Bonus post: chosen by Japan...?

Just to follow up on an earlier piece of information: I have indeed been chosen to model for a Japanese fashion company, according to the phone call I just received from a young woman with excellent English and a warm manner. The next step is an audition on Wednesday evening, where they will have me try on clothes from the line they're due to exhibit. I'm not entirely clear on whether I can still be rejected at this stage if they decide none of their clothes look good on me, but I'm happy to go along for the experience either way.

The company, by the way, is N. Hoolywood (the name is deliberate, a pun on "Hollywood" and "hooligan"), and the man who scouted me claimed it was Japan's leading fashion brand (I have no idea, but the Western reviewers who mention it, based on a quick Google search, invariably do so with praise). There's an English-language wiki page at http://www.virtualjapan.com/wiki/N.Hoolywood, and their actual website is dual-language.

Life just keeps getting more weird, no?

The eye of the storm is filled with manga

A typhoon rages outside. To be honest, I'm hoping it picks up a bit. My hosts are acting like it's a really big deal, and maybe it is since apparently trains stop if it gets bad enough (potentially stranding a lot of salarymen), but frankly it just feels like moderately heavy rain and some pretty strong gusts of wind to me. I've experienced worse in spite of never having been in a typhoon before. At any rate, I'm passing it in the same Manga Kissa as last time.

This entry will be contain the miscellaneous observations I didn't have time for last night.

Kitten asked me about Japanese adverts, since she says you can learn a lot about a culture from its advertisement styles. The first thing that springs to mind is that the Japanese who write adverts, even politicians, can say high-flying poetic things like "I will protect the future of the Earth!" and use strong emotive words like "heart", "soul" and "hope" without a trace of irony or self-consciousness. They really do sound like shonen anime characters. If one of our politicians sent out an election poster like this, he would be laughed down, while a TV advert would get a lot of raised eyebrows. It seems the wry cynicism favoured by British and American media is not in fashion here.

The other thing I noticed was, again, a little stereotypical. The adverts are very visual, with a variety of speech bubbles, font and colour changes and clipart. Walls of text are rare, even in train adverts which one stares at for a while. This makes them considerably more impactful and easier to read, if sometimes giving the impression that they're aimed at kids with ADHD (or perhaps create them).

Perhaps unsurprisingly for a city perpertually menaced by Godzilla and company, Tokyo is keenly aware of potential cataclysms (though the real threat is more in the direction of earthquakes, which are rarely high-magnitude but devastating when they are). Among the maps dotted around the city are plenty of detailed evacuation maps; posters and adverts remind people that "more dangerous than the earthquake is confidence that the earthquake won't come" (in Japanese, this is a neat pun on jishin "earthquake" and jishin "confidence"); Tokyu Hands, the DIY superstore from yesterday, has a floor dedicated to disaster prevention/management supplies.

Uniqlo, the Japanese clothes store with many branches in the UK, spells the title with katakana in the UK - but with romaji (English letters) in Japan. I guess someone wants to have their cake and eat it when it comes to being foreign and exotic.

Whereas in America, and to an extent the UK, T-shirts with snarky comments, including ones which implicitly or explicitly insult the reader, are fairly popular, the English-language T-shirts here often have positive messages. My favourite so far is a random Japanese young man bearing the slogan "where there's life there's hope" - though, unfortunately, when I see that particular line, my mind launches into a song from the Buffy musical episode (which starts off with a list of positive thinking statements, including that one, and turns into a tirade on their worthlessness).

My first piece of Engrish photography. Getting hold of these is harder than you'd expect, partly since most Japanese English mistakes are lame rather than funny, and partly since taking photos of things people are wearing (the best source of Engrish) or photos of signs in toilets (the second best source I've found so far) is socially frowned upon.

Gaah, out of time again. Curse you, two hours spent writing an e-mail of Bleach (anime) theories to Kitten.

A dream of twenty-two cats

Paulo Coelho, writing about the consequences of consistently choosing safety and predictability over adventure, says that it culminates in the living hell of "the monotony of lazy Sunday afternoons when time simply passes." This was not one of those afternoons.

The plan was simple: go to Harajuku, where every Sunday hordes of hardcore Japanese cosplayers descend upon Jingubashi, a bridge near the famous Meiji shrine. Take photos, possibly ask a few questions, then go see as many of the nearby well-known areas as possible (such as Shinjuku and Yoyogi - avid anime and JRPG fans may have heard of them without knowing anything about Japan proper). Happily, my JR Rail Pass, which I'd forgotten at home, arrived in the post this morning. The JR Rail Pass, while pretty expensive and only available outside Japan, allows unlimited travel on all government-owned trains in Japan, excluding the Tokyo subway lines and the fastest line of bullet trains, but including the utterfly magnificent Yamanote line (if the name sounds familiar, it is where we last saw Ray Penbar in Death Note). The Yamanote Line is Tokyo's counterpart to London's Circle Line. But, as whenever I compare the two transport systems, the Yamanote line wins hands down - it covers a wide variety of interesting places, is (as L realised) an hour long, meaning you can get to any destination on it in half an hour or less, and gets you even further with a single change.

