As I set off this morning I was feeling quite jaunty, thinking that the metro now held no fear for me. But it's a more complex animal than I'd realised. The exits are myriad, sometimes clustered into "gates". Most stations need detailed maps - there's up to a kilometre of passageways between different metro lines at the same station. Many are shopping malls, and it starts to feel as though you are in a parallel subterranean universe.
I started my day in one such mall, with an egg-and-toast-and-coffee breakfast, only remembering - after ordering - my egg experience of three days ago. My attempt to mime "solid or raw?" was not a success. But luckily the egg was as solid as a HB egg should be.
Most department stores and other buildings have escalators connecting directly with the stations. So you think you're heading up for air, only to find you're on goodness knows what level of a shop or - bizarrely, this morning - the Imperial Theatre. I found myself next to a subterranean stage door where a group of smartly dressed middle-aged women, loaded with carrier bags as though at the end of a shopping trip, seemed to be waiting. For Godo, maybe? I had a surreal time trying to get out, as no one understood the word "exit". It wasn't a good day for miming - I can't imagine why my "gasping fish" didn't strike a chord.
As this was my last day I was torn between wanting to whizz around, skimming as much as time would allow, and digesting the city at a slower and more realistic pace. I think I ended up beneath the Imperial Theatre because someone misunderstood by desire to get to the Imperial Palace Gardens. I eventually did get to the park, the sense of space in this hectic city perhaps the most impressive thing (though in the 17th century the area now occupied by park would have been the emperor or shogun's living quarters). But drizzle put a dampener on my commitment - I think I was the only person in Tokyo not to have an umbrella (a stubborn gesture, to avoid picking up extra weight). So I allowed myself to be lured into the attractive-looking shelter of the Palace Hotel, a 5-star monolith overlooking the park (290 rooms, 10 restaurants, £500/night suites), thinking I might test the "bargain lunch" formula, as I'd done with the Kanos in Kyoto.
Sorry, guys, but abandoning Japanese cuisine in favour of Italian was a mistake. The pear-and-chocolate dessert was good, but the watery bean-and-bacon soup a pale shadow of what I was hoping for, and the seafood pasta no better than a UK high-street chain. Despite the service, and molycoddling me with a blanket and terrace heater, I give you 6 out of 10. But you weren't snooty, and I admit I looked terrible, wearing the same clothes I've worn for 2 months, indoors or outdoors... And it was a very cool location, overlooking the Imperial moat. So, the overall experience, 7.5.
After lunch things got a bit disjointed. Trying to avoid the lengthy walks involved when changing metro lines, I elected to walk above ground. But my map wasn't good enough (or was it my navigation skills?). Hours and many km later I found myself at Shibuya, the youth shopping Mecca. I was expecting Oxford Street but Japanese youth is far cooler and more monied. I have never seen such a dense proliferation of big-name brands - a combination of Bond Street and Notting Hill, but much more of it.
The tourist pamphlet that cheerily described Shibuya as "always crowded, day and night" wasn't wrong. At intervals there'd be a queue of dozens of people outside a shop. I had to ask What and Why. One place, Nars (anyone heard of it?) was for make-up; another was a Hawaiian pancake place that had had good reviews; a third was a popcorn joint. Popcorn? How sad is that. But I liked the slogan in one sports-gear shop: "If you have a body you are an athlete". In other words, you don't need to be sporty to buy the latest sports stuff?
Shibuya was one kind of nightmare. Even worse was Shinjuku (where "Lost in Translation" was filmed). Even after my morning metro experience I hadn't bargained for the scale of this, the biggest of Tokyo's stations. I had wanted to have a peek at "electric city". But after running in and out of the vast electronics retailer, Bic, breaking into a cold sweat, and snapping a few pics at the surrounding skyscrapers, I could take no more and headed back to the ryokan.
Luckily, the previous day, I had booked a short reflexology session when a cute little man had pushed a flyer into my hand in the local department store. It forced me to give my long-suffering feet a break, and, despite cosmic communication problems (he knew I spoke no Japanese but acted as though I did), was so good I wondered why I hadn't booked a session every evening.
I ended the day in a cheap eatery overlooking one of the main intersections, directly opposite a Berlitz office - a bit weird. I repeated the previous evening's fish-rice-pickle-miso-soup order (815 calories, good, but spoiled by having a dessert, + 411 calories, not so good). And wondered about the consumer frenzy I'd witnessed. The throw-away culture is the least attractive aspect of Japan: the 100¥ shops; chronic over-packaging; disposability (e.g. the slippers used at the ryokan are thrown away after use by each guest). And the corrosive effect of Western culture on diet and attitudes.
