The Urushibaras. Yes, that's the best photo you're going to get.
The key point of today's plan was to go back to Harajuku, and this time capture the elusive Sunday cosplayers who had previously been driven off by the Super Yosakoi Festival. This task was made more challenging by the heat, the fact that Harajuku is filled with gorgeous young people who might be cosplayers or might just have really eye-catching clothes, and the fact that I was near the end of the last case of "Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney" and had to spend much of the day on the tantalising edge of its resolution.
In the event, I didn't take many photos of the cosplayers. This is partly because I didn't recognise a single character - whether because they were unknown series or because many of the attendants were dressed in the striking styles of visual-kei bands, rather than as anime, manga or game characters, I'm not sure. Also partly because the crowding and a man waving a "no photos without permission" sign prevented any atmospheric wide-angle shots. However, I did achieve my secret objective: research into what cosplay means to Japanese youth.
A relatively subdued example of visual-kei cosplay.
Boiling in the heat is a young woman cosplaying "Lazet". The only Lazet I know is a mermaid from "O7-Ghost", who wears no clothing and has just enough natural camouflage to keep the series safely in 12 rating territory, so this is probably something else.
This young lady has an age-old love of cosplaying as a waitress. She was quite shy, so I couldn't get any details as to why.
My initial attempts to ask a few questions of the people willing to be photographed brought no answers beyond what I would expect from a UK cosplay crowd. It's a hobby. Self-made costumes take time and money, but are cool. My friends got me into it. I've always thought it was cool. That sort of thing. So I decided on a different approach.
I spotted a trio of cosplayers resting in the shade on the opposite side of the bridge, away from the tourists and just about everyone else. I walked up to them and explained that I was a UK cosplayer (technically true, just an infrequent one) wanting to compare UK and Japanese cosplay, and asked if it was OK to ask a few questions. They agreed, and, in a relaxed fashion, gradually explained a lot of interesting things to me.
Apparently, in direct contradiction to the Lonely Planet Japan guidebook, the purpose of coming here to Jingumae Bridge in costumes isn't to show off in front of cameras or anything such - it is merely an occasion for hanging out with like-minded friends. While sometimes, if the mood takes them, being photographed can be fun, usually it's just a nuisance at best. As one of them put it, no-one wants to end up on Youtube and be unwittingly seen by countless people.
Other points of note included the fact that, unlike UK cosplayers (who mostly stick to conventions), Japanese ones attend other large events, such as concerts of the bands they're cosplaying as, in costume. Apparently, dressing as a visual-kei band is simultaneously a way of paying respect to the objects of their admiration, and a way of drawing just a little bit closer to them. And when the day is over? They'll go get changed at McDonalds nearby and leave without regret. Cosplay time is cosplay time, set aside from everyday life.
After talking to them, I set out towards the Meiji Shrine, this time intent upon visiting the Treasure House and its collection of Meiji artefacts. Furthermore, the route north through the shrine grounds would bring me to near Yoyogi Station, and thence to a walk through Yoyogi Park (or so I thought). The artefacts themselves were hard to understand in depth - the English explanations were sparse one-liners if at all present, and the Japanese ones were overflowing with rare kanji. Nevertheless, the items themselves were quite beautiful, and some revealed the fascinating collision of traditional Japanese culture and Western influence which Emperor Meiji had to face and moderate (such as the emperor's favourite pipe, shaped like a battleship's cannon). Photography was, of course, forbidden. One final touch was that the whole hall was lined with portraits of every emperor in Japan's history, painted by a particularly famous artist in defiance of the (unmentioned) fact that there can't be historical evidence for half the faces.
A side-note here for prospective or current Japanese learners: the 2000-character list of ordinary-use or Joyo kanji is a LIE. Possibly newspapers do have to abide by it, but not a day has passed in Japan without me facing dozens of kanji none of my textbooks as much as hinted at (and thanks to Heisig, I can visually recognise a lot more kanji than I formally "know"). Though, admittedly, all those shrines with archaic or particularly formal-language inscriptions might skew the measurements a little.
En route to the Treasure House, the world's least helpful sign.
After some consideration, I decided not to purchase any as a souvenir. There are far more reliable ways of disposing of one's enemies.