But part of that awe may just be my bitterness at the endless delays and "improvement works" of the London Underground, so let's move on. You see, en route I remembered that I needed a new camera. My current one was...well, I hesitate to call a digital camera "old", but my dad bought it from a gift shop in Antarctica, and his first attempt to insert a memory card nearly triggered the Second Impact. In short, once the glitches got serious, I realised it was time to get a replacement. Fortunately, Shinjuku happens to not only be en route to Harajuku, but to contain two of Tokyo's flagship camera shops. "I'll start off by looking around Shinjuku", I thought innocently, "and get to Harajuku before it's too late for the cosplayers". Actually, I was being optimistic in the first place, given that today was a cloudy day of intermittent rain (but relatively cool temperature).

In the event, I got a shiny new camera at an excellent price at another branch of Yodobashi Camera - this one spread across several adjacent buildings and giving the impression that it was slowly consuming East Shinjuku like some kind of high-tech sci-fi parasite. However, this is also when I learned that the Lonely Planet Japan maps are approximations at best (seriously, I started to wonder, comparing them to the fixed maps dotted around the area, whether Japanese maps have a different cardinal direction at the top). Fortunately, said fixed maps are both helpful and fairly frequent, and they saved me. But even so, I did not have time to see much of Shinjuku's east side - not even Kabukicho, Tokyo's most famous red light district.

However, I did look into the west side. It's mostly administrative, with lots of skyscrapers and generally boring appearance. Incidentally, beneath a wide underpass leading from Shinjuku station (which covers a vast underground area - Kings Cross and St. Pancras put together feel like a left luggage locker by comparison) I also saw many homeless people using the place as semi-permanent shelter. No city is perfect after all - though this was emphasised by the fact that the underpass led to the Tokyo Government Administration Offices. So close and yet so far...

On the plus side, the twin towers of said offices were quite magnificent in their own way. Many of Tokyo's skyscrapers are just tall buildings, but a few, like these, were obviously designed by someone who cared about their work. It's a pity that the offices were just too big, and the surrounding terrain too crowded, to get them both in one frame. At least, given the absolute symmetry, once you've seen one you've seen them both.

Building 1. I'm standing considerably further away from it than this photo indicates.

This is also where I got to try out one of the great features of Tokyo. Many skyscrapers here, including the Offices, offer free passage to observation decks on their top floors. After a quick security check, I was allowed into the North Observatory on the 45th floor, which also housed an Italian restaurant and a variety of souvenir shops. The view, in spite of cloudy weather, was quite exceptional, and little panels in front of each window pointed out visible landmarks.

Tokyo, extending to the horizon and possibly endless.

Being in the administrative part of Shinjuku, views from other sides were filled with skyscrapers, though this did not obstruct vision as much as one might expect.

Detail of Shinjuku Park Tower on the left of the photo above.

This beautiful tower must have been completed after the view guides were written, as it is not featured. It shall be known as the Mystery Cucumber until I learn otherwise.

Having briefly immersed myself in the heart of Tokyo's bureaucracy, I realised time was getting on, and decided to leave East Shinjuku and Kabukicho for another day. Getting to Harajuku wasn't hard, but then I made another of those mistakes that probably only happen to first-time travellers. Having come to see people dress up in strange costumes, I instead got asked to dress up myself. By a representative of a modelling agency. Namely, he took a couple of photos, noted down various details (no address or anything financial, though) and told me if I was chosen for an exhibition on the 10th of September, the stylist (whose business card he gave me) would phone me sometime during the next few days.

Both the website on the business card and the website of the modelling agency he claimed to be working for (which apparently only uses amateur models) check out. The latter even has a Japanese Wikipedia entry. I guess we'll see how it goes - I'd be surprised if they actually did choose me. And yes, I realise I didn't come to Japan for any such purpose, but one doesn't refuse so random an opportunity (and I do have a certain annoying memory of going to Camden Town in a group and seeing every member of the party but me approached by a modelling agency scout).

Anyway. If the rain hadn't done for the cosplayers, the Super Yosakoi certainly did. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I managed to pick the one weekend of the year when Jingubashi is taken over by teams competing as part of the annual Super Yosakoi festival. According to a young dancer I spoke to, the Yosakoi is a festival founded 50 years ago in the town of Koujien, Tochigo Prefecture (whence he happened to hail) to raise spirits in the otherwise grim post-war atmosphere. Now, teams all over the country gather to represent their home towns and prefectures by out-dancing, out-singing and generally overwhelming the others with superior "genki" or lively spirit. The feel of the event, though, was definitely more cooperative than competitive, for all that a number of prizes were handed down at the end.