But even in high-paced Tokyo interactions are civilised: the woman in the Palace Hotel who went out of her way to show me a short-cut to the station; the woman in the Imperial Theatre who walked me to the lift; the friendly cleaning team at the ryokan; the reflexologist who insisted on showing me to the escalator; the Kanos' selflessness in giving me a good time. People are kind in a way that would be hard to imagine in a European capital.
So, of course, I'm very sad to be leaving Japan. On the one hand feeling so grateful for the rich experience I've had, but aware of how I've barely scratched the surface. I hope the story isn't over.
08 November 2014
07 November 2014
Tokyo
And so I've come to my end point. At Ikebukuro station, in NW central Tokyo, I emerged into a blast of neon. It felt like walking into Times Square, New York - though the "electric city" of Tokyo is not in fact Ikebukuro. The ryokan, booked on recommendation, is an oasis of calm and order: green tea on tap; a Japanese hot tub on request; laundry room; pleasant sitting area; and wifi. All a traveller needs. My own 6-tatami room has an agreeable wheaty smell (I think the tatami must be new). I and my luggage can sprawl happily across the floor.
In the evening, exploring the neighbourhood was tricky, at least initially, when I couldn't "read" the landscape. Ikebukuro is billed in the tourist literature as a culture and entertainment hub. So what are those hourly room rental signs about, and why are girls handing out leaflets? What is the banner over the entrance of one particularly lively street saying? People look and dress differently, too. Girls teeter on 20cm heels with shorts or skirts that barely cover their underwear (hence the, "Beware upskirting" signs in the subway - mobile phones are used for illicit views). Hair is died all colours and cut in styles straight from manga. Youth looks very scary indeed.
Not wanting to brave the packed restaurants on my own, I scuttled to the department-store food zone under the station. There's a C S Lewis transition from street hubbub to the brightly lit aisles of posh convenience food, very similar to the food halls at Kanazawa. (Is this a feature of all large stations?) My eyes are definitely bigger than my stomach as I stroll around. But, after this second experience, I'm beginning to view the adage, "The Japanese eat with their eyes" in a new way: the food can look better than it tastes. Not so posh, then.
I have three days to immerse myself in the urban jungle. On day 1 Hiroshi and Keiko Kano's daughter, Mako (who was friends with my sister, Buff, at nursery school half a century ago!), was my tour guide. Apart from the considerable pleasure of her company, it was a huge relief not having to get to grips with the subway and train networks. In the morning Mako shepherded me to Kabubiza Theatre, where we caught a short kabuki performance. I was looking forward to her explanation of the action (highly stylised, 17th century "dance" gestures with lavish kimono, accompanied by voice and instruments). But she didn't understand a word, either, because it was old Japanese. Ha ha.
From the Kabubiza Theatre we walked through (high-end brand) Ginza to (CBD) Marunouchi, and then to Ueno for the Hokusai exhibition of prints from the Boston Fine Art Gallery. The crowds were dense, but very patient - looking at every detail. Mako interpreted this as a sign that most Hokusai prints are housed outside Japan. So an exhibition like this draws people here in similar numbers to one in Europe. For me the exhibition was fortuitous as I won't get to a similar exhibition currently on in Paris. I was thrilled to see those so-well-known Views of Fuji, bridges, waves... And I felt that much closer to the Edo scenes, having lived in a house not so different, when I was with the Morimotos (and having visited others).
Afterwards, Mako was very patient with my dysfunctional shopping - I think I need something, then I don't; I'm imprecise, muddled, indecisive. But in fact she seemed more bothered by the rain than the vagaries of her companion.
In the evening she took me to an "izakaya", a kind of "Japanese tapas bar" for after-work drinking and light eating. For some reason that Mako couldn't explain we entered through a tiny door that required us to stoop low to get through (it's the same for tea houses, but surely the Japanese haven't grown that much!). The food was crude (e.g. chunky raw veg with a bowl of horseradish sauce), and Mako felt bad that she hadn't wowed me (or her). But I wasn't disappointed. It gave me a new angle on city life. And we had a good chat - amongst other things about Fukushima and where the nuclear industry is going. (I hadn't realised that, for a year after the earthquake, air con was reduced and lighting was less bright, in order to live within the power generated by oil- and coal-fired power stations only.) And about how the Japanese are currently politically inert ("obedient" was her word) - in the 1960s and 70s it was very different.
Mako also explained the hourly room rental business: it's not necessarily for paid sex but could be any couple who don't have privacy in their own home, e.g. living with parents, or the thin walls of a flat (the mind boggles - I hope the sound-proofing in the hotel is adequate!). And after I'd snapped a girly publicity poster she told me - wait for this - that the service being sold was ear cleaning!! (With the option of having your head on the girl's lap! OMG.)
