Biketrip Across the Mountains

Last Friday was pay-day. It was the first decent pay I got, as the first "month" was essentially not more than two weeks, and I had to cover other initial expenses. But this time I actually had some money to spend, and spend it I would. One thing I've been wanting to get for a while is a good bicycle. Most teachers at Active got one along with their apartments, not me though. This time, however, this unbalanced fairness would turn out in my favor, since most of their bicycles are city bikes in a medium-to-rickety condition. And if I was going to have to pay for mine, it would be decent. I saw a few mountain bikes at the local superstore, which strangely enough seemed to be the exception to the city bikes you can see all over the place. It's a weird thing that although we are surrounded by mountains in our immediate vicinity, mountain bikes are a rare sight. This becomes even more bizarre when compared to the Hungarian Plain for example, where virtually everyone rides a mountain bike, although there are no hills whatsoever anywhere nearby.

Never mind, I knew I wanted to have something to ride to work on, or to the store, but much more than this, I wanted to explore the surrounding area by bike. It's so much faster, and more fun than walking. In these parts good gears and brakes are essential. I remember borrowing the bike of one of my colleagues to find the way to the shrine we had discovered on our way back from Takabochi (see April 22 entry). It wasn't a steep climb just to the foot of the mountain, but I know I was quite worried coming down the hill. The poor bike was rattling like crazy that I thought it might shatter at any moment... only to be followed by my poor body. Fortunately nothing of this sort happened, but I swore I would not attempt to ride a hill again until I had some quality brakes, gears, and maybe shocks.

Saturday was the day. I walked into the big store that sells everything from pencil sharpeners to construction lumber, from ironing boards to second-hand dogs, and from space heaters to cardboard furniture. I asked the guy for a bike, showed him the one I wanted, and he assembled it for me, right then and there. It took only a few minutes. In the meantime I picked out the accessories, such as a light and a lock. I was expecting to spend 20,000 yen on the bicycle alone, but in the end I paid about 15,000 for everything, including a cool modular back-pack, they happened to have on sale that day. I was happy. The week before I had looked into a bike-shop in Matsumoto, where they had "real" mountain bikes starting at 40,000 yen. Wow! My bike is obviously a cheap import from some Southeast Asian place, though it looks as slick and cool as it gets. More importantly, it has 18 gears (by Shimano), front and rear shocks, and the world's strongest brakes, as I would find out the next day. The guy made sure to tell me that though it may look like one, it certainly isn't a real mountain bike, but he appreciates me shopping there anyway. Okay... whatever.

So feeling all cool about my fancy new bike, I rode to school, taught my classes, rode to get some discount sushi at the grocery store, and rode home. It was a dream to ride. To give it the honor it deserves I wanted to take it on a little spin and look for the other of the two geocaches in the 30km radius. The first one is on the Wasabi Farm (see April 15 entry). This other cache was located in a place called Minowa, about 25km South, in the neighboring valley. The only two things I could rely on to navigate me there were my GPS and a sketch of a map I drew based on some Google Earth images. It didn't seem like a rough ride, except for the first hill I had to cross to reach the neighboring valley. Still I wanted to set out early, just in case.

It was ten thirty when I hit the road. I had packed a 2 liter bottle of water along with some extra clothes and my geocaching items in my new backpack, and a yogurt-granola breakfast with two bananas in my stomach. I felt ready. Outside I checked the distance on the GPS: 25.5km by air. As I was taking the land route over mountains it might be a tad bit more. The warm sunshine and the clear air filled me with zest for action, so without waiting much longer I set out spinning.

The first half hour of the ride went by smoothly. I crossed downtown Shiojiri, and left the lettuce fields and rice paddies behind me. Time to conquer the first mountain. On the way up I realized that the excuses the others had used, whom I'd tried to persuade to join me on my trip, such as the bad conditions of their bikes or themselves, were not to be discredited. In fact, at certain points even I was not entirely convinced that my plan was that heroic after all, or much rather completely foolish: riding to this place I had no idea about, with a bike that was supposedly not made for mountains, without anything close to a decent map, and my condition that was...*phew!* ...I had to take a break just to catch my breath... no, I could not return beat like a loser! So I went on on the road that wound itself further up around the mountain.