The Yoyogi-nou area near the Treasure House on a Sunday. Peaceful despite being in the heart of the city. Off to the left, a little girl chases soap bubbles.
The flag (atop this flagpole) was very ordinary, but my attention was caught by the vast number of sparrows inhabiting the area. This picture does not do them justice.
While looking for the Treasure House, I took a deliberate wrong turn and came across a completely unexpected Kyuudou (traditional Japanese archery) training hall. They were in the middle of a national bi-ennial competition between the archery teams of various branches of the Mitsubishi company. I sat for a while and admired the looks of perfect concentration on the archers' faces. Unfortunately, because I figured flash might distract the competitors, my photos have not come out so well.
Because linear narration is overused, here, at last, is the Treasure House. There's a lot less inside than the building's scale would lead you to believe.
Having finally left the shrine grounds via the north gate, I soon became aware of an uncomfortable truth. Yoyogi Station is in fact some distance from Yoyogi Park, and far from the closest station to it. The actual closest station? You guessed it, my starting point of Harajuku.
After three years of theology training, this worries me. Has anyone told Jesus?
In the end, though, Yoyogi Park was totally worth it. Initially I knew only one thing about Yoyogi Park: one day, when the world ends and its remains become an inverted sphere filled with demons, this place will be haunted by countless faeries. However, since the Shin Megami Tensei games are set in the near future at best, this was not particularly helpful in the present. Nor did it prepare me for the kaleidoscope of activity I found.
Apart from just being a huge, beautiful wooded area, the park was filled with people, without the impression of being crowded. There were countless couples - one young man, looking contemplatively at the shade of the trees, made a proposal to his girlfriend which I didn't catch, but her reply translated as "no way in Hell!" Jugglers practiced with varying numbers of objects, as did musicians - anything from a lone guitarist to a ten-piece violin ensemble to three all-Japanese bagpipe players who belted out a succession of complex and surprisingly good tunes (this coming from someone who loathes bagpipes and believes that they should require a weapons license). Other people trained with what appeared to be aerobics and dance routines.
Near the entrance, some appropriately-dressed people were dancing to old-fashioned American rock'n'roll (I think). My knowledge of music is, of course, zero, but at any rate they were obviously enjoying themselves (though in my humble opinion those polka-dot dresses suit Japanese women even less than American ones).
Further north, some kids were comparing football and basketball tricks, while a group of three teenagers were dancing freestyle to the beat of a ghetto blaster (or whatever you young whippersnappers call them these days). Like many people who stopped to watch, I was amazed at their flexibility - both physically and in terms of dancing style - and their apparent lack of inhibition. I watched for a while, building up my courage, then asked to join in. While my own dancing is considerably less awesome than theirs, they seemed vaguely impressed, and I danced with them until I got tired, somehow at peace with the fact that the dozens of people who had been watching them were now watching us.
Yoyogi Park, southwest. In the distance is the platform where we danced.
The walled-off dog park. This particular canine is suffering from severe shyness.
Sadly, the many trees of Yoyogi Park also prevent me from displaying its full glory via the medium of photography. Wandering further on, I encountered Ian and Mario, teachers of the Philippine two-stick martial art of "escrima", leading a Sunday class. Both were native English speakers, and Mario spent a while explaining the principles and infinite superiority of escrima to me as I watched them practice. Apparently, having mastered the use of the two sticks, one becomes capable of self-defense using any object, as well as greatly improving the use of one's bare hands. I had a fun time comparing the basic concepts involved to my own martial art.
Having finally become tired, I rested for half an hour at a nearby bench, then proceeded to Shibuya, within walking distance and the heart of trendy youth culture. There were countless expensive-looking shops, including many Western chains, and some amazingly-dressed young people. Shibuya certainly felt alive, in a bouncy energetic way. Plus some very impressive crossings, including a triangular one that made my mind boggle once again at the Japanese capacity for waiting until a traffic light is green if one is available (even if there are no cars for miles in any direction). Conversely, though, it is worth noting that they will cross quite carelessly and spontaneously if no traffic lights are to be found.
