MeSci

Harajuku did have musicians. Rock, punk and Jazz fusion bands slowly slowly slowly arrived to set up, chat, look cool, chat, drink, laugh, look cool, tune and look cool. I sat and waited, watching two old geezers play on electric guitars with tiny battery powered amps. They quietly strummed out the beginning of a few rock classics and then stopped, chatted, drank, and then played the same few chords again. The yoofs, after two hours, had sorted out their looking cool and had begun to make a few noises as they waited for the rest of their cool looking band to set up. Clearly, this wasn't going to start until much later. So off I went to the MeSci museum, also called Miraikan

What a find. This quickly became my second favourite museum in the world (the first being the Pitt Rivers Museum in Oxford). Yes, it is geeky, but in the best possible way. There is very little dumbing down here, if you want to learn about quantum wells, you go ahead madam, there is plenty to read, help yourself, it's an all-you-can-eat information buffet. As I toured the Information Science section a quiet, orderly swarm of children amassed in a semi-circle around a few static robots and a woman with a headset in front of a large screen. Something was awry... and that awryed something was the children. They sat, absolutely silently, attentively and expectantly with no fuss for 10 minutes. I've never seen such well behaved children. I couldnot decide if this was good or not. Were they already so controlled they had no will to run amok? Or did they have such presence of mind and respect that they controlled their more primal instincts? Finally, the presentation began. A short talk and then :



It's difficult to express what effect his has on you when you see it with your own eyes. I'd seen this before in documentaries and other such footage, but seeing it live is... spooky.

Meiji Jingū

Sunday now and I head to Shinjuku via electrotrainmotion and decide to walk to Harajuku as walking is good. Harajuku is not far South of Shinjuku and I'm told all the bands play there. Heck, I might join in, you never know. I orientate via sun and Yamanote line and pootle up a dusty path, still looking for wildlife and ever so slightly squinting in the clear sunlight which clashes and sprays from the shimmering road. Sitting calmly amongst driveways and houses, I see this:

Do I enter? Damn right I enter. The ubiquitous and officious guard is here too. Is he here to stop me? Is this no-go-jin? He kicks up dust, moves out as if to greet me and turn me away, and then turns on his heel, shuffles back and avoids my eye.

breathe it in. I felt I could stay here and be quite content for the rest of the day. Here, nature was at rest, respected and left to relax. If there had been anywhere to sit, I might have stayed all day, but the path is the way and the way is the path.

a little way along the path and it breaks into a fork. A little left is my destination, but hard right is curious. I follow a throng of voices, clicks, and footsteps and find yet another torii.

I have stumbled on Meiji Jingū, a shrine completed in 1921, bombed during WWII and then rebuilt in 1958. Nestled in amongst the forest it felt good to be there. A wedding happened to be in session and so I followed the party around for a while. It was an amusing sight, a Vanity Fair photo shoot and a traditional ceremony gatecrashed by hoi paloi, all at once.

Yes, do that

Wondering about I saw some surprising things I did. Most gone before I could whip out the camera. This one stayed put long enough. Can you read it? It's a club called "Club the Celebrity". That's a party I could really get interested in. It was getting late, so I thought I'd take one more 'tourist' snap before heading home as the trains dribble out at 10ish.

Bit-o-Cultchya

Two nights back I went to Roppongi. Roppongi at night is where wealthy slime ooze onto the streets and commingle in all imaginable ways. Expect to be tempted into some sexual den or massage parlour or alcohol soaked nest of ill-repute. Clearly there will be no photos of this.

It's a Saturday and I meet Karen again for a tour. Karen likes to shop, so our interests don't significantly overlap in this area of life. Our first stop is Roppongi, which, when the Sun is up, appears to cast away the sins of the night and reform the cityette into a sparkling haven of gross commercial indulgence. This is some carefully constructed nightmare collision of a future Paris and space station terminal. HUGE malls are infested with continental stores, selling hyper expensive chocolate and luxury Italian ice cream. I'm not hungry for food, or this kind of sight seeing. we quickly and quietly move on. Karen hides any hint of being disheartened by my disinterest, from our talks I suspect this is because she doesn't mind at all, it's a small difference in taste that doesn't alter the shape of our friendship.




This is the spanking new National Art Center in Roppongi which only opened last year. Quite the little architects wet dream it is with all it's angles and shapes and 'ideas', I'm sure Kishô Kurokawa was pleased as punch with his curvy creation.
There's even some art in it.

Across the river is Odaiba, a man made island originally hoofed together in Edo period a few centuries back. It was originally some kinda fort (Daiba means 'fort') but is now a somewhat unpleasant shopping-amusement host. Below is a view from inside a giant mall which seemed to sell mainly pointless, pinkish things. The fake sky caught my attention.


This is the Rainbow bridge which is the prettiest connection the island has to the mainland.


And here is a big wheel you can ride. Large numbers of desperate-to-be-cool arrived in small packs and went off to tour the shops and motor displays and so forth.

Shinjuku Koen

I met a fun girl called Joy at the Oak hotel and we decided to go off and look at gardens together. We began at Ueno and it quickly became clear she had a strong pull towards vending machines and a fascination for what they might vend. Alas, not one pair of soiled female undergarments did we find, but the hot chocolate milk in a can faired well for the cold morning.

Ueno failed to excite, so off we shot via long metal undergroundness to Shinjuku (this time in daylight) and it's hotly tipped park/garden.