Once I reached the top (who cares about the actual top, at least the slope turned downwards) the ride became more enjoyable. I was rewarded with a spectacular view over the neighboring valley, which I should have taken a picture of, but I was already rolling. And no way I was gonna climb back up just for that photo. On the way back, I thought.

The road led straight into the "Tirolean Forest" as it was called. I suppose that must be a national park of some sort, because there was a great parking lot, and some trails leading into the mountains. Past the lot the scenery became truly amazing. I don't know if it resembled Tirol, but it was very lovely indeed. Pine covered hills, little valleys with lakes, and even the road reduced itself to the size of a paved path. Ideal for bicyclists like me. Not that there was anybody else around. I continued on my way further and further downhill.

Leaving the beautiful Tirolean Forest, I passed by rice paddies, villages nested between the slopes, more rice paddies, and the humming highway in the distance. I was glad to be riding on the small path, still downhill along the chattering stream, and hoped this would continue for a while. My wishes were to be granted. Apparently, the way they run things in Japan at the moment, a lot of money is being spent for unnecessary projects. The reasons go back to the economical crisis back in '97 and the subsequent transition to Yankee-style capitalism, as a very smart friend had explained it. In any case, communities have to spend their entire budget in order to receive further funding, which often results in roads being built leading nowhere. I have seen a few examples of those in Shiojiri myself.

Also in Tatsuno, the town in this neighbor valley, it seemed like they found the perfect dumping ground for excess funds: the little road I was on. At places it was brand new, whereas in other parts it was so riddled with holes that it put a swiss cheese to shame. No wonder it was virtually unused. Not far from it was the parallel "main" road, where all the traffic was on, for obvious reasons. Still further ran the expressway. This gave me the peace and serenity to ride along at my own pace, stop right in the middle if I wanted to take a picture, or just admire the landscape.

As I kept going still further downhill, my worries became greater. I had to find a better way back... though the straight road led upstream, and left and right were towering mountains of indescribable hight. Going South, however, I probably could continue rolling downstream all the way to Hamamatsu by the Pacific ocean. Not exactly my plan for today. But let's find that cache first. I was only about ten kilometers away.


Slowly, the valley widened, and I went to explore the settlement of farms and village homes on the rolling slopes of the hills. Amazingly, I saw an abundance of green technology. Solar panels on the roofs, for example, or orchards with little wind generators between the trees, not bigger than a large fan. I'm sure they wouldn't generate enough power to sell it back to the government, but at least they would cut down on their own expenses, while embracing the efficiency of renewable energy sources. Very nice development to see.



Finally I arrived at the cache... that is at the foot of the mountain where it was hidden. I made sure to go around it, checking that I was not mistaken, but no. Of course it was hidden on top. The description even said, where Fukuyo castle once stood. And who would build a castle at the base of a hill? So up I went... this time I was more exhausted, and by the time I arrived on top I was virtually dead. I locked my bike and took the last steps up the hill on foot. It was exactly two. The cache itself was very easy to find, once again, superbly organized, like everything in Japan. I left a Travel Bug I had picked up while in Tokyo, and took the TB that was in the cache with me. I signed the log and hid the box where I had found it. After taking a few pictures, and the last swig from the water bottle, I started to head back home.

For a moment I thought about taking the train back home, but abandoned the idea immediately. What about the honor? What about the bike? How would I feel riding a shiny mountain bike that I rode downhill for a few hours, only to be taking the train back home? So I tackled the slope, which turned out to be not that bad after all. On the way I passed by a fountain with pure, fresh, cool, spring water. I filled up my bottle and washed my hands and face. The water tasted excellent, though not much different from the one that comes out of the bathroom tap, or the plastic bottles on the supermarket shelves. Another good thing about living in the mountains.