En route to Shibuya, a Mysterious Building. Sadly, further investigation would have required finding a way around a long set of train tracks, so I left it for the time being.
Evening-time Shibuya.
On my way past Shibuya Station, I got scouted by another modelling agency. This time, however, he spoke very poor English (so, really, had no business calling out to a foreigner), and what I could gather from his explanation would mess up my schedule even further than N. Hoolywood's exhibition, so I declined. I wonder if this happens to everybody in the right part of Tokyo who fits a certain visual profile.
Meanwhile, I realised that this was a good opportunity to fulfil one of my Tokyo dreams: to see the new Naruto Shippuuden movie in its native habitat (also about a year before it would hit the fansubbers). After all, this metropolitan area was full of cinemas...but not so fast. Turns out every cinema they had (and I was given a specialised leaflet at the first one I tried) was showing only one film, and the Naruto one was some way away. After very eventually discovering it with the help of multiple passers-by (the leaflet's map rivalled the Lonely Planet one for helpfulness), I found that their one showing of the day had been in the morning. Sigh.
On the plus side, as I consulted the LP map for some hint as to where I might be, I realised I was on Dogen-zaka, also known as Love Hotel Hill, with the greatest concentration of said establishments of anywhere in the country. Here was another great opportunity for cultural research.
Love Hotels are essentially hotels where one may rent a room for anywhere from a few to 24 hours, and are mostly aimed at couples. Contrary to the obvious assumption, however, they are not necessarily for sex - in a crowded city where many young adults still live with their parents, the basic draw of a love hotel is simple privacy, however one chooses to use it. Likewise, in contradiction of the LP guide, all the rooms I saw advertised (I looked into about half a dozen hotels) were quite tastefully decorated, and generally looked like nothing so much as ordinary luxury hotel rooms (all with double beds; some with TVs, massage chairs, DVD rental and other commodities). Admittedly, though, the majority of rooms on the displays were darkened (indicating occupation) and therefore their photos were hard to make out. As for rules, apart from a common "over-18 only", only one seemed to have an actual rules notice; the first of three being "rooms are for rent to male-female couples only". I find it noteworthy both that such a rule exists, and that I only saw it at one of several hotels.
The architectural style of the hotels can only be described as "unpredictable". One common feature was partially obscured entrances, presumably for customer privacy (though most of the people around Dogen-zaka were youths attending gigs at local clubs, and unlikely to care).
A typical room selection screen. The highlighted rooms are currently available. Typically, staff won't turn up until you press a button selecting a room and stay time - and they generally seem to keep out of the way so as not to bother shy customers.
Detail of the currently available rooms. While the decor varies, none of them seem as gaudy as LP suggested.
Overall, what I think impressed me most was how seedy Dogen-zaka wasn't. If you didn't know what the love hotels' raison d'etre was, and ignored the invariable double beds in the photos, you certainly wouldn't pick it up just from looking around. The emphasis is firmly on privacy rather than sexuality. I'm sure there's some sort of sociological theory lurking in there somewhere...
Looking back on the day, what makes me happiest is probably that I am slowly gaining courage. I interviewed complete strangers in a foreign language. I joined a freestyle dance, watched by dozens of people, and chatted to an escrima teacher. I even walked into a number of love hotels (and, if the blog doesn't make it clear, both this and the over-18 Akihabara exploration were excruciatingly embarrassing). I hope I can keep growing like this, and bring it back to England (where I won't have the excuse of being an ignorant foreigner when I make mistakes).
And, in the end, my wish would be granted. It is the following afternoon, and I am about to go see Gekijouban: Naruto Shippuuden, in spite of the fact that yesterday was its last release day for the majority of cinemas. I'll let you know how it goes (Naruto movies are generally quite awful, so I'm going more for the experience than out of specific fandom). Gekijouban, by the way, is the Japanese for "...The Movie", and goes before the title.
P.S. I realised at dinner last night that, were I but to avoid a single side dish, I could have a completely vegetarian dinner. So intense was my sense of relief that I must conclude that mere good food cannot swing me from vegetarianism anymore. There is certainly no risk (whatever my parents may or may not have hoped) of a month of eating delicious Japanese meat and fish destroying my commitment to vegetarianism when I get back.
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