Y hallo thar Tokyo!

(Kimi Ryokan, Ikebukuro, Tokyo)

Monday, being the last day of worldcon, was a quiet day. With nothing on the program I was interested in, I spent the morning in the laundry, reading one of the anthologies I’d picked up in the dealers room. Laundry is a good excuse to sit and do nothing while travelling.

I can’t remember if I went to the closing ceremony last year. This one seemed strangely convoluted, full of all sorts of handing over of things, awards, more awards, and medical reports. Unfortunately, they didn’t give the name of the man who had been translating into English/Japanese every single ceremony at the con. He did a great job, and deserved a whole lot more recognition than he got. Many thanks, translator-san.

As it was my last day in Yokohama, I made a point of catching the train to Shin-Yokohama and visiting the Ramen Museum. It was my first train trip going more than a couple of stops and across multiple lines, and, wow, seriously, I cannot say enough how good the system is here. It isn’t about punctuality, that’s just the least of it. So much thought has been put into the infrastructure of the stations themselves. For example, most platforms are islands serving a single line, with each side serving opposite directions. Find the colour for the line you want, and then when on the platform, check the huge, enormous signs that give the names of the stations in either direction, and the direction of train travel. I adore this. Melbourne isn’t set up for it to be implemented to any great effect.

The Ramen Museum is a bit misleading in title. It’s more of an amusement park. A 300 yen admission fee is pittance, and there was an English guide book just in the door. It’s small, and set up to look like a 1950’s Japanese village, with old movie posters and old club names. It was great just to walk around and gawk at the set.



Several restaurants are set up around the place, specialising in different forms of ramen. Ticket machines are positioned outside these shops, where you pay for what you want, and then give the ticket to the attendant, and sit down. It was very, very yummy. A good place to go for lunch or dinner, with a funky atmosphere.


(Oh, scrumptious soup noodles! Wait, wait, wait-)


(-the extra close up of scrumptiousness.)

A train trip and hike along the harbour later, and I met up with A in the Yamashita Park, which is a shock of green in amongst all the concrete. We explored Chinatown, which at night is a much more interesting and wonderful and shiny and fascinating place. I’m a sucker for neon lights and paper lanterns. We found a couple of very striking, almost decadent temples, one of which we were allowed to look around in. It must have been a new construction, given the kangaroos carved on the outer wall. I didn’t feel right taking photos of the interior, but I gathered from the idols on display that it was a Taoist temple, as the main idol looked very much like the Jade Emperor. See? Watching Monkey Magic is good for something. (ETA: I just checked on wiki, yep, Taoism it is.)


(Pretty shiny, eh? Sorry about the gump in the foreground there. Don't worry, I smacked her good for ruining my photo.)


(Yes. Ancient Taoist Kangaroos At Work.)


(You know, just how pretty the temple was almost converted me.)

Although we had originally intended to treat ourselves to a good meal, high prices and not entirely comprehensible menus scaled our objective down somewhat, and we ended up picking a chinese restaurant at random. It wasn’t bad, but I’ve had better back home. It was a most satisfying way to spend our last night in Yokohama.


(Cthulhu's wedding cake. Or something.)

Back at the hotel, I packed. And unpacked and packed again. Have I mentioned how much I hate packing? I seem to suck at it, quite phenomenally.

In the morning, it was time to bid Yokohama goodbye, and with my too-heavy-for-my-fat-arse rucksack and A’s too-big-for-her suitcase, we hoped on the metro and instigated our invasion of Tokyo.

Wow. It’s so…Tokyo.

We parted ways to find our respective hotels. I’d actually done the smart thing and planned ahead, finding myself a good map and directions. Ikebukuro is much flashier than I thought it would be, and at the same time, not. The pachinko parlours (a bit like pokies, but with a bit of skill required) give off a distinct sleaze vibe. My ryokan is tucked in a quiet side street, and is great. I have a four tatami mat room, which is simple and clean, yet smells rank. Something has died somewhere unfortunate, I know it.

Having dumped my bag, I braved the metro again, this time for Hibiya. A had mentioned she was going to a performance that night, put on by the Takarazuka Revue. I don’t have an internet connection at the moment, but they’re something of a reaction to the old tradition of men playing the roles of women in theatre, in that they’re an all female troupe, and make a point of specialising in women playing male roles. It intrigued me, so with A’s assistance, I snagged myself a ticket to Valencia Passion/Fantasista. Woo!

