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.
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