On day 2 I got up at 5.30am, to be at the Tsukiji wholesale fish market, on the edge of Tokyo harbour - only to be told by a policeman, on arrival, that tourists weren't allowed entry until 9am. I was ready to change my plan. But found that, 2 hours later, I was still mooching around, inefficiently looking for miso and dried seaweed. So into the market I went. And I could then understand why tourists are kept out. Motorised skidoos have mostly replaced the hand-pulled carts of the past. They bomb around giving narrow berth. The big-business, no-messing-around cutting and band-sawing of huge tuna doesn't sit well with dozy tourists looking for holiday snaps. The fish (some still alive) and shellfish (some very weird specimens, the stuff of nightmares) is loaded into polystyrene boxes and whisked off. See FB for pics. Should I also post the video of the guy sawing the tuna? Or the one of the pile of fish all gasping? Maybe not...
I only walked around part of the market - there's a limit to how much blood and gore one can take first thing in the morning. So I've just Wiki-searched, and realise that, even though what I saw was pretty impressive, the heart of the operation is off bounds to tourists. I saw nothing.
"The market handles more than 400 different types of seafood from cheap seaweed to the most expensive caviar, and from tiny sardines to 300kg tuna and controversial whale species (didn't knowingly see whale - Ed). Overall, more than 700,000 metric tons of seafood are handled every year in Tokyo, with a total value in excess of 600 billion." Blimey o'reilly.
"The market opens at 3:00 a.m. with the arrival of the products by ship, truck and plane from all over the world. The auction houses then estimate the value and prepare the incoming products for the auctions. The buyers also inspect the fish. The auctions start around 5:20 a.m., with bidders including intermediate wholesalers who operate stalls in the marketplace, and other buyers who are agents for restaurants, food-processing companies, and large retailers."
"The auctions usually end around 7:00 a.m. Afterward, the purchased fish is either loaded onto trucks to be shipped to the next destination or on small carts and moved to the many shops inside the market (this is what I saw). There the shop owners cut and prepare the products for retail. In the case of large fish, for example tuna and swordfish, cutting and preparation is elaborate. Frozen tuna and swordfish are often cut with large band saws, and fresh tuna is carved with extremely long knives." Yes, I tried picking up one - felt like a Samurai...
After half an hour I needed to come up for air. Tsukiji is a few blocks from Hama-rikyu gardens. So I headed for the greenery. It was a complete surprise: one moment you're gazing up at skyscrapers; then suddenly you're in a park, and the skyscrapers have become the backdrop to forest, salt-water ponds and former duck-hunting grounds. Shades of NY's Central Park. A very relaxing experience, complete with GPS-triggered audio guide that gave you information according to where you wandered. How cool is that. I learned that, when the gardens were created by the 17th century shogun, the average time people spent there was 11 hours. So I probably ruined the experience by noticing that the water bus was about to leave from the other side of the gardens, and sprinting there.
The boat ride gave me a view of Tokyo from the harbour, and was the most enjoyable way of travelling to Asakusa - site of the famous Senso-ji temple. Though whoever wrote that, "Time has stopped here since the Edo era" is being more than a little fanciful.
I had plans to hit Tokyo at night. But my early start (and this long post) has caught up with me. Maybe tomorrow - which will be my last day.
In the evening, exploring the neighbourhood was tricky, at least initially, when I couldn't "read" the landscape. Ikebukuro is billed in the tourist literature as a culture and entertainment hub. So what are those hourly room rental signs about, and why are girls handing out leaflets? What is the banner over the entrance of one particularly lively street saying? People look and dress differently, too. Girls teeter on 20cm heels with shorts or skirts that barely cover their underwear (hence the, "Beware upskirting" signs in the subway - mobile phones are used for illicit views). Hair is died all colours and cut in styles straight from manga. Youth looks very scary indeed.
Not wanting to brave the packed restaurants on my own, I scuttled to the department-store food zone under the station. There's a C S Lewis transition from street hubbub to the brightly lit aisles of posh convenience food, very similar to the food halls at Kanazawa. (Is this a feature of all large stations?) My eyes are definitely bigger than my stomach as I stroll around. But, after this second experience, I'm beginning to view the adage, "The Japanese eat with their eyes" in a new way: the food can look better than it tastes. Not so posh, then.