Going back, I didn't really bother with looking for the less traveled roads. I was going straight, trying not to lose my way, heading back North to Shiojiri, or so I thought. Until I realized that the area looked strangely unfamiliar, and after the next bend even the hills looked different. I knew I had missed my turn, but I didn't feel like going back. At the same time I was getting hungry, and since I didn't remember passing any eateries, I decided to continue on. The direction was right. I was still following the stream, which, as I remembered from the map, came from Okaya by lake Suwa, which was right next to Shiojiri, so I was all right. I kept going. Not even ten minutes later I passed by a noodle shop, where I entered and ordered the house special... whatever it was I didn't care. I was ready to eat anything. It turned out to be the best ramen miso soup yet, though the hunger and exhaustion might have helped in establishing this spectacular statistic.

After lunch I continued towards Okaya. It was past four when I got there. My GPS said 10km to home, though the sign disagreed, saying 18km on Route 20, which was the direct road. At that point I couldn't care less, either about the distance or the fact that it was the main highway. I stepped into the pedals, revived by the feeling of being almost there. Little did I know about the pass I had to cross between Okaya and Shiojiri. It kept going further and further upwards, and when I thought I had almost made it, it went on further up around the bend. The road itself was not too bad. Sure, it was crowded with semi trucks and whatnot, but I had a nice, wide section fenced off just for myself. Occasionally I would get a glimpse of beautiful lake Suwa.

As bad as it might seem, even the biggest hills and the longest slopes have a top, and I was overjoyed when I got there. From now on I would be going downhill all the way home. My legs, but especially my knees knew how to appreciate this. I switched back to high gears, and started using the brakes. How awesome, how rewarding, how majestic. Looking down at my home valley illuminated divinely by the setting sun, I rode into Shiojiri like a hero. And once again, it kept going and going. At times I felt I had gone past, but the signs kept reminding me that there were still a few kilometers to go. I kept rolling.

I arrived at six thirty, just before dusk, exactly eight hours after leaving. What a trip! The bike deservs recognition, it IS good! As for myself, I got a sunburn on both my arms, 
sore hands from the handlebars, and what certain experts refer to as "bike-ass", but I can't wait to go riding again.

Matsumoto and the Choices of Going Out

Having covered all the interesting parts of Shiojiri, the teachers of Active English School set out to look at the nearby town of Matsumoto. This actually happened on our second weekend here, but as there were other things to write about, I decided to leave it for later. This week, however, turned out to be relatively eventless. Just before pay-day, and after an exhausting week packed with classes, I spent this weekend relaxing and cleaning my apartment. So what better occasion could there be to include this part?

Matsumoto, a town of about 200,000 inhabitants, is only twenty minutes by train, and although its provincial, yet wannabe-metropolitan culture is merely a slight bit different from our rural Shiojiri, it provides a welcome change of atmosphere. Still, one thing became immediately obvious the minute we stepped off the train: there are actually young people here! Whereas Shiojiri seems to have nothing but families with children, as well as elderly, in Matsumoto we could see people in their twenties. With their balloon-skirts, knee socks, long-toed shoes, rock-n-roll jackets and crazy hair-styles they were a modest imitation of various Tokyo subcultures.

Downtown Matsumoto offers a pleasant stroll through its shopping streets, where relaxing soft-jazz plays from hidden speakers, lulling the Sunday shoppers into a friendly delirium. The fact that it is Sunday doesn't deter the stores from being open. In fact, the young crowd who spends their Mondays through Saturdays at work, has finally time to walk along the downtown streets in their fanciest outfits, and maybe buy the one or the other new item. First we explored the department stores, which seemed horrendously expensive, although their style came quite close to being gaudy. Then we strolled on towards the castle.

