leaving on a jet plane

(Haneda Airport)

Despite being tired and run down, it took me hours to get to sleep last night, and even then, I woke every hour. Ah-bleeeegh.

I checked out of Hotel Mori at 9. It’s a pricey standard western hotel. Clean and neat with good room facilities, but I’m not quite sure the price was justified by the quality or the location. Regardless, I appreciated the space to string up my washing (those travel clothes lines aren’t just for camping, couldn’t have done without it) and the free wifi.

Getting to Haneda Airport from Kamakura was surprisingly easy, and took only an hour. The Yokosoko line to Shinagawa, and from there the Kiekyu line to Haneda. The set up here is you check in, and then go somewhere else to check your luggage, but unlike other airports I can think of, they have more than enough staff on to munch through the queues steadily.

Sitting now at the gate lounge, having finished my bento set. See, I have learned a bit. Instead of waiting till arriving in Tokushima to eat, which would be around 2pm, I have eaten now! Go me. I wasn’t sure if eating at gate lounges was against etiquette, as I could see no one else doing it, but at this point in time I feel it is okay for me to play the stupid lumbering gaijin card.

A couple of observations;

If using the online rail websites such as hyperdia.com to plot a route through the train system, do not, do not ever attempt to use a route that gives you only five minutes to switch lines. This might be possible if you’re at a remote rural station with only a handful of platforms all in sight of each other, but at most stations, you’ll spend those five minutes just getting to the exit. Shinjuku especially needs at least, at the very least, half an hour between arriving and departing, because you’ll wander around like a lost dog with no idea where you are.

I’ve been pretty relaxed about train hopping, not looking so much at times, but what lines and stations I need to get where I’m going, and winging it from there.

Dammit. Apparently putting food in my stomach makes it ravenous. Isn’t the opposite supposed to happen?

I don’t know why they play bird song on the station platforms. Twittering is okay on the open air lines, but the sound of seagulls is a bit weird when on the subway.

The first couple of weeks I burned through a lot of money, which worried me, to say the least. Since activating my JR pass, said money burn has practically ground to a halt. My biggest expenses are accommodation, which is expected, and food, which is so much cheaper than all the hearsay will have you believe. Admission to all the shrines, temples and museums has been uniformly tiny. I haven’t bought much in the way of souvenirs, mostly just little bits and pieces as gifts. Having already paid for my rail pass and just waving it as I walk through the gates is majorly awesome.

Oh my god. I think the vending machine behind me has orange juice. Must get some! It’s become one of my small everyday quests to find orange juice for breakfast. The success rate of this quest isn’t great.

Hard to believe I’ll be going home in a month. Even harder to believe that I’ll be driving a car in less than a month. Arghle? The highways don’t phase me, but having seen city streets, and how narrow they are, and how scary people who drive on them are, I’m a tad apprehensive.

OFFS.

(Hotel Mori, Kamakura)

The part of me that indulges in entirely illogical thoughts is currently labouring under the belief that I only have a set number of nights of good sleep that I can use during this trip. I don’t know how many of these nights I have, but I think I just wasted one.

A backlog of exhaustion and insomnia finally kicked in, and I slept deep and long last night, rare even at home. I woke feeling refreshed and ready to take this funky country on again. Bring it, I say, bring it on.

(Apart from the nasty dream about being trapped in the sewers with zombie monsters, a torch with a failing battery, and rising water. That’s not cool. At some point I’d switched to third person omnipresent, and was watching a bus that was being abandoned. Zombies were just sitting in it, because, er, I don’t know, but people who had been bitten were tied to the bars inside that bus, left to die. The bus was caught in a flood of water, intended to drown the zombies (now there’s a stupid stupid stupid idea, zombies don’t drown), and these people could do nothing but stand there as the water poured in.)