A Yosakoi performance. Dancers in traditional dress (each team has their own) perform lively dances while a man in the background sings loudly and members off to the sides wave huge flags non-stop.

This group, performing on another, smaller stage, was primarily made up of women and children, many of whom sang while dancing. Note the special wooden clackers, or "naruko" - their noise enhances the energetic atmosphere.

No-one expects the Tourist Inquisition!

The festival over, dancers taking a break in the Meiji Shrine's peaceful surroundings make their way back to Jingubashi for the awards ceremony.

Having stood on the brink of the Yosakoi and looked a while, pondering my voyage, I decided that since I'd come to Harajuku it would be criminal not to visit the Meiji Shrine, dedicated to Emperor Meiji (who oversaw Japan's opening to the wider world after 200 years of isolation) and his wife the Empress Shoken (about whom I know only that she loved flowers). Surrounded by forest and maintaining an air of quiet dignity in spite of the countless tourists (not to mention the overwhelming energy emanating from the festival), the Meiji Shrine is a place I'd gladly visit again (and may yet, since I am sworn to return to Harajuku next Sunday, if able, and get those cosplayers; plus, there was a lot I didn't have time for, such as the Sacred Treasures Storehouse and the Meiji Shrine Garden).

These enormous gates, two sets of which stand over the long, wide path to the shrine, are (reconstructed) ancient torii, said to be the biggest of their kind in Japan. Shinto shrines always lie beyond torii, and these are an exact reconstruction of the destroyed older set.

Possibly-ancient stone lanterns line the path, too far apart to realistically provide great illumination, but certainly atmospheric.

In order to further his country's new relationships with the outside world, Emperor Meiji adopted various Western habits, such as shaving off his aristocratic topknot and drinking wine with dinner. The latter inspired representatives of French wine companies to consecrate these barrels of wine at the shrine as symbols of eternal friendship.

As the notice explains, this shrine's oracles are rather more elegant than a bobbing mecha-dragon. Draw a lot from the vertical box, show the number to the assistant (in traditional shrine maiden garb), receive the relevant piece of paper, ponder the short poem and its elaboration on the back, and take it home in one of the paper envelopes from the tray.

The central courtyard, with the shrine proper up ahead. Visitors don't get to go beyond the donation-and-prayer boxes.

Two things worth noting here. First, the regrettable way that many Japanese people will try to help a Westerner in English, even if you address them in perfect Japanese. As a result, I learned nothing about the off-limits main area (honden) from the elderly security guard except "In there. Emperor. And Empress". Frankly, I'd rather have the indecipherable bundle of kanji compound words.

Second, a tree with a wall surrounding it carrying hundreds of ema, or votive tablets (the name, literally "horse picture", dates from the time when the traditional donation of horses to shrines became too expensive and people started donating pictures of horses instead). For 500 Yen (just over 3 pounds, or exactly the price of an outdoor yakisoba stall), one can buy a tablet, write one's wishes and/or expressions of gratitude on it, and hang it by the tree. Every morning, the shrine's priests ritually submit them to the shrine's kami.

The tree. Somehow it didn't feel right to take photos of individual ema.

Wishes came in many languages. The majority that I could read (including a few Russian ones) were wishes for the health and happiness of one's family and friends, but a few stood out to me. A little girl starting out by wishing herself and her family a happy life, then having a new thought and adding "and also to stop the earth from dying and to cure cancer" at the end. Someone writing a thank you "to music" for getting them through dark times. A few wishes, in English, for the happiness of the Japanese nation for being so good to the families during their time here. A short wish in French with a ten-line "shout-out" to a group of friends. Someone wanting to "enter and safely graduate" an American university. A shopping-list style prayer of an American family for their young son, covering everything from health to filial piety. And, perhaps most poignantly, a simple "I wish I will be happy with what I will have and what I will become".

The kami of the Meiji shrine took a sacrifice from me, though. Right after I hung my own ema and walked away, I realised I was no longer wearing my black tourmaline bracelet. They're not expensive, but it's a valuable possession to me because wearing one reduces the symptoms of my EHS and therefore lets me use PCs and the like for extended periods of time without migraines and other unhelpful symptoms (and, of course, it is an utter pain to replace until I get back). Certainly, it is the most "spiritual" thing I had about my person. Technically, of course, I merely lost it, but I can't help noting that it's a bead bracelet, of the sort that can only come off accidentally by bursting into a shower of 21 beads when the string breaks. Impossible not to notice at the time, or when retracing my steps across the light-coloured shrine floors to look for it.