Matsumoto castle was built, destroyed, rebuilt, taken over, expanded, and fortified by several lords, called daimyo, during the civil war period in the 16th century. Since then it withstood fires, earthquakes, and American bombings, and it can be observed today in it's original state. We took the tour and observed how well polished the wooden floors of the castle were, probably from all the tourists walking over it in their socks. After touring the castle and the castle museum next door, we walked down frog street between the traditional looking inns and taverns, hoping that we would find a nice place to eat. We weren't that lucky. Apparently all the inns and taverns had been converted into different kinds of souvenir shops, so we headed back towards the station to look for a Japanese restaurant. Shouldn't be that hard to find, we figured.

Eventually we found a place that looked decent, but we were turned away with the excuse that all the tables had been reserved. (So they wouldn't have to say: No foreigners here!) At the next place they told us, while apologizing profusely, that unfortunately they wouldn't serve dinner until 5:30, and we'd have to wait at an empty table. Anyone who can read between the lines could tell that this again had to do something with "No White Devils", so we decided against waiting. Finally we entered an establishment that was open, and eager to serve us too. We were starving by this time.

We were ushered into a comfy little cubicle, where the lighting and the colors of the walls presented a warm and cozy setting. Perfect for eating, drinking and chatting. We couldn't wait for the food. The menu was of course in Japanese, but we asked for beers and decided to give different things a try and share them among the four of us. To our surprise everything we ordered was the size of appetizers. So we decided to try some other things as well, only to be disappointed again. Eventually we had ordered every single item on the menu(!), including the Matsumoto specialty, raw horse meat, and two beers each, but our hunger was still noticeably present. We decided to pay and hit the next fast-food joint we could find. The waiter brought us the check, and were surprised that although we were still hungry, we had consumed more than 2500 yen each. Is this the way foreigners get ripped off? Not at all, as we found out later. The establishment we happened to walk into was an old Japanese tradition called isakaya, where people go after work to drink, chat, and eat appetizers. The place was not so much a restaurant as it was a bar!

As for actual bars, we have found merely two decent places. One is called Kurage (=Jellyfish), since it is owned by the same guy who runs the noodle shop by the same name. At the noodle shop you can get a tasty noodle soup with jellyfish, and at the bar you can sit around a table and drink beer. That's what I like, what more do you need? Such a simple pleasure, you'd think, but apparently not in Shiojiri. The only other place of this kind we found is the so called Good Smiles Market (no, it's not a brothel!) where you can even play pool and shoot darts. The only disadvantage is that it is almost in Matsumoto, meaning we always need a designated driver. As far as the crowd goes, Good Smiles is the best. Here you can see bare chested Brazilians arm-wrestling, or some chicks talking and laughing quite loudly to each other. Anywhere else this would be a scandal, but this is exactly what Good Smiles is about. I can't wait for Summer, to organize topless beer-bike-rides to Good Smiles! The Brazilians are actually Japanese, whose grandparents had emigrated to Brazil in the 30's, and whose parents had returned to their native Nagano. But the culture... oh man, it's such a contrast! Whenever someone honks their horn, plays loud music, whistles, or talks a bit loudly, they are bound to be Brazilians. And like us Westerners, they come to Good Smiles Market, to have a good smile!

Other than these two places, when it comes to going out, Japan has not offered too many excitements so far. Shiojiri itself has nothing more than a handful of isakayas, pachinkos, and snack-bars. The former of the three would be perfect to eat, if the food was more plentiful. But being closed off into our cubicle is not what I look for in a bar. Pachinkos are gambling places, mainly with slot-machines, which has never been a turn on for me. And snack-bars have not much in common with what a westerner would associate with that name. True, they might serve sandwiches and other "appetizers", however, similarly to the isakaya, they are not the highlight of the place. As one experienced foreigner form Canada had described, there are many levels of prostitution in Japan. The first ones, such as paying a woman to talk to you, are completely legal. (What a sad state does one have to be in to PAY someone to talk to you? But maybe this sad state is rural Japan.) The later ones nobody cares about. But the ladies at the snack bar tend to come out into the streets and try to persuade you to enter, especially if you are in a group of foreigners who can't seem to find the way to the Karaoke place. Unlike the "ladies in the window" in Amsterdam, or the street hookers anywhere else, these snack-bars seem to present a completely decent and harmless appearance. I can even imagine the shyness of both the Japanese businessman and the snack-bar employee when they start talking about the business of snacking... 