Everything opens late on a Sunday, so I went without breakfast and walked to Kencho-ji. It was another stinking hot day, but I was a bit more prepared for it this time, and at that time of morning there was still plenty of shade on the streets. Kencho-ji is just up the hill behind Tsurugaokahachimangu. Although there were already people setting up shop for the yabusame (horseback archery), I figured it would be a shame to have spent three days in Kamakura and only visited Hachimangu and Kotokuin. Kencho-ji is ranked first among the Zen temples of Kamakura, and is a working monastery. It was relatively quiet there, with the morning crowd pretty thin, and I was able to stroll around the grounds at my leisure. One of the halls had an idol of an incredibly emaciated man, sitting in mediation, his head backed by a disc. His stomach had shrunked deep away into his body, and his chest was skin stretched over ribs. He left me feeling slightly unsettled.




(A monk and his dogs. These dogs are pretty common, and weren't very happy in the heat.)

Behind the main hall was a tiny zen garden, where French tourists took photos and talked loudly. It’s funny, in America it was impossible to escape the German tourists; here, it’s the French.

I walked back to Hachimangu, and, wow gee golly. It was still an hour and a half till the event was supposed to start, and the track was already lined thick with people staking out their spots. I had intended to eat first, but I figured I should probably do the same. Mistake number one.

I managed to squeeze into one of the spectator areas, and even got myself something to lean on in the shade, which made my spot pure gold. Even better, I fell into a conversation with the people beside me, who turned out to be from Newcastle. They’d just finished a trip around Canada and Alaska, and were stopping in Japan on their way back home. I got that conversation in English I wanted, and more. Thank you, J and W!

There were seats on the other side of the track, which you could actually reserve and get a great view from. If I’d known, I’d have bought three, just for me.

An hour and a half passed, and the event began.

Not really.

The ceremony of the priests and archers meeting and doing what they do, that began. Far away and out of sight, while the announcers broadcasted the history of the city, shrine and ceremony in Japanese and English. The English translation surprised me. I didn’t hear that many English speakers about the place, they’d have done better in French or Mandarin.

I finished my water. Er.

I started to feel queer, and didn’t like the idea of hanging around another two hours without water, but I knew if I left, I’d never get back in. J kindly gave me some of his water, which turned out to be a very bad move, because when you’ve dehydrated that badly without noticing, a hit of water makes your body go fucking wrong, and I blacked out.

Fuck. Seriously. That’s the second time I’ve keeled over from dehydration this month. You’d think I’d fucking well learn. I mean, I had water! I’d been drinking all day since I knew I was sweating up a sea. I’d even bought myself drinks, those horrible sports drinks to replace the stuff you’ve oozed out your pores. Apparently, not enough.

These black outs only ever last a couple of seconds, but it takes a while for my brain to start working again. First to come back is hearing, actually, that never goes away. Second is sort of sight – I became aware that I was looking at the ground and people’s shoes quite closely. Then, wits start to return. I stood, but I still couldn’t see properly. It’s hard to describe what it is to have eyes open without being able to see. Everyone was yammering away at me, and even though I couldn’t see properly and didn’t have enough control over my limbs to take a step forward, I could say “o-mizu, kudasai,” and ask for water right away. Haha! Go brain, go!

I crushed some poor police officer’s hand to death as I tried to not to black out again. It doesn’t take long for me to get back on my horse, but it’s hard to do when no one will leave you alone. Abruptly, everything clicked back into place, and I climbed over the barrier and was taken to a hut where they sat me down and put ice on my head. Despite the fact that I kept asking for water, they seemed to believe it was the heat that had knocked me out. My phrase book does not have the Japanese word for ‘dehydration’.

So, if you’re ever in the situation where someone around you has fainted, know that you need to not ask them questions for about a minute after they come around. It’s distracting, and can be a bit of an overload on an already overloaded system.

Thank you the Hachimangu monks and police officers who came to my aid. Sorry for being an idiot. Sorry for crushing your hand.

After sitting quietly in the cool for about ten minutes, and being given several cups of ice tea, I felt normal again. I’d lost my spot, and even worse, my Newcastlians, but I slunk out behind the press area just as the yabusame was starting.