A sacred pair of trees. You can tell by the nawa, the special rope that marks an object inhabited by a kami.

But perhaps my sacrifice did not go unrewarded, since after seeing the last performance of the festival on my way back, I discovered a stall selling that most wondrous of things - vegetarian yakisoba. Yakisoba (fried noodles) is my favourite kind of Japanese food, and this was my first vegetarian meal since I arrived (not counting my victory over breakfast). I stood and ate it as I listened to a performance of Japanese musical instruments, followed by the chatter of the kimono-clad hosts. Bliss.

But I had time to visit one last place: heaven, which as we all know lies in Ikebukuro. Sadly, I knew that I wouldn't be able to see the district properly by my appointed return time, so I made a beeline for my destination and promptly got lost. I have an excellent direction-based sense of navigation, but a very poor landmark-based one, much like a cat (which, unlike most animals, navigate based on where things are relative to themselves, not to known locations). So when both my travel guide map and my newly-bought Japanese map fail to provide key landmarks, I can't work out which way I'm facing and lose my navigating ability completely.

However, I eventually made it there: to the 8th floor of the Tokyu Hands DIY superstore...to Nekobukuro. The home of twenty-two beautiful cats. For a moderate fee, one may enter, look around and play with whichever cats appear to be currently awake and in the mood. You can stay as long as you like, and after 4pm (5.30 on Saturdays and holidays) the staff give out free tidbits of cat food to feed to your favourite feline. Nekobukuro is fairly small, and different rooms have different cat-related themes (including a Cat Train). The living room has a TV constantly showing cat-related anime, and cat climbing frames and sleeping recesses are ubiquitous. The whole place is perfect for those whose busy schedule and/or housing arrangements would otherwise prevent them from spending time with the creatures they love in busy Tokyo.

List of residents. Each has a listed name, breed and profile. For example, Chai, a white blue-eyed cat who kindly deigned to allow me to stroke him, is apparently a half-American Curl born to Shiou ("White King") and Lemon on 22/02, Cat Day in Japan.

The Nekobukuro cats in their natural habitat: the Centre of Attention.

The unfortunately-named Creep surveys his domain. Note the tail. At 9kg and 96cm from nose to tail, he is the winner of the Nekobukuro Size Prize (which I am not making up) and possibly the original inspiration for Long Cat.

The felines themselves treat visitors with patience, accepting their inevitable carresses as the price for a safe home, a regular food supply and more attention than you can shake a rubber mouse at. At any time, perhaps two thirds are napping, and a few actively prowling around. As for Nekobukuro as an attraction, it is clearly made with a lot of heart, with many notices on the proper treatment of cats, cat quizzes and feline information written in a warm, casual style.

An illustrated guide to how not to treat the Nekobukuro cats. The pictures are unfortunately comical. There are a LOT of notices outlying to what kind of treatment to avoid, and it is to Nekobukuro's credit that this always feels like friendly advice rather than official prohibition.

A collection of video tapes next to the TV have titles such as "The Termeownator". The Japanese for "meow", by the way, is "nyaa".

"Beware of cats falling on your head". God bless Japan.

I am tempted to just use the rest of this post to showcase various cat pictures from Nekobukuro, but I'm not sure that everyone would appreciate it (if you would, let me know and I'll make a separate minipost). In any case, plenty more may be obtained by following various links from the homepage at http://www63.tok2.com/home2/neko/nekobukuro.htm. For those of you who don't quite have the Japanese to navigate it, I recommend using the RikaiChan extension for Firefox, which provides mouse-over translations for Japanese. There's a pun in there somewhere...

I'll finish off with a couple of night-time shots of Ikebukuro. I have plenty of other observations to write, but it's 1.35 here and I'm the last one up. Anyway, there's a typhoon due tomorrow morning, so I'll probably be in and can write more then.

Remember what I said earlier about well-made skyscrapers?

And then there's this kind of view, which reminds me how lucky I am to be in Japan. Cool glowy things and alluring advertisements everywhere.

Why the rabbit?

Answers on a postcard.

Today was Asakusa. Said to retain some of the character of old Tokyo, but on the whole the trip was a disappointing one. The weather was hotter than ever today, which made what was to come somewhat more painful. You see, apart from the famous Asakusa Kannon, or Sensoji ("sensou" is another way of reading the kanji for "asakusa"; "ji" is a suffix meaning "temple"), the 29th Annual Samba Festival was taking place. OK, take the number of tourists, both Japanese and foreign, at a famous landmark on a weekend. Multiply (do not add; multiply) by the number of tourists visiting a famous annual event. In the exceptional heat. But I'll get to the samba part later.