As I already mentioned, the fourth alternative of going out in Japan is the Karaoke, which we visited last Friday. We ended up having such a blast, that it made up for the lack of a decent bar. Of course we were among ourselves once again, that is us Active teachers and a few English teachers from the JET program who came along. We were given a little room with couches to lounge on, two microphones, and a gigantic screen where we could read the words to the songs of our choice. Of course they served alcohol too. It ended up being extremely fun. Seeing the Japanese people at Karaoke I had the impression that their singing was surprisingly good. Of course, they practice all the time. But once we got going, singing anything from Guns 'n Roses to Oasis, and from My Girl to Video Killed the Radio Star, I noticed that we rocked as well. Man, did we ROCK. Rock out! Stayed until 3am, and I would have stayed longer too, if I didn't have to teach on Saturday. Oh well, it was worth it.

The Art of Tea

It happened a long time ago, towards the end of the Japanese civil war, just before Toyotomi Hideyoshi unified the country under one Shogun, that a certain Sen-no Rikyu raised the Japanese pastime of drinking tea to the level of an art-from. He simplified every step to its purest essence, until it reached perfection. Hideyoshi, who was a big fan of tea, and just as meticulous about subjugating other warlords as Rikyu was about making tea, found great liking in the tea master. So much so, that on his last campaign against the wayward clan of the Hojo he ordered Rikyu to accompany him. Waiting for him at the temple Seikenji, Hideyoshi became more and more impatient. The tea master took his time to get there. When he finally arrived, Hideyoshi asked him why he had been so late, and as if it hadn't been obvious, Rikyu told him: "I was drinking tea."

This little anecdote shows just how highly tea, and the time for it, is valued in Japan. There are many famous schools that teach tea, and it takes at least two years to learn it properly. However, there are people who spend their entire life studying tea, and instead of scornful remarks they earn people's respect. What a wonderful culture this is! So after hearing and reading about tea-ceremonies, I was extremely happy when I was given the opportunity to attend one myself. It was my colleague Yanik who told me about it. He had been invited by Kaori, a Japanese English teacher who works at the public school with him.

I met both of them at Matsumoto Station on Sunday at ten o'clock. It was going to be a gorgeous Spring day, with a slight breeze and the sun shining brightly over the mountains. We were all dressed up in our best attire. I was sporting my new tie I had bought in Tokyo's trendy district, Shimokita, and Kaori was wearing a beautiful Kimono. A special tea-ceremony-bus was waiting for us, as well as the other guests, all of whom were dressed in traditional Japanese clothing. It was a twenty-minute ride to the house of the famous poet Kubota Utsubo, where the ceremony was going to take place. I could hardly wait.

From what I had heard, I was expecting a long session of silence, rigid body posture, sitting on your feet, and disciplined reverence, that would go on forever. Basically something compared to which a boring Sunday service at church would seem like a walk in the park. Nevertheless, the experience itself was worth it, so I was well prepared to take on anything. May it come as it will. As it turned out, it was much less tiring as I had thought, and way more interesting.

First of all, the poet's house itself was worth the trip. Since Utsubo had lived in the Meiji era (like about a hundred years ago) his house was very traditional, with tatami mats, sliding screens, and a beautiful garden behind it. After arriving, we were ushered into the waiting area, where we took a seat on some cushions on an elevated platform. This was our group of about twenty guests for one tea-session. Eventually we were admitted into the main area, where we were served delicious, pink, Japanese candy. We would need the sweet, they told us, because the tea was going to be bitter. However, they had more of a pasty taste rather than the sweets that are eaten in the West. Of course there was an elaborate procedure how to pick up the candy with chopsticks, how to appreciate them, how to wipe the chopsticks with your napkin, and how to pass the bowl on the the next person. The more experienced tea-guests (meaning everyone except for Yanik and me) even had a special candy-cutting device in their kimono. We just used our hands... how barbaric, I know!