I have three days to immerse myself in the urban jungle. On day 1 Hiroshi and Keiko Kano's daughter, Mako (who was friends with my sister, Buff, at nursery school half a century ago!), was my tour guide. Apart from the considerable pleasure of her company, it was a huge relief not having to get to grips with the subway and train networks. In the morning Mako shepherded me to Kabubiza Theatre, where we caught a short kabuki performance. I was looking forward to her explanation of the action (highly stylised, 17th century "dance" gestures with lavish kimono, accompanied by voice and instruments). But she didn't understand a word, either, because it was old Japanese. Ha ha.
From the Kabubiza Theatre we walked through (high-end brand) Ginza to (CBD) Marunouchi, and then to Ueno for the Hokusai exhibition of prints from the Boston Fine Art Gallery. The crowds were dense, but very patient - looking at every detail. Mako interpreted this as a sign that most Hokusai prints are housed outside Japan. So an exhibition like this draws people here in similar numbers to one in Europe. For me the exhibition was fortuitous as I won't get to a similar exhibition currently on in Paris. I was thrilled to see those so-well-known Views of Fuji, bridges, waves... And I felt that much closer to the Edo scenes, having lived in a house not so different, when I was with the Morimotos (and having visited others).
Afterwards, Mako was very patient with my dysfunctional shopping - I think I need something, then I don't; I'm imprecise, muddled, indecisive. But in fact she seemed more bothered by the rain than the vagaries of her companion.
In the evening she took me to an "izakaya", a kind of "Japanese tapas bar" for after-work drinking and light eating. For some reason that Mako couldn't explain we entered through a tiny door that required us to stoop low to get through (it's the same for tea houses, but surely the Japanese haven't grown that much!). The food was crude (e.g. chunky raw veg with a bowl of horseradish sauce), and Mako felt bad that she hadn't wowed me (or her). But I wasn't disappointed. It gave me a new angle on city life. And we had a good chat - amongst other things about Fukushima and where the nuclear industry is going. (I hadn't realised that, for a year after the earthquake, air con was reduced and lighting was less bright, in order to live within the power generated by oil- and coal-fired power stations only.) And about how the Japanese are currently politically inert ("obedient" was her word) - in the 1960s and 70s it was very different.
Mako also explained the hourly room rental business: it's not necessarily for paid sex but could be any couple who don't have privacy in their own home, e.g. living with parents, or the thin walls of a flat (the mind boggles - I hope the sound-proofing in the hotel is adequate!). And after I'd snapped a girly publicity poster she told me - wait for this - that the service being sold was ear cleaning!! (With the option of having your head on the girl's lap! OMG.)
On day 2 I got up at 5.30am, to be at the Tsukiji wholesale fish market, on the edge of Tokyo harbour - only to be told by a policeman, on arrival, that tourists weren't allowed entry until 9am. I was ready to change my plan. But found that, 2 hours later, I was still mooching around, inefficiently looking for miso and dried seaweed. So into the market I went. And I could then understand why tourists are kept out. Motorised skidoos have mostly replaced the hand-pulled carts of the past. They bomb around giving narrow berth. The big-business, no-messing-around cutting and band-sawing of huge tuna doesn't sit well with dozy tourists looking for holiday snaps. The fish (some still alive) and shellfish (some very weird specimens, the stuff of nightmares) is loaded into polystyrene boxes and whisked off. See FB for pics. Should I also post the video of the guy sawing the tuna? Or the one of the pile of fish all gasping? Maybe not...
I only walked around part of the market - there's a limit to how much blood and gore one can take first thing in the morning. So I've just Wiki-searched, and realise that, even though what I saw was pretty impressive, the heart of the operation is off bounds to tourists. I saw nothing.
"The market handles more than 400 different types of seafood from cheap seaweed to the most expensive caviar, and from tiny sardines to 300kg tuna and controversial whale species (didn't knowingly see whale - Ed). Overall, more than 700,000 metric tons of seafood are handled every year in Tokyo, with a total value in excess of 600 billion." Blimey o'reilly.
"The market opens at 3:00 a.m. with the arrival of the products by ship, truck and plane from all over the world. The auction houses then estimate the value and prepare the incoming products for the auctions. The buyers also inspect the fish. The auctions start around 5:20 a.m., with bidders including intermediate wholesalers who operate stalls in the marketplace, and other buyers who are agents for restaurants, food-processing companies, and large retailers."
"The auctions usually end around 7:00 a.m. Afterward, the purchased fish is either loaded onto trucks to be shipped to the next destination or on small carts and moved to the many shops inside the market (this is what I saw). There the shop owners cut and prepare the products for retail. In the case of large fish, for example tuna and swordfish, cutting and preparation is elaborate. Frozen tuna and swordfish are often cut with large band saws, and fresh tuna is carved with extremely long knives." Yes, I tried picking up one - felt like a Samurai...