Sensouji was built after a pair of brothers randomly fished a statue of the bodhisattva Kannon, sort-of-goddess of compassion (Chinese: Kwan Yin, Original Indian: Avalokiteshvara and male) out of the river. This was pronounced a miracle, and after a number of iterations (read: charitable donations followed by constructions followed by fires followed by reconstructions) it is the premier temple to Kannon in Japan. There were quite a few tourists, but the temple grounds themselves weren't too crowded. The way to them, though...

The Kaminari Mon, or "thunder gate" near Asakusa Station. Note Raijin and Fuujin, deities of lightning and wind, guarding it within alcoves on either side.

Beyond the reconstructed (like everything else) but very impressive gate lay another famous landmark, the road from the gate to the temple named Nakamise-Dori or Tourist Trap. I wonder if it really is just coincidence that Nakamise-Dori is a homophone for "street in the middle of shops", because that's exactly what it is. A very long avenue lined with shops aimed at tourists and selling an impressive variety of goods on either side.

The apparently infinite length of Nakamise-Dori is a famous optical effect wherein the fabric of space-time is warped by an extreme concentration of souvenirs, rather like a monetary black hole. Light can escape its pull, but will probably be charged an exit fee.

Maybe I'm just being bitter after a dissatisfying day. Nakamise-Dori, like so much else here, is a testament to the Japanese commitment to meeting customers' desires, and most people don't feel the same contempt for trinkets and purely decorative objects as I do. At any rate, having miraculously made it through without buying a single thing, the crowded Sensoji was quite impressive. Looking at the English-language map and information booklet, though, I can't tell how much of the place was off-limits and how much I didn't get to see simply because Michiko and Yuya set a fairly fast in-and-out pace.

This beautiful five-level pagoda is used to store temple records, and is sadly off-limits to visitors. Additionally, its special shape magically blurs any photography attempted in its direction (which is why Michiko remains unseen today).

The main building of Sensoji itself is...in there somewhere. It's been that sort of day.

The smoke from the cauldron in the middle of Sensoji's court is said to have healing properties, and visitors rub it into whatever part of their body they want healed.

When we left Sensoji, it was just about time for the Samba festival to begin, in the form of a parade through the streets. Roped-off main road, police shouting instructions through loudhailers (but in a very polite and helpful way, I note without sarcasm), incredible crowding and the physical impossibility of seeing anything whatsoever through the layers of people in front of us. Oh, and the sweltering heat. A couple of people collapsed. Only one got up again. We only saw a bit of the parade, and that was when we gave up and waited for the police to let us cross the road back towards the Kaminari Mon. To be fair, it was very pretty, though since when have French aristocratic attire (with wigs), or Heian-era court official costumes (if that is what they were; I can find no better reference point) been part of samba? Taking photos, of course, was impossible given the crowds.

After lunch at a nice soba place, we walked around the area near Sensoji, and guess what it contained? Shopping, shopping and more shopping. Also shopping. Yeah. If this is a fair representation of old-style Tokyo, then I don't think the Japanese can complain about the loss of traditional culture caused by increasing Western influences. Oxford, the city I know best and a great tourism site in its own right, probably doesn't have as many shops across its entirety as the area around Sensoji temple does.

This man, a seller of delicious sweet dumplings stuffed with green "grass" (or so I was told) sports a portable Edo-style stand and a portable Edo-style haircut.

According to Michiko, this shop, which sells a vast variety of brushes (the cleaning kind, not the calligraphy kind) is another famous local landmark. There's really nothing I can say to that.

It did feature these, though. Believe it or not, they are also brushes.

The one location that got my interest was a second-hand kimono store. Since kimonos go from "expensive" to "exorbitantly expensive", certainly the beautiful ones, seeing some in a 500 Yen (about 3 pounds) basket was quite something. Unfortunately, we soon found out why. Every article was in some way soiled, and I am told kimonos and obi are not to be washed. So an apology to all the beautiful women out there who would otherwise have received a souvenir kimono.

Finally, irony of ironies, we bumped into the members of the samba parade as we wandered around. They were ever so pretty, and their minimal clothing must have been perfect for this sweltering heat (I did notice a number of the original parade participants struggling to smile as their blood began to boil in their veins). Michiko took a photo of Yuya and me with one of the ladies, but sadly does not appear to have pressed the button.

The male members of the group were relatively restrained in their clothing. How they survived the heat like that, while dancing, we shall never know.

The women were the real highlight, of course. I admire their confidence in spending the whole day as the focus of countless tourists' attention in outfits often more revealing than this.

We went back home after the last of many shopping arcades. Nothing much to report there, although I saw some decent Engrish. "There are English-speaking staffs inside!" was good for the irony value (and no, it wasn't a martial arts store; ignoring ninja souvenirs, I have yet to see one of those).