After lunch in a very air conditioned restaurant, we went to the Imperial Palace East Gardens, the only section of the Imperial Gardens open to the public. It was free entry, which was good, as it was a lot smaller than I had expected. There were some ancient guard houses lining the path in, and I had a little fangirl squeeeeee moment on noticing that the eaves were graced with the hollyhock crest. Unfortunately, it was quite hot and bloody humid, and I think the past few days of running around like a headless chicken were starting to catch up with me. Even more unfortunately, just as we discovered the interesting section with the prefectural flora garden, and the Japanese garden, it decided to dump down on us. Ah, rainy season. (I saw on the news that there’s a typhoon set to swing up and hit us in the next few days. Yay! My first typhoon!)

Sweaty and rain-drenched isn’t the best way to turn up to a theatre performance. We sat in a café and chattered until we were dry, and it was time for the show. The Takarazuka theatre is only a block or so from Hibiya, which is walking distance from the Imperial Gardens. It was quite a lush interior, with thick carpets and great sweeping staircases and wide chandeliers.

I have to say, the Japanese don’t mess around with time. The show was slated to start at 6:30, and so it did, regardless of whether or not everyone was sitting down.

Valencia Passion rocked.

I was given a plot summary with my ticket, and it was one of those convoluted opera plots of betrayal, revenge, intrigue, hopeless loves, and people in disguise. There are always people in disguise. It was fan-fucking-tastic. Like all opera, understanding the language is entirely optional. Women make hot, hot, hot men. They’re bishuonen! Singing, dancing, bishuonen!

Fantasista wasn’t opera. It went off in an entirely different direction, and was more a gala spectacular with more glitter, sequins, feathers, and flashing lights than you can imagine. It was gaudy and outrageous and glitzy and terribly fun. I think David Bowie would have been right at home in amid all that. I had even less idea of what was going on this time, and it didn’t matter (although at some point I think Fantasista was killed, and resurrected as a pimped out Emperor Palpatine).

What I found most interesting was that, although having women cast in male roles was a statement in itself, the fact that the pieces being performed had females characters playing a distant second fiddle to the male characters was as well. I suppose there’s no point in emphasizing women in male roles if the male roles themselves aren’t worth playing, but it struck an odd note with me.

So, if you’re mildly interested in gender play and theatre, and happen to be in Tokyo, the Takarazuka Revue is hella good.

My feet will never forgive me.

This morning, I was supposed to meet A at the Mitaka station at 9:40. I left the ryokan on time. I got on the train on time. I just happened to pick the train that took the longest route between Ikebukuro and Shinjuku. About 30 minutes longer than I expected. Whoopsie. Lesson learned there. Also, peak hour ever ends on these trains. Never.

When I finally arrived, we took the shuttle bus to the Studio Ghibli Museum. Said bus was not a cat bus, which we both agreed is an atrocity.

It was raining when we arrived, so instead of exploring the outside, we went straight in. It was like following the white rabbit, walking into that building. Suddenly, everything was grand and elegant and straight out of a fairy tale. There were little doors and corridors and tight spiral staircases and nooks and ignoring the exhibits, it was fun, fun building.

But I didn’t ignore the exhibits. They were brilliant. There were a couple of rooms dedicated to the fairy tale of the three bears, with one room set up to be the bears’ kitchen. A huge table with the three chairs, and bowls of porriage to play with. I managed to climb on the baby bear’s chair. The papa bear’s chair was enormous, and I wasn’t game to climb it, especially as in the next room were the bears themselves, about 12 feet tall and with freaky freaky eyes.

There was a fantastic exhibit set up like the studio workshop, full of reference material and every wall plastered with concept art, and matte backgrounds, and story boards for the Studio Ghibli movies. It was another squee moment. They were beautiful sketches. The trail through the room revealed the art process, from initial pencil sketches to animation repeats to painting. A couple of sheets of sketches were covered in what I assume were the equivalent of editorial corrections, and I swear, if I had a manuscript returned to me with that much red pen, I’d just throw it out. They’re perfectionists.

The third exhibit gave examples of various forms of animation throughout history, which was just glorious. The spinning wheel of models with the strobe light was the best example of how little it takes to trick the eye into seeing a momentum different from what is there. Unfortunately, no photos were allowed inside. Use your imagination.

The shop was insane. Someone told me Japanese people are very polite and don’t push. Not when there’s merch to be had!