After half an hour I needed to come up for air. Tsukiji is a few blocks from Hama-rikyu gardens. So I headed for the greenery. It was a complete surprise: one moment you're gazing up at skyscrapers; then suddenly you're in a park, and the skyscrapers have become the backdrop to forest, salt-water ponds and former duck-hunting grounds. Shades of NY's Central Park. A very relaxing experience, complete with GPS-triggered audio guide that gave you information according to where you wandered. How cool is that. I learned that, when the gardens were created by the 17th century shogun, the average time people spent there was 11 hours. So I probably ruined the experience by noticing that the water bus was about to leave from the other side of the gardens, and sprinting there.
The boat ride gave me a view of Tokyo from the harbour, and was the most enjoyable way of travelling to Asakusa - site of the famous Senso-ji temple. Though whoever wrote that, "Time has stopped here since the Edo era" is being more than a little fanciful.
I had plans to hit Tokyo at night. But my early start (and this long post) has caught up with me. Maybe tomorrow - which will be my last day.
an unexpected bonus: a hike in Joetsu National Park
After my rather odd time in Himi, not least the breakfast, I was impatient to leave. I abandoned the large, cold, fish on my plate and packed the egg for a later, hungry moment.
As I travelled by train around the south coast of the Japan Sea I could see that Toyama prefecture would be a good base for a coast-and-mountain holiday. At one point the views left and right were equally dramatic - sea and hills. Still cashless I couldn't buy any lunch. At this point I discovered that the egg saved from breakfast was not hard boiled - but raw. (Oh dear, what do I do now...!)
My inability to pronounce my destination, "Doai", got me blank looks and caused me to miss a connection. But, as a result of this, and 2 hours to kill at ski resort Echigo Yuzawa, I was able to take a cable-car ride up a nearby peak (see FB pics).
I'd used booking.com for a last-minute stop-over, en route for Tokyo, with no real idea where I was heading. Doai turned out to be an unstaffed, derelict station in the middle of nowhere - and the station name only in Japanese, the first time this has occurred. I was relieved to see Bo from Tencin Lodge waiting for me, with the Lodge a mere 200m up the road. By sheer fluke I had landed in the middle of Joetsu National Park.
Even before shaking off the dust of my journey I was boarding the bus to Takaragawa Onsen, on the banks of the Takaragawa Gorge, in the upper reaches of the Tone River. Well water flows into four bathing areas (curiously, measured in terms of tatami mats, = 470). The 55 short minutes I spent in the "ladies' pool" were probably the highlight of the trip. I was in heaven, surrounded by autumn foliage, the moon rising behind the trees, the tensions of the last 48 hours beginning to dissolve,
The following morning I discovered I was 300m from a "rope way" (= cable car) for Mt Tanigawadake (where, according to my host, more people have died than on Everest and K2). Most of this trip I've been ahead of the autumn colours; here I was a week too late, the trees up high "naked", lacy skeleton trees lining the ridges. In the valleys there were flashes of brilliant colour as the sun came and went.
As I climbed, the weather seemed to be deteriorating. Lacerated by wind, with zero visibility, flummoxed by Japanese waymarking, unstable in inadequate shoes... I turned tail at the 1963m summit. The sprinkling of snow gave me a taste of the area - and also of the French winter I will be returning to. Ugh!
By 2pm I was down and on the train to Tokyo, grateful to Bo and Kieren for their considerable help with logistics, without which I would have bypassed everything.
As I travelled by train around the south coast of the Japan Sea I could see that Toyama prefecture would be a good base for a coast-and-mountain holiday. At one point the views left and right were equally dramatic - sea and hills. Still cashless I couldn't buy any lunch. At this point I discovered that the egg saved from breakfast was not hard boiled - but raw. (Oh dear, what do I do now...!)
My inability to pronounce my destination, "Doai", got me blank looks and caused me to miss a connection. But, as a result of this, and 2 hours to kill at ski resort Echigo Yuzawa, I was able to take a cable-car ride up a nearby peak (see FB pics).
I'd used booking.com for a last-minute stop-over, en route for Tokyo, with no real idea where I was heading. Doai turned out to be an unstaffed, derelict station in the middle of nowhere - and the station name only in Japanese, the first time this has occurred. I was relieved to see Bo from Tencin Lodge waiting for me, with the Lodge a mere 200m up the road. By sheer fluke I had landed in the middle of Joetsu National Park.