I didn’t have a good view, being obstructed by the huge protective shield behind the first target, but it was quite impressive. The archers were decked out in full traditional gear, with gorgeous fabrics, leather-worked quivers and horse tack, and lacquered wicker-work hats. Most were quite moderate, cantering down the track to fire when about level with the target. I don’t think anyone hit all three targets. Some, the crowd pleasers, came tearing down at a great rate of speed absolutely shrieking and howling their heads off, which greatly amused me. I was particularly fond of the last archer, who was quite and sedate and wearing glasses.





But, after only half an hour of standing, I started to feel queer again, and snuck off to find a drink. There was a stall selling shaved ice cups with syrup, and that held me up through to the end of the yabusame.

The queerness kicked in again, and this time I figured it was more to do with only having eaten a small packet of rice crackers all day, which no amount of water guzzling was going to change. I sat down outside the first restaurant I found…and failed to get in because I didn’t realise you needed to write your name down on the board outside, and after twenty minutes when the people behind me were called in, I gave up. The sit down had recuperated me somewhat, so I started to walk back to the hotel. In the end, with all the restaurants being full to the gills, I decided not to wait for a table. A bento set for the third night in a row for me.

I still feel decidedly wobbly. Not off, just a bit delicate around the edges. Another early night for me. Kamakura, I wish we could have had a better time together. I rather like you, but I’m never visiting you in September again.

Burninating

(Hotel Mori, Kamakura)

Fuck, I’m tired.

Insomnia hit ridiculously hard last night, and some time after one in the morning I gave in and took a sleeping pill, which only knocked me out till five. This is dumb. All the exercise I’m doing, I should be sleeping like the dead. Why the opposite? I don’t have time to be tired.

The washing I did yesterday was dry enough to be moved and just dumped on all available surfaces, so I did another load in the bath. After writing this, I’ll go spend some quality time with it and the hair dryer.

This time, I was aware it was Saturday, and went the post office first thing, while it was still open. Stamps bought and mail sent, hurrah!

The information kiosk told me I could catch either the number 1 or 6 bus to get to Kotokuin Daibutsu (the giant buddha). There is a hiking course from one of the temples that ends at Daibutsu after a couple of kilometres that I was intending to do, but it was way too hot. Fuck Tokyo and it’s humidity, this was the sort of heat that is so powerful it’s like a Super Saiyan Falcon Punch from the sun. As I was already running on only four hours sleep, I figured some laziness was in order.

There was a fair wait between buses, having just missed the number 1 when I rocked up. No hassle for me, but for another tourist, who spoke a European language I couldn’t quite identify, well, the wait was just too long. He wasn’t at all comfortable with the situation, being in a stranger place with an unfamiliar language and that air of tension that indicated he was waiting for something to go terribly wrong. He paced, checked the time, checked the bus time table, checked the other bus stops, checked his map, and made several phone calls asking for directions. When the bus finally came, I told him straight out that it was going to Kotokuin, and the fare was 190 yen. He followed me like a CIA agent up to the admission gate before disappearing. I guess he felt comfortable, being where he was supposed to be.

Kotokuin was quite impressive. He is- actually the summary on the back of the ticket says it best, so I’ll just copy it.

“This bronze statue of Amita Buddha was cast in 1252 AD by the sculptors Ono-Goroemon and Tanji-Hisatomo at the request of Miss Inadano-Tsubone and Priest Joko, who not only originated the idea of building this large statue and the temple covering it, but also collected donations for it.

In 1498, a tidal wave swept away the great temple of the Buddha, leaving only the foundation stones. In the 500 years since then, the holy statue has been exposed to sunshine, storms and snow.

The latest repair was done in 1960-1961, to strengthen the Buddha’s neck and to make it possible for the Buddha’s body to move freely on the base to prevent a damaging shock to the statue in case of an earthquake.

The statue is 13.35 metres tall, and weights 121 tons.”


(He's thinking, "PUNY MORTALS I CRUSH YOU." Well, no. Probably not.)

That’s a whole lot of Buddha. A pair of enormous straw sandals were kept aside for him, hanging from a wall, should he ever decide to stretch his legs. He’s been sitting for a while, so it might happen. What amused me even more was what had been left as offerings at the Buddha’s feet; oranges, flowers, and three bottles of coca-cola.