Eventually it was time for the tea. We got up and walked into another room, where the tea master had all his utensils laid out. The foreigners were given a minute to take pictures, and then we were seated along the walls to observe the making of the tea. Basically it is very simple: They take the ground powder from the baggie with a tiny scooper, and put it in the bowl. Then they pour hot water on it, and finally they use a bamboo whisk to make it all frothy, like a cappuccino. That's it. Every three people shared a bowl, and they used their napkins to wipe the side of the bowl where they drank form. We were also given a thorough explanation on the meanings of the ceremony and the writings on the wall, all in Japanese of course, which gave the entire experience an even deeper feeling of mystery. I realized that the simplest things can have so many more meanings and details about them that I will never even know...


The tea itself was quite interesting. Just like the candy, it was not as bitter as I had expected. But it was unusually thick. I had never had anything like that before. The taste reminded me very much of the wheatgrass shots they sell at organic health-food places, though the consistency brought some strange images of a popular Peter Jackson movie to my mind. For those to whom this rings a bell, it's when the aliens pass around a bowl they all take a sip from... and the only incognito human, who is forced to do likewise, ends up liking it. For those who have no idea what I'm talking about, here's a suggestion on the side: go and watch the film Bad Taste. It's worth it!

The whole ceremony didn't take more than maybe half an hour. Then we went to put our shoes back on and took a walk in the garden. Under the tall pine trees, there was another tea ceremony being prepared, which we were going to attend. This time it was even more relaxed. We even got to sit on benches, and watch the ladies prepare the tea in a little tent. The sweets were once again delicious, made of black beans, and the tea looked more like what I had known as green tea. It was a liquidy substance, with a lot of froth on top. This time we were reminded to turn our bowls twice, as it is not customary to drink from the "middle". Wherever the middle of a round bowl is, is still a mystery to me, but I obediently turned it twice, and enjoyed an even more delicious green drink. It was lovely.

Wrapping up the experience, I took a few more pictures of the utensils, we walked around a bit in the garden, looked at the Utsubo Museum across the street, and took the bus back to Matsumoto. It was truly a beautiful Sunday activity, and a memorable experience. I got to taste what was probably the purest tea around, and gained insight into the ancient art-form passed on since the times of Rikyu and Hideyoshi.

Golden Week in Tokyo

It's been only one month since I started my new job in Japan, and already I get to take a week vacation. Is this the actual truth behind the seemingly so busy Japanese work attitude? Or is it simply the often mentioned easy life of a teacher that is so full of holidays? None of the above, as it turns out. It is much rather a case of good timing that I got to enjoy the ancient festival of "Goruden Week", just like the blooming of the cherry trees a few weeks earlier. In fact, this is going to be my only week off for a while, until another week in August, which Japanese students look forward to as the "great summer vacation"! How pitiful, although I know that once it comes around I will have to make the most out of it, no matter what.

This was also my attitude towards golden week. I had several options, and I didn't want to leave anything up to chance. I had an invitation to Nagoya where a former Active teacher found a job after leaving the Nagaharas'. (I have no idea about the story, that was before my time. I just met him on his way out.) Another idea was to visit a good friend of mine from our time in the Public Service, back in Berlin. He lives in Hiroshima, and it would have been awesome to catch up on old times and celebrate the new ones. As he had to work, however, I opted for the third choice, and went to see a friend in Tokyo, whom I met more than six years ago in Buffalo, and hadn't seen since.

Before arriving, I had the craziest images about Tokyo in my mind: An insane city, full of neurotic people, all on the go, rushing across the busiest crosswalks, wearing the strangest outfits, using the most ridiculous hi-tech equipment, while being bombarded by oversize advertisement from all directions, in all colors, shapes and forms. Of course I soon had to realize that all these stereotypes were hardly accurate. Actually everything in Tokyo is WAY MORE EXTREME, and no exaggeration could do justice to its off-the-wall, in-your-face, kick-your-ass reality.