Even before shaking off the dust of my journey I was boarding the bus to Takaragawa Onsen, on the banks of the Takaragawa Gorge, in the upper reaches of the Tone River. Well water flows into four bathing areas (curiously, measured in terms of tatami mats, = 470). The 55 short minutes I spent in the "ladies' pool" were probably the highlight of the trip. I was in heaven, surrounded by autumn foliage, the moon rising behind the trees, the tensions of the last 48 hours beginning to dissolve,
The following morning I discovered I was 300m from a "rope way" (= cable car) for Mt Tanigawadake (where, according to my host, more people have died than on Everest and K2). Most of this trip I've been ahead of the autumn colours; here I was a week too late, the trees up high "naked", lacy skeleton trees lining the ridges. In the valleys there were flashes of brilliant colour as the sun came and went.
As I climbed, the weather seemed to be deteriorating. Lacerated by wind, with zero visibility, flummoxed by Japanese waymarking, unstable in inadequate shoes... I turned tail at the 1963m summit. The sprinkling of snow gave me a taste of the area - and also of the French winter I will be returning to. Ugh!
By 2pm I was down and on the train to Tokyo, grateful to Bo and Kieren for their considerable help with logistics, without which I would have bypassed everything.
03 November 2014
pear shaped
My stay at Flatt's has unfortunately come to a gruesome conclusion. The original plan was for me to work 5 days. But, because the hosts would be absent for a day, and knowing that I was hoping to see something of the Noto peninsula while I was in the area, they suggested that I left a day early. I could then travel by bus to nearby Wajima, and spend the night there, before travelling on. This sounded a good compromise for all of us. But when I found it difficult to find a place to stay in Wajima, the idea of cutting short my stay, and - I admit - avoiding the third day working alone in the industrial kitchen, took hold. I decided to leave the following morning, 24 hours earlier than agreed. Life is short and, if I wasn't enjoying myself, I couldn't see the point in lingering.
It was an impulse decision, and I knew losing a day of my time would be annoying for Ben and Chakiko. But I wasn't expecting to unleash a storm, first from Chakiko, outraged at my selfishness, and that I could be motivated by/looking for more than supporting them in their business. ("It's not about you!") Then Ben picked up the wind and let forth a torrent of verbal abuse. Perplexed as they were, yet utterly uninterested in hearing my perspective, there was no possibility of communication. I wanted to compensate for the 6 hours of my time I would be depriving them, offering to work late that night. But Ben said he couldn't stand the sight of me. So that was that. Back down the road for one last, and supper-less, evening in the empty house.
This morning I was at the bus stop good and early, unable to decipher the timetable but wanting to move on a.s.a.p. By 7.07 I was on my way, following the coast southwards, not sure where I was going to end up.
Thinking about it, I think Ben and Chakiko's extreme reaction comes from professional pride. For three days I've heard about the hotel award, the media coverage, the compliments from top chefs, the hard graft, the importance of customer interaction, the uniqueness... And then some Woofer says, "I'm not happy here". How could that be? Had they maltreated me? No? Oh, I see, some mamby pamby emotional thing, was it. At one point even the resentful compliment (too late after two days with no thanks for anything), "You're the best worker we've had", felt like an accusation - of what I was taking away from them. I do see it from their point of view - so I've been suffering, today. But Ben's behaviour confirmed why it couldn't work for me.
Buses are not my favourite way of travelling because it's hellish tricky, with everything in Japanese. So it was reassuring that the sea continued to appear on my left - it meant I was maintaining my direction south. At the end of the line I knew there was a train. With a bit of googling I thought I'd found an interesting seaside town, somewhat off the beaten track, where I could hang out for a couple of nights. Himi. What can I say. Hmm. It's a major fishing centre, with architecture of unparalleled dullness, looking onto the Japan Sea. It has some kind of tourist pull: at the station a minute tourist office was handing out maps and a brochure advertising the new shopping centre. I did pay it a visit (the kindly tourist man having given me a lift to the only hotel with a vacancy) and found wall-to-wall shops specialising in fish and fishy bits. Perhaps I should have noted more carefully the city website where the annual litter-collection day is listed as one of the attractions of the area. This certainly gives the flavour of the place. On a rainy November afternoon, shops all closed (I hadn't realised it was a public holiday), cash points all rejecting my Visa cards, Christmas Muzak piping through the loudspeakers to deserted streets, unable to find anything to eat - having not had supper or breakfast - I think this must rank as the low point of my trip!
But don't worry, Mum, I did eventually find a great noodle place. In a way I quite like free-fall travelling. And now I'm snug in a hotel waiting for my sashimi supper. Tomorrow? Who knows. I shall bumble on by train, east and then south, perhaps to a spa town for a (near) final fling...