Just out of shot to the left, an army of Nihon-jin armed with all manner of elaborate photographic paraphernalia set themselves up to taken the ULTIMATE picture of the early Sakura. Tripods splayed out and sat solidly, some tall and thin, some squat and wide; telescopic lenses whirred and lengthened, excited into action by the buds; filters fit; focus set; apertures winked. a small forest of metal legs formed everywhere the cherry blossom blushed. Every three metal legs attended to by two legs wrapped in trouser, creased and flexed by anxiousness, hurried on by some unfathomable compulsion, aged bones stirred and creaked into unexpected motion by the will to capture this moment: The Cherry Blossom - The symbol of the transient nature of life.

Without any HINT of manipulation, Joy INSISTED we do some Karaoke later, but first we had to warm our bones. We found what appeared to be Elven Lembas bread and wrested some drink from the ubiquitous vending machines. Then we travelled back to Ueno to wander the drunken lightshow of the markets, replete with ear bleeding Pachinko halls, unpleasant but intriguing sex-shops and the light din of open-air eateries where all manner of Japanese sat tightly packed, eating, drinking and noisily laughing with uncharacteristic relish.

With NO prompting WHATSOEVER, Joy dragged me in to do some Karaoke. After a fair amount of confusion, we finally sussed out how it works and sang far too loudly, undoubtedly upsetting neighbours near and far. Surprisingly, we weren't accosted by talent scouts on our way out.

A quick scoff in Shinjuku

Shinjuku and Shibuya seem to be the epicenters of the young, fashion conscious wealthy.


Here I am to meet up with Karen again. I arrive a little early to get a feel for the place and catch a few bands performing on the street. The first one I stumble across seems to be some sort of instrumental jazz-fusion band. Two guitars, double bass and super tiny (but solid sounding) drum kit and the necessary musicians nestled up to them. They are very good indeed, putting all but the best bands I've seen in England to shame. They play their own tunes which are well crafted, dynamic and energetic and they play them solidly and with enthusiasm. AND THEN the cute girl who has been handing out fliers joins them and starts singing. She's not a natural singer, not even remotely. But this being Japan, her cuteness and girlness seem to be more important than ability. I move on to the next band. I can relax, the second band is yer standard blast out chords garage band, no songwriting panach or songsmithery here, just long bleached hair and unpleasant Engrish lyrics squealed out by another female frontwoman. The Japanese aren't as far ahead of us as I'd feared. I go back to the first band and notice they are playing EXACTLY the same tunes with EXACTLY the same 'improvisations'.

I meet with Karen and we eat and chat: The Japanese cuture and people; the food; fitting in (she's from Korea, but lives and works in Shinjuku); children (she teaches on Sundays); relationships and who they work and don't. She has a great sense of humour and we get on better than expected.




Perhaps the ice cream contributed to the social ease...

In Bloom

In the night, a giant catfish rolled around beneath me, pulsing a delightful flutter across Tokyo.

A painfully expensive taxi journey at 04:30 from Ueno brought me to Tsukiji, the Tokyo fish market, a must see destination for all sushi lovers. However, unbeknownst to the taxi driver and several other tourists (both Tokyo residents and the further flung visitors), this would be one of the few days in the year it is closed. Closed, cold and dark. I will return.

Another expensive taxi journey back, a bit of sleep and a train ride later, I decide to visit Ginza, one of the many shopping intensive zones. But, as with most areas of Tokyo, nothing really opens until 10am and I arrive at 8.30. Already a bit underwhelmed by the concrete giants stuffed full of gadgets, fashions, rich urbanites and such and such, I can't be bothered to wait around and so go for a walk.

I do a lot of walking in Tokyo, 6 to 10 hours a day. Apart from the temples, shrines, gardens and food, the other luxury I have is space and time to think and observe. The former activity I'll keep to myself, the latter: The Japanese almost never raise their voice; I never heard one police siren (and only 3 ambulances); Even if the road is clear from here to infinity in both directions, most Japanese won't cross unless the man is green; I will never be accepted here; There is a wall behind the eye that won't allow you to look inside, a polite distrust; quiet, unquestionable order (but order without communication, like a hive, each bee never talking but always knowing what must be done); the tramps are invisible to the Japanese, the street cats are fat, hungry and pissed off; police presence mostly consists of pedestrian traffic wardens, uselessly gesturing with luminescent batons so that you don't inexplicably walk into clearly sectioned off areas; they read they read they read: whenever there is a spare moment, softback books slide out and grip the attention until action tears them away again; cleaning; bin emptying; snow shoveling; where do people eat? There are places to buy food, but no one eats outside.

Ceremony pervades and perhaps even oppresses. The Soup Stock employees automatically utter a stream of pleasantries as you enter, choose and pay, completely aware that you will probably understand none of it, but this is the protocol. There is a way to do it, and there is no other way. Nod."Hai". bow. pay. "arigato gozaimasu". you'll fit right in. correct behaviour trumps full understanding.

Flat sun pushes in, not hot but quietly, delicately burning. crossings twirp, first one pitch then another, robotic guardians of safety. almost no talk, just unreturned greetings. the shine from one long silvery back of tarmac which stretches out, along and then over water: a dragon deity of transport. Old and new knock together, respectful. blinding towers patiently absorb their tiny, sweating, immaculate masters.

I find a park just to the West of Tsukiji where a shogun used to hunt ducks.

It's early March, the sakuna are just starting to flower, I'm lucky to catch it at all so early.

A stone lantern. I love these things. The stone lanterns are used as garden enhancements and were originally used to light tea ceremonies. Before that, metal lanterns lit temples, a practice copied from China. I want one I want one I want one.


And then my camera runs out of batteries.

I've misjudged when to be here a little. I desperately want to see wildlife (particularly a praying mantis) and there is none, I'm too early. If I look close, if I scour the yellow grass and dry soil, if I sit and work under stones, sometimes I find a springtail, or a small fly or louse. Not that I'm starved of things to see, there's an infinite amount to be found everywhere with the right eyes.