Yep.


(They didn't know I was using them for perspective, but I used them because I'm a nasty user thing. Personally, I wouldn't touch a giant pair of straw sandals. Feet, you know, they don't smell so nice.)

The statue is also hollow, and for 20 yen I crawled in through his feet and stood inside his belly. Where his coke goes. I don’t know why, but having a giant impressive statue turn out to be hollow feels like not quite right. Especially when there’s windows in his back to let light into his belly.


(Inside Kotokuin; that's the fold of his robe.)


(The Japanese make cakes out of everything. I found these in the souvenir shop at Kotokuin, and they prompted me to completely mangle the quote from LONE WOLF & CUB, "if you meet the buddha, kill eat the buddha.")

I caught the bus back to the station, and wandered around the narrow streets and alleys of the shopping district, now that everything was open. The regional craft of Kamakura is wood carving, which is then lacquered over, usually in the form of trays. They end up with a peculiar red plastic look to them, and being unable to shake the plastic vibe, I decided to give them a miss. I indulged myself some very pretty paper – in no world will I ever need pretty paper – and actually found a sweet shop selling small packages. Most sweet shops sell their wares in large boxes, specifically to be taken home as gifts for friends and relatives. Too much for me. I bought myself an odd semi-tried persimmon sweet, stuffed with…something, and a box of little bunny cakes which I will tear apart violently.

Lunch was harder to hunt down than I had anticipated. There was no shortage of places to eat, and there was no shortage of waiting line going out the door, either. I eventually found one place with a short queue, and had udon noodle soup, vegetable tempura and some fantastic salmon rice with enormous fat salmon roe.

The split between people who pin me as gaijin and people who believe I’m Japanese is pretty much down the middle. It amuses me.

I almost considered going back to my hotel to change after lunch, it was that bloody hot, but decided to check out the hachimangu shrine instead. A good move, as they were just gearing up for the procession out of the shrine and down the main street. Oh, those poor people. The higher-uppers were decked out in full regalia, and even though they were on horses, before the procession had even started they were literally dripping sweat. They didn’t have the worst of it either. There were three ancient and battered portable wooden shrines brought out from the temple, carried on the shoulders of men whose clothes were drenched with sweat. They were exhausted before the march even began.













They set off, and I sat down in the shade, people watching. I figured they’d come back eventually, but a long time passed, so I decided to head back to the hotel and cool down. Half way back, yes, they were coming back, so I tromped back to the shrine, and watched those poor men carry the shrines back up the stairs. They were so tired they were listing and wobbling all over the place. No wonder the shrines are a bit battered.

The priests were locked in the temple to perform their rituals, while the crowd outside paid their respects. Then the priests left, the mob of men who had been carrying the shrines were allowed in to wash and change, and that was pretty much it. I staggered back to the hotel, turned the air con down to freezing, and fell in the shower.

My nose is burnt.

It’s probably just the heat and the lack of sleep and maybe the fact that I haven’t eaten much today, but the last two weeks just slammed into me. I had intended to walk around town after dinner, but no, I think I’ll just sit in here, where it’s quiet and cool, and be a blob. Depending on what time the horseback archery starts tomorrow, I might let myself sleep in again.

I would love a conversation in a language I didn’t have to concentrate on.

Oh. This isn’t orange juice. It’s…er…orange flavoured milk.

Er.

It’s funny, you know, going back and editing entries written only a couple of weeks ago. I was so daunted by the idea of having to ask for ticket information for the theatre, and eternally grateful for A’s better grasp of the language at the time. Now, I could do that and more without hesitation. It’s funny how quickly language can be absorbed. Admittedly, I’m only absorbing what I need, which is money, ticket, time and direction located, but my vocabulary is growing. Today, I was able to ask if there was a bus to Kotokuin entirely in Japanese, and understand the answer given to me.