It was an impulse decision, and I knew losing a day of my time would be annoying for Ben and Chakiko. But I wasn't expecting to unleash a storm, first from Chakiko, outraged at my selfishness, and that I could be motivated by/looking for more than supporting them in their business. ("It's not about you!") Then Ben picked up the wind and let forth a torrent of verbal abuse. Perplexed as they were, yet utterly uninterested in hearing my perspective, there was no possibility of communication. I wanted to compensate for the 6 hours of my time I would be depriving them, offering to work late that night. But Ben said he couldn't stand the sight of me. So that was that. Back down the road for one last, and supper-less, evening in the empty house.
This morning I was at the bus stop good and early, unable to decipher the timetable but wanting to move on a.s.a.p. By 7.07 I was on my way, following the coast southwards, not sure where I was going to end up.
Thinking about it, I think Ben and Chakiko's extreme reaction comes from professional pride. For three days I've heard about the hotel award, the media coverage, the compliments from top chefs, the hard graft, the importance of customer interaction, the uniqueness... And then some Woofer says, "I'm not happy here". How could that be? Had they maltreated me? No? Oh, I see, some mamby pamby emotional thing, was it. At one point even the resentful compliment (too late after two days with no thanks for anything), "You're the best worker we've had", felt like an accusation - of what I was taking away from them. I do see it from their point of view - so I've been suffering, today. But Ben's behaviour confirmed why it couldn't work for me.
Buses are not my favourite way of travelling because it's hellish tricky, with everything in Japanese. So it was reassuring that the sea continued to appear on my left - it meant I was maintaining my direction south. At the end of the line I knew there was a train. With a bit of googling I thought I'd found an interesting seaside town, somewhat off the beaten track, where I could hang out for a couple of nights. Himi. What can I say. Hmm. It's a major fishing centre, with architecture of unparalleled dullness, looking onto the Japan Sea. It has some kind of tourist pull: at the station a minute tourist office was handing out maps and a brochure advertising the new shopping centre. I did pay it a visit (the kindly tourist man having given me a lift to the only hotel with a vacancy) and found wall-to-wall shops specialising in fish and fishy bits. Perhaps I should have noted more carefully the city website where the annual litter-collection day is listed as one of the attractions of the area. This certainly gives the flavour of the place. On a rainy November afternoon, shops all closed (I hadn't realised it was a public holiday), cash points all rejecting my Visa cards, Christmas Muzak piping through the loudspeakers to deserted streets, unable to find anything to eat - having not had supper or breakfast - I think this must rank as the low point of my trip!
But don't worry, Mum, I did eventually find a great noodle place. In a way I quite like free-fall travelling. And now I'm snug in a hotel waiting for my sashimi supper. Tomorrow? Who knows. I shall bumble on by train, east and then south, perhaps to a spa town for a (near) final fling...
01 November 2014
a place by the sea
I'm feeling rather strange, "camping" alone in the former family home built by my boss Chakiko's grandparents. The house is on the Noto peninsula - the "finger" that juts north from central Japan's western coast. Across the road is the Japan Sea and on a clear day I can see the faint outline of the Japanese alps on the horizon. It's a km+ down the road from the new hotel, award-winning "Flatt's by the sea", where Chakiko lives with Aussie husband and chef, Ben Flatt. I'll be based here for 6 days, travelling between the two places by bike and helping Chakiko in the veggie garden, and with any other (wet-weather) jobs she and Ben care to throw at me.
"Flatt's by the sea" has an elite clientele who come to enjoy Ben's Italian-Japanese cuisine, and his range of home-made pickles, spices and seasonings. Talking with Ben, and his new spin on the traditional ingredients for which remote Noto has a reputation, is part of why people visit.
The veggie garden is the connection with Woofing. But the atmosphere of hotel and restaurant is worlds away from a farm, and my relationship with Chakiko and Ben is different from either of my previous hosts. The couple only started Woofing this summer and are feeling their way with it. On my first evening they recounted their experience with a previous woofer, a dreamy, time-unaware hippy with a very different rhythm to theirs. Their expectations; Ben's piss-taking, live-and-play-hard banter; and the absence of the tlc I experienced with the Morimotos and Sakamotos mean that I'm feeling slightly ill at ease. Their working day, spent largely in the industrial, windowless kitchen, necessarily revolves around their customers. So, perched around the stainless-steel island, we grab a bite before or after normal meal times. There is no area to relax in - the dining and sitting areas out of bounds while guests are in house. Consequently, I don't get a break. After 6 hours standing in the kitchen, today, processing yuzu (a potent, viciously thorned citrus with myriad culinary uses) I was cream crackered.