I arrived at Shinjuku Station at 10:00 am on a wonderfully dry and sunny Thursday morning. Surrounded by skyscrapers, wide avenues lined with trees, and a bright sunlight reflected from shinny cars and glass facades, I was relieved not to be greeted by traffic jams and rush-our madness. I knew though that it was just a matter of time before I would be thrown into the midst of it all.

Tokyo backwaters
Because my friend knew about my aversion to massive crowds, she decided to ease me slowly into the Tokyo that fits our description of the world's biggest city, and took me to see the residential district of Nakano first. Although it is in the middle of the city, and quite urban, it is a relatively peaceful area, with many parks, small pedestrian walkways, with blooming green bushes and flowers flowing out of window-boxes. In between there were little cafés, playgrounds, Shinto shrines, and sushi eateries, all in a neat arrangement that provided a pleasant morning stroll in the city. Our walk was certainly not without a purpose. After all I had previously introduced her to the wonderful hobby of geocaching, and we had to find two boxes that were hidden in that district, which was just as new to for her as it was for me. After spending three hours exploring what's probably the most harmonious part of Tokyo, enjoying a delicious mocha, logging our finds, and having lunch, we felt ready to tackle Shibuya station.
beautiful Nakano
Shibuya is the place that comes to most people's mind when they imagine Tokyo: A triangle of pedestrian crossings with loads of people on it, and an ocean of blinking neon lights above them, not to mention the gigantic screens. That is exactly what we had all around us. Kinda like Times Square in New York, with the exception that Time Square is merely a huge intersection whereas Shibuya goes on for several blocks in every direction. Moving screens everywhere you look, music videos blasting from the street-corners, flying saucers and pink apples fighting for attention with a massive talking noodle-bowl. Between the wide streets the narrow walkways are reserved for pedestrians, where even more flashing advertisement is packed between the buildings. In a way it reminded me of the Niuwendijk in Amsterdam. And just like in Amsterdam, the domineering sight were not so much the buildings, which had their own strange splendor, as the people walking between them.

Fashion is something Japanese people don't take light heartedly, especially in Tokyo. Each area has its own blend of styles and flavors, be it torn jeans miniskirts with gold handbags or combat boots with lace umbrellas; knee-stockings with black-and-white striped ties or balloon skirts with frayed spandex leggings. Somehow everything finds its place. There is hardly a fashion item produced in the the last hundred years that would not be utilized somehow by someone. And even though nothing matches, in the end everything matches with the craziness around it. And Shibuya is where everything meets. A strange experience that will startle the visitor at first, until he ventures on towards Yoyogi park and Harajuku, where a new level of shock is looming.

The proverbial (or maybe just pop-song-ial) Harajuku girls with their wicked styles are bound to catch anyone off their guard who think they've seen it all. Unless they've really seen it all, which would mean they are familiar with Harajuku. In that case it would not be surprising to see a girl, dressed up as a punk-rock-panda-bear, playing paddy cake with a dread-locked chick in an 18th century wedding gown. Others merely look like Strawberry Shortcake or some characters from an anime series. Between these types of teenage freaks your average goth, punk or hippie is just one of the many faces in the crowd. Nevertheless, they are still present, and each subculture has specific rules on what to wear and what not to. Some buy their stuff at one or two certain stores, and go to parties where all of them are dressed accordingly. So even though they are celebrating individualism and non-conformity, what it ends up being is really the opposite.

I did not take any pictures of people, but if you want to see what that infamous Harajuku fashion looks like, I reccomend a video on YouTube. Not the Gwen Stefani video for sure, but instead this collage: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xj_Oor-CG-I The pictures are great, but I would turn the sound down.

