battled over the last bite on the way back to the train.
That's about it. I've spent the past three hours constructing this entry and I'm quite a bit tired, so I beg your forgiveness for the lack of eloquent closing words.
Tomorrow, we're grabbing a rental car and heading out to Yokohama and some other outlying areas of Tokyo. Expect a full report in due time.
Much love, as always.
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