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.
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...
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.
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