My "home" may have a sea view and Chakiko and Ben are clearly very attached to it. But it is also smack on a main road. With each passing car, the glass rattles in the window frames; there's a pervasive smell of damp; I had to clean cobwebs and dead flies out of the bath tub, the first time I used it, and rusty water then poured from the cold tap; odd noises perpetually make me think I have intruders; and it's bloomin freezing! Plus my reason for coming here was to see something of this far-flung area. But, without a car, I am effectively 'marooned' - as I was at Kashimo and Hongo. But in those two places my hosts did everything possible to give me 'treats' and time off. Nothing could be further from Ben and Chakiko's minds. I wasn't even thanked for my 6 hours of work today. Instead, they talked to me about their plan to have a group of woofers help them next spring because Ben reckons people work more productively when in 'competition' with each other.
For the first time I am getting an unpleasant whiff of exploitation. It's the old thing about the business owner expecting employees to give body and soul as he does - Chakiko and Ben work a 6-day week, and incredible hours. (I learned this evening that, on top of everything else, Chakiko will be getting up at 3am to drive her daughter to a tennis tournament 3.5 hours away. Same daughter has tennis practice 3 hours a day, plus 6 hours on Saturday. This is not extraordinary in Japan.) But that's not the deal with Woofing. I'm not getting an apprenticeship that will allow me to set up on my own in the catering business, or learning how organic farming works with a view to doing my own thing. So I need more than a bed and a bit of food (ironically, we don't eat very well!) to feel in balance with what I'm giving.
It's not Chakiko and Ben's fault. I didn't ask the right questions at the outset and took a chance, coming here. Also, my previous hosts were perhaps exceptional in the way they linked me up with public transport. But, all in all, it's just as well that I will only be here for a short week. On 6/11/14 I'll be travelling back to Tokyo before flying to the UK 9/11/14.
"Flatt's by the sea" has an elite clientele who come to enjoy Ben's Italian-Japanese cuisine, and his range of home-made pickles, spices and seasonings. Talking with Ben, and his new spin on the traditional ingredients for which remote Noto has a reputation, is part of why people visit.
The veggie garden is the connection with Woofing. But the atmosphere of hotel and restaurant is worlds away from a farm, and my relationship with Chakiko and Ben is different from either of my previous hosts. The couple only started Woofing this summer and are feeling their way with it. On my first evening they recounted their experience with a previous woofer, a dreamy, time-unaware hippy with a very different rhythm to theirs. Their expectations; Ben's piss-taking, live-and-play-hard banter; and the absence of the tlc I experienced with the Morimotos and Sakamotos mean that I'm feeling slightly ill at ease. Their working day, spent largely in the industrial, windowless kitchen, necessarily revolves around their customers. So, perched around the stainless-steel island, we grab a bite before or after normal meal times. There is no area to relax in - the dining and sitting areas out of bounds while guests are in house. Consequently, I don't get a break. After 6 hours standing in the kitchen, today, processing yuzu (a potent, viciously thorned citrus with myriad culinary uses) I was cream crackered.
My "home" may have a sea view and Chakiko and Ben are clearly very attached to it. But it is also smack on a main road. With each passing car, the glass rattles in the window frames; there's a pervasive smell of damp; I had to clean cobwebs and dead flies out of the bath tub, the first time I used it, and rusty water then poured from the cold tap; odd noises perpetually make me think I have intruders; and it's bloomin freezing! Plus my reason for coming here was to see something of this far-flung area. But, without a car, I am effectively 'marooned' - as I was at Kashimo and Hongo. But in those two places my hosts did everything possible to give me 'treats' and time off. Nothing could be further from Ben and Chakiko's minds. I wasn't even thanked for my 6 hours of work today. Instead, they talked to me about their plan to have a group of woofers help them next spring because Ben reckons people work more productively when in 'competition' with each other.
For the first time I am getting an unpleasant whiff of exploitation. It's the old thing about the business owner expecting employees to give body and soul as he does - Chakiko and Ben work a 6-day week, and incredible hours. (I learned this evening that, on top of everything else, Chakiko will be getting up at 3am to drive her daughter to a tennis tournament 3.5 hours away. Same daughter has tennis practice 3 hours a day, plus 6 hours on Saturday. This is not extraordinary in Japan.) But that's not the deal with Woofing. I'm not getting an apprenticeship that will allow me to set up on my own in the catering business, or learning how organic farming works with a view to doing my own thing. So I need more than a bed and a bit of food (ironically, we don't eat very well!) to feel in balance with what I'm giving.
It's not Chakiko and Ben's fault. I didn't ask the right questions at the outset and took a chance, coming here. Also, my previous hosts were perhaps exceptional in the way they linked me up with public transport. But, all in all, it's just as well that I will only be here for a short week. On 6/11/14 I'll be travelling back to Tokyo before flying to the UK 9/11/14.
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