Overall, I grow increasingly keen to go out on my own and make whatever mistakes need to be made to become an independent traveller, without anyone holding my hands. Part of my dissatisfaction with today stems from feeling that I could have seen a lot more of what I wanted to if my hosts hadn't taken charge of our movements, and if I could freely browse or wander off without worrying that I was making them wait. Tomorrow, if all goes to plan, will be my first solo trip - to Harajuku to see the Sunday gathering of cosplayers, then other nearby areas like Ikebukuro and Shinjuku depending on how much time I have. But I must find a suitably polite way to refuse the Urushibaras's offers to accompany me on their free days - their company is pleasant but I am not missing out on "local knowledge" much (though within half an hour of train journey, none of the Urushibaras have ever actually lived or worked in Tokyo), and I will miss the purpose of this trip if I spend it feeling frustrated at being led by the hand. Incidentally, I have been told that soon "we" will be going to Yokohama's Chinatown, and I wonder if there is any way to query this - while it is Japan's largest, and a landmark in its own right, my time is limited and I really didn't come here for Chinese culture. The more I read of my travel guide, the more I realise how much more there is to see than I have time for as it is.

Other notes? I asked Michiko about her life (partly because I wanted to know why someone would become a housewife - it is such an alien concept for me). Apparently, she worked as a faculty assistant in a university chemistry department until 27, when she married Yukio in an arranged marriage thanks to a dating agency. She moved in with him at his home in Ookurayama, and gave up her job because it would have been impossible to commute. Instead, she helped out with his cake-making business until ill health forced him to close the shop. Now, he is a self-employed landlord and she is a housewife who has a minor part-time job (4 hours a week in an office, I think) and spends some of her spare time learning English and pursuing cultural activites.

And now you know as much about the rabbit as I do.

Raumen and other anachronistic pleasures

This will be a relatively short post, so I am daring to make it on the Urushibara family laptop.

After a pleasant afternoon in the Manga Kissa (including some reading of Naruto volume 1 - thank God for yomigana; I am also amazed both at the characters' constant use of shortened slang forms, and the fact that I understand them), I met Michiko and Yuya and we went to the Shin-Yokohama Raumen Museum.

Raumen being Ye Olde spelling of ramen, before its days of being written in katakana. The museum itself is like a mini theme park - you walk around an underground chamber styled after 1930s Showa-era Tokyo, dotted with ramen restaurants drawn from across the entire country and fitted retro-style (except, ahem, a photo of an astronaut celebrity who had eaten at the restaurant we chose). Outside each, vending machines with photos of the products provided ready meal tickets.

The underground main hall of the museum, complete with sky (which had a much more normal sunset colour before my camera went to work on it).

The ramen, though meat-based, was quite delicious, and I got plenty of practice at the Japanese custom of loud slurping. Other highlights include a 1930s-style sweet shop, complete with possibly-authentic ancient Japanese sweets and toys (at 1930s prices!) and a less-than authentic elderly couple as owners (they looked elderly from a distance, but were probably about my age, though the husband insisted, in a croaking voice, that he was 78 as he staggered about on his walking stick). Also, outside, an extensive gift shop featuring the place's mascot, Ramen Cat (Neko Ramen - I'm told his anime is on YouTube).

 

 Up above hang posters for old-school dramas and B-movies, while below holds a small fair (off to the right; hordes of participating children in bright clothes were not conducive to atmospheric photography).

ゆや登場！("Enter Yuya"); the first photo to feature my host family. There will be more when they're next all together AND I remember. Alone, these conditions are tricky. Together, all but insurmountable. But I shall persevere.

While cursing my camera, I note one more wondrous fact of the museum. The staircase back up is labelled "Future", which is both logical and a neat touch. However, just behind it is a staircase down, labelled "Toilet". I invite the reader to ponder the contrast and its implications.

Half-measures are for the weak

Day 4. This time I am in the cheaper Shin-Yokohama Manga Kissa, which proves what I've been starting to think a lot about the Japanese - setting individual differences of character aside, when they set out to do something, they go all out.The Manga Kissa doesn't just feature a wide selection of different cubicle types for varied budgets, and a vast line of manga bookshelves (free to read during the paid-for time; I'm on a three-hour pack), but also magazines, a mini-cafeteria, some anime and games, TV access and free drinks machines that serve well over fifty varieties of drink between them, including more kinds of coffee than I've seen at Starbucks (that's not to mention customisable sugar, milk etc.). The people in the cubicles around me are variously reading manga, newspapers, using the Internet and playing MMORPGs. This is truly a glorious place to relax away from home, at least assuming you're staying long enough to make it worth getting a discounted "pack" - six pounds for three hours under these conditions is way better value than, say, a cinema trip, especially with unlimited free drinks (though alcohol comes in a separate cooler and costs money).