None in Kamakura

(Hotel Mori, Kamakura)

Today was a day largely spent in transit. From Hakone-Yumoto, I caught the train to Ebina, where I switched to the Sotetsu Line as far as Yokohama (y hallo thar!). At Yokohama I was back in JR territory, and used my pass to catch the train to Kamakura. I thought it would be a ways away. It’s no small distance on the map, yet the local train only took 25 minutes. Given I had no idea where my hotel was, I was all set to catch a taxi again, but at the last minute decided to ask at the tourist information office. And lo! My hotel was just around the corner. Excellent!

It was too early to check in, so I dropped off my bag and asked where an internet café was. They said there wasn’t one. I asked if there was anywhere I could get internet access. They said none in Kamakura. O-kay.

I took a stroll up the main street to Tsurugaokuhachimangu (try saying that three times fast) Temple, the focus of a matsuri (festival) this weekend. People were ambling about, checking the place out as it set up for the festivities. Drummers lined the path up to the shrine. There were enormous offerings of sake and beer about the place. I washed with sacred water, and paid my respects. The nuns were selling various charms, and I found one specifically for good luck during study, which I grabbed for my brother. If I’m up early enough tomorrow, I’ll mail it home to him.


(A lot of sake. You can see beer also on offer down in the right hand corner. Hachiman, he likes to chill with beer and a BBQ sometimes.)


(The truck of a ginko tree, a fucking HUGE ginko tree. This stolen from wikipedia: "Minamoto no Sanetomo, the third Kamakura shogun, was assassinated on February 13, 1219 by an archer hiding behind the great ginkgo tree that still stands beside the great staircase at the shrine." If it was big enough for an archer to hide behind in 1219, imagine how old it must be now.)

They also had fortune telling, this time also available in English. I shook the box and came up with stick number 2, a fortune of “Sue-kichi”. “Sue-kichi” is quite a mixed bag of good and bad fortune. Particularly, it said that my wish would not come true if I became careless. If I knew which wish that was in reference to, I might have some idea of how not to be careless with it. (ETA: I did a quick google on sue-kichi, and it's only one step off being bad luck. I'll take it as meaning the patterns aren't about to change. Heh. It amuses me. This piece of paper, it's keeping it real, yo.)

In a shady side path from the main shrine I noticed some kimono-bedecked women setting up what I thought was a tea house. One of them noticed my unrepentant sticky-beaking, and waved me in. It wasn’t just a tea house, they were actually performing the tea ceremony for whoever wanted to come and sit. Fantastic luck. I sat by some French tourists in the front row, and they served us with sweets shaped as the fletching of arrows (mochi on sticks). The ceremony was quite an involved process, every movement precise and measured, from the placement of the whisk to the folding of the cloth, and the woman performing it appeared to be exercising extreme concentration. They served me the first bowl she made, pointing out the relationship between the fletching mochi, and the arrows and target painted on the side of the tea bowl. Green tea on its own is quite a harsh taste, but when tempered with the sweet, the two tastes melded together to become something quite refreshing. The formality was surprisingly soothing. I may visit them again in the next couple of days.



I checked into my hotel, dug up all my dirty washing (most of my bag), and asked them if they had a laundry. They said no, and given this is a one floor hotel of a four floor building, I wasn’t that surprised. I asked for a coin-op laundry, and they said there were none in Kamakura.

Colour me sceptical. I believe that is the answer they give when they want to take the easy way out of dealing with smelly gaijin. Regardless, I really needed to do some washing, so me and my dirty clothes had ourselves a bath. Fah. Hand washing is even less glamorous than sitting in a laundry. I spent the next hour pointing the hair dryer at my socks and jeans. Socks, you know, they just don’t dry on their own. I’ll have to do another batch tomorrow morning, provided this lot has dried enough for me to move them.

I had a wander as the sun set. Either falcons or hawks were out and circling busily over the streets, frequently crying out. Most shops were shutting up, including feeding holes. I think I’m going to have to start making lunch the main meal of the day. I found a sort of food court by the station, where they were selling super awesome bento sets in such pretty boxes that opening and eating it seemed an uncouth thing to do.


(I opened it. I eated it. I r uncouth.)