Before the day drew to a close, we went to see yet another part of the city, mostly, but not exclusively for its delicious 100 yen sushi. Although it was only four metro stops from Shibuya, this area was completely different, still not any less weird. Shimokita, as it is called, caters more to an artsie, boheme kind of crowd. It is just as extreme in style as Harajuku or Shibuya, but here people tend to keep things more "real". No fantasy science-fiction anime characters here. Instead, Shimokita has everything for your surfer-hippie or rockabilly, your 60's mod or 90's grunger. Here, I almost felt a little bit caught up in shopping. I even bought a tie. It is the craziest tie that I'd still consider wearable. One discouraging thing about style in Tokyo is that you can go bankrupt quite easily. Your average flannel or Hawaiian shirt is somewhere between 3000 and 6000 yen, the really cool ones are more. So I had lots of fun looking around, thinking that I HAD to come back, and secretly feeling happy about living in Shiojiri where I wouldn't be tempted to become a slave to fashion.

It was getting late and I had to check into the capsule for the night. I stayed at the cheapest and most convenient place that Tokyo had to offer, and probably the only one with availability during golden week: a capsule hotel. This Tokyoite contraption is the perfect place to crash for the night. Yes, the "rooms" are fairly small, but other than that it has all the amenities that you could ask for. After checking in, you can stash all your stuff in a locker, as you won't be needing anything while there. In the locker you find the pajamas for the night, as well as towels, toothbrush, and shaver, all vacuum sealed for single use. Shampoo, toothpaste, and such are all provided in super luxurious bathrooms, and the hallway has a nice soft carpet under your feet. The capsule itself is pretty much a bed with enough space to lay down, sit up, and turn around. Cozy. There is a TV with a console that has everything you could want: headphones, light-switch, radio, and an alarm clock. Check out is at 10 am. All very convenient. Spending a night there costs 3500 yen.
my capsule for the night

The next day I was invited to a Japanese barbecue. It was fun. I finally got to use all the Japanese I'd forgotten that I knew. It made me realize how much I'm still in need of catching up. The food was also pretty good, although nothing I had expected. Steaks, ribs, sausages? None of that at our barby. Shrimp? Getting closer, but it was more along the lines of octopus, squid, fish, some other shellfishes, and the absolute highlight of golden week: yaki soba, that is fried noodles with vegetables. It was all delicious. Afterwards we went to Karaoke with some Japanese friends to the top floor of a nearby skyscraper. On one side of the room was the view over the plaza, while on the opposite wall a gigantic flat-screen was projecting the music videos along with the lyrics (each in its respective language). Karaoke is a wonderful invention, and I know I would have so much fun at it, with people who like the same music as me, in the same language of course.



After one more night at the capsule, I finally set out to explore Tokyo by myself. I wanted to get some books in English, something that seems to be a rarity in my parts. There was a used book store nearby and I decided it was not too far away. The most difficult part was to leave Shibuya in the right direction, the rest was easy. The bookstore was exactly as I had pictured it: tucked in some high-rise building, a small shop with books piling up on the shelves everywhere. I knew pretty much what I wanted to get, and I found exactly what I was looking for: Japanese Inn by Oliver Statler, a wonderful piece of historic fiction about the Tokaido road, and a book about Shintoism explaining about shrines and practices, possibly about spirits and such. After asking the guy I got both. Additionally I bought a book of Japanese tales, which should be fun as well.

Rounding off this relaxed visit, I met my friend to go out for some crepes, got some sort of fancy candy for the teachers at Active, and took the train to Shinjuku Station where my bus was going to leave. As a final impression of Tokyo, I saw a Nazi rally outside Sinjuku. They were flying the old empirial battle flag, playing traditional Japanese music, and blasting speeches through a megaphone about those damn foreigners coming into the country and taking over. Japan needs to toughen up and expel the foreign companies, etc. Nobody seemed to care one way or the other. There seems to be a small fraction of these kind of right-wing extremists in every country, who bark loudly while everyone knows that these crazy fanatics have no chance of getting into power. Except for the US, of course, where they are already running the show. I was going to take a picture of them, but my friend's reaction made me change my mind. She had the same look on her face as the Guatemalan who told me not to take pictures of the garbage that was piling up in their river. Never mind, the impression was there. Nevertheless, I had an amazing and very memorable golden week in Tokyo. I can't wait to go back!