Blog needs aside, I wasn't planning to spend as much time here as I'm going to, but Michiko insisted that after an exhausting day at Akihabara I should do something less intense, and had made various arrangements practically before I knew it. On the plus side, in the evening, Michiko, Yuya and I are going to the Shin-Yokohama Ramen Museum, which collects a variety of representative ramen shops all within a retro Tokyo setting (different sources disagree as to which decade, so I'll let you know later). The first of its kind, the museum launched a fad for food-themed attractions. Now there are curry museums, Chinese food museums (notably in Yokohama's Chuukogai, Japan's largest Chinatown) and all manner of others.

Anyway, back to Akihabara. I didn't end up going into any of the smaller and more otaku-ish stores, largely for fear of boring Yuya (who knows a bit of anime, but isn't a fan the way I am). Perhaps I was wrong, since when we went to the Yodobashi Camera, a famous and towering department store, he and I spent quite some time amidst the games, PC and DVD sections (he's a big Dragon Quest fan, as well as a lover of Japanese variety shows). Did you know that there are more than a few Ghibli movies yet to be translated into English? The Camera itself was pretty impressive, with PA announcements in perfect English, Russian, French, German and Chinese just in the short time I was listening. It was huge, and filled with clever concessions to customer convenience, including an area for field-tests of executive office chairs. Yuya and I took advantage of this to rest our tired legs while pretending to be interested in the various reclining levers. Since the prices seemed little better than usual, I bought only the one thing I knew I wouldn't find elsewhere - one of a selection of films for Japanese learners of English. Namely, a copy of the Matrix with software that breaks each English line down, with a natural Japanese translation and a detailed analysis of the various meanings of the original phrase in Japanese. I have a feeling that this will come in very useful, especially since the Matrix is a film I am capable of watching over and over.

We also went to the nearby Kanda Myojin, a Shinto shrine inhabited by the tutelary deities of Tokyo. Given this fact, it was surprisingly tourist-free. There is little to say about it, since we couldn't go inside the shrine proper (though we could see into it). I drew an oracle (omikuji), which told me that I had deeply, deeply average fortune, and uttered a brief prayer, Shinto-style, at the appropriate place. I'll let the pictures do the rest of the talking.

The Kanda Myojin shrine gate, complete with traditional Japanese vans.To the sides of the gate, there were explanatory posters with the shrine's history, as well as guard dog-type statues.

The shrine proper. Cast coins into the box at the top of the steps, bow, clap twice to get the attention of the resident kami, pray (making a silent wish) and bow again. It might come true. Additionally, from the top of the steps you can just about see the holy objects within the shrine, including some beautiful sacred swords.

One of two buildings to the sides of the main shrine. This one is a rest area and souvenir shop. The one across the grounds looks roughly the same, but has the feel of a conference centre, not to be wandered into randomly.

The traditional Shinto oracle machine.

My disappointment, both at the lack of historical authenticity (err...as far as I know) and at my rather boring fortune, was only partially assuaged by the fact that the slip of paper was handed to me by a bobbing oriental dragon.

After a long walk to search for a "family restaurant" where we could get cheap food and I (still not being hungry due to feeling like it was 8am) wouldn't be obliged to order, we came across "Jonathan". This, once again, may be a private joke, but finding a "welcome to Jonathan" sign in the world's supreme geek hotspot made me very happy. Incidentally, I discovered that it is standard for restaurants here to offer unlimited free refills. In this weather, it is truly heavenly.

Jonathan, katakana edition.

Welcome to Jonathan...While the quality of the English is well above the local standard, the menus inside were exclusively Japanese (though with lots and lots of katakana).

Finally, on the way back I got a glimpse of the legendary Japanese rush hour. Wow. Even though being on a not-too-popular route took the edge off, the crowding was exceptional. People in every available space and a few non-available ones.

Here endeth the sequential narration. The following are random remarks and observations, many of them containing facts about Japan that people will already know.

This poster, found near Akiba, reads "I am a cat stalker". This is fully as alarming in Japanese as in English, and when I asked to confirm the meaning of "stalker", Yuya did so in a hushed voice. That said, the poster details the thoughts of a woman who loves cats to the point of stalking them in a fairly warm manner, and the cat in the photo looks remarkably at peace.

Again near Akiba, the special report claims that this seafood bar, "Maguro-tei", is a famous otaku haunt. From outside, there is no special feel to it, perhaps because we came in the middle of the day.

The logo of Mitsukoshi, a famous Japanese department store chain. The Japanese seem invariably delighted when I tell them there is one in London.

This one's for Densha Otoko/Train Man fans. Incidentally, though Yuya tells me it is a foreign brand, I have never heard of Hermes outside Japan, and welcome the input of anyone who has.

Ebiya, a tiny (literally) Edo-period antique store. The logo practically screams "come in and enjoy our wares".

Japanese vending machines are something else. For a coin or two, one can buy any of a large selection of drinks (cold green tea is common  - I don't like the taste, but it's surprisingly refreshing), or health supplements (middle), or curry with rice (bottom). These machines are ubiquitous, and I am told many other sorts exist - from cigarettes to used girls' underwear.

A volume of the manga "Bleach" I browsed in a convenience store was notable not only for being half a year ahead of the American translation, but also for having yomigana written next to every single kanji - even the most basic ones you learn in primary school. Truly a blessing for the Japanese learner, and accordingly I must get some on my return to Akiba, especially since (though I didn't check the price) they are allegedly much cheaper here. Incidentally, the formula of giving kanji readings separately allows authors to play some neat tricks - for example, Kubo Tite, the author of "Bleach", writes the current villains' special abilities in kanji (which give you the meaning), but gives them Spanish yomigana to fit the flavour of his setting.

The Urushibara family breakfast is grand in scope. It comprises a small dish of vegetables and ham (the lack of ham on my plate is the one concession I've been able to win, having explained that English people don't eat meat at breakfast), cereal, a drink and at least two pieces of bread. As for the latter - a country where rice will always be seen as a superior alternative, Japan nevertheless puts us to shame with its variety, including delicious an-pan (bread stuffed with sweet red bean paste). I am told, though, that most families are more restricted in the scale of their morning meal.

To be honest, the Urushibaras' unremitting kindness and consideration are so intense as to be almost suffocating. They do so much for me between them, from looking up information on places that I mention wanting to visit, to putting extra food on my plate when I can just as well get it myself (among countless examples). They give the impression of wanting to meet my every desire, including ones I haven't realised yet. There is so much of what from an English (or even Russian) perspective I would call "going beyond the call of duty" that I simply don't know how to respond beyond constant "thank you and/or I'm fine". Am I causing them trouble? Am I unwittingly sending out signals that cause them to make unnecessary effort? In a country where the polite facade is elevated to an art form, my hosts are impossible to read (even when I'm certain I understand what they're saying), and I can only hope that they always "mean it", because I have no way of telling. Nor do I have any way of repaying such a vast amount of care and attention.

Incidentally, this can be seen in microcosm with compliments. One of the basics one learns when studying Japanese culture is that compliments are typically met with humility rather than gratitude. One says "oh, I'm not that good" rather than "thank you". But now that I'm here, I'm increasingly wondering whether this is really completely true or whether I'm missing something, because I get complimented a lot (a friend told me once that "you're so good at Japanese" is almost a reflex triggered by foreigners knowing Japanese at all, and I'm starting to believe it), and there simply isn't enough vocabulary in the world to keep being humble without repeating myself. Given how frequent compliments are as an expression of politeness (worldwide, really) and how constant politeness is in Japan, not to mention how often Michiko asks me what I think of a particular dish (bear in mind that a typical Japanese dinner seems to consist of half a dozen different dishes), there must be some sort of middle way.

Japanese trains. Rush hour crowding aside, they're amazing. Because the two rows of benches are far apart to facilitate standing room, in less busy periods they feel spacious. There are different kinds of carriage, including "reduced air conditioning" carriages for people who get cold easily, and women-only carriages for those afraid of chikan or public transport molestation (apparently, a real problem here). Each type's arrival position is clearly marked on the floor of the platform, as are queueing lines in front of doors. Meanwhile, the trains feature electronic displays with journey information, station names and even the locations of stairways etc. on the upcoming platform (displayed together with the position of the current carriage). The ticket gates are the most human-friendly I've ever seen, over a metre in length with small flaps at the other end that will not suddenly hit the user (or crush their legs to smithereens, like the old-fashioned Moscow gates which gave me a permanent phobia as a child). They also feature readouts for money paid and money remaining when you use Pasmo (the local equivalent of London's Oyster card). The Tokyo train and subway network is considerably more extensive than London's, and infinitely more reliable (you can set your watch by it), but also more expensive - a two-way journey between Ookurayama and Akihabara (an hour long, and admittedly Yokohama is technically a separate city) cost me over two thirds of what would buy an all-zone, all-day travelcard in London. That said, I haven't tried buying individual tickets yet (the system is pretty complicated, and Yuya discouraged me, so I'll do it when out on my own and have room for mistakes), so I have limited data for comparison.

I'm still a bit jetlagged. During the day, I'm largely fine, but sleep at night is tricky. The family goes to bed around midnight and gets up around eight (I estimate, always being the last one up), which is less sleep than I need. I will have to work on this.

I can't think of anything else at the moment, so I guess this will do. Tonight, Shin-Yokohama Ramen Museum, tomorrow the world! Of Asakusa.

P.S. Formatting errors in this blog are largely not my fault. Blogspot laughs at my attempts to insert breaks between some paragraphs and photo captions, seemingly arbitrarily.