There is a café at the museum, but it was full, and the line to get in went far too long, so we settled for ice cream before catching the not-cat bus back to the station. I found a 7-11 store there, and tested the new ATMs that supposedly accept international cards, with success. I have no idea what the exchange rate is, but I think I’m okay for money so far.

Next to 7-11 was the first actual supermarket I’ve seen since arriving. Fresh fruit! Fresh fucking ATOMIC fruit. Zoooh my gawd, you have never seen fruit so big. Enormous apples! Gobsmackingly huge plums! Gigantic peaches! It was like everything had been bitten by a radioactive spider that had made them all super. I indulged in some grapes. Nom nom nom.

Back in Shinjuku, we embarked on a quest to exchange our vouchers for rail passes, with success. Something I’ve noticed, that I believe is embedded in the culture here, is presentation. The rail passes themselves are things of spectacular shininess, and worth keeping because of this alone.

A successfully booked herself a berth on the sleeper train to Hiroshima, and we set off on another quest to find the locker where she’d left her luggage, which was a hell of a lot harder. Shinjuku is fucking huge. Even bigger than the atomic fruit, and with more levels and shops and corridors. It took us asking three police officers for directions before our objective was met, and lo! There was luggage. There wasn’t much time left though (this was one of those quests with a time limit, you know, those bastard ones). Straight onto the next train leaving on the Yamanote line for Tokyo station.

I tell you now, it is impossible to say goodbye to a friend on a peak hour train in Tokyo. We settled for waving and yelling before the doors closed.

From there, I hit up Akihabara. I don’t think I should have. I hadn’t eaten a meal all day, had been either standing or walking for hours, was probably dehydrated, but what the hell, I was in the area. Straight out the station I got sucked into Gamers, a store packed full of CDs, DVDs, manga, figures and so on. I, er, spent some monies. Then I realised that all of the above, plus the headache I’d been nursing since waking, were about to make me fall over, so I dived into the first feeding hole I found, and had a meal that I didn’t want. BLT sandwiches have never done it for me, but it was better than the falling-over option.

Back on the train, back to my ryokan, back to my room. I’m showered and my chompers are brushed, and now that I’ve had a couple of hours to relax, I’m going to have an early night. May my feet and head forgive me.

Me, and my motherfucking heels

(San-ai Hotel, Yokohama)

I don’t know why, but I felt I had to make a bit of effort for Donburacon, a cruise and dinner around the harbour. I should have stuck with my usual total lack of inclination to dress up. But, dress up I did, and made the hike from hotel to pier in heels. It wasn’t so bad. Not yet, anyway. (Cue drums of impending doom.)

The cruise ship, while having three floor of seating, was packed to capacity. I was among the last on, by which time there was no where to sit, and not much food to be had. I scrounged a tiny and lacklustre plate of spaghetti, and retreated to the Royal Room, which had no food, stage, presentation, but a whole lot of couches and no one else, which was fine with me.

After a slight delay due to someone falling sick and being carted off in an ambulance, the ship left the dock. I’d long finished my dinner, so snuck outside on the walkway, and that was lovely.


(night photography just doesn't work without a tripod and on a moving ship)

The heat and humidity has vanished the last two days, and the night sea breeze was just delicious. It was quiet. Gulls flew along side. The harbour and city lights were so very pretty. Maybe I was greedy, keeping that to myself. Others found it soon enough. Somehow, I ended up pinned in a one-sided conversation by a significant name in the science fiction field who will not be named because I’m pretty sure I have the names of about three science fiction writers confused. Said conversation was largely about how big and strong and unstoppable America was, and how Australia was fine, if ever anyone attacked Australia then America would just blast them, and you know, the only reason the Indonesians stayed out of East Timor when Australia was doing all the dirty work was because the American fleet was just off the horizon, and between the Australian and American Navys, no one could try anything at sea, ‘cause we could just blast them, and a whole lot more that was even more unpalatable. That’s probably enough to name him. I could have lived without this conversation, although it wasn’t without entertainment value.


(so I did this on purpose.)

This was offset by a great conversation with Eileen Gunn, who is a lovely person. I admit, most of the time, I don’t like talking about writing. Wrestling with identity and expectations, and I’m not particularly clear what my stance is on writing, or why I do or don’t do it. It was good to talk shop with Eileen though, perhaps because she appears to wrestle with ‘should’ as well.

At this point, I’d either been walking or standing for a couple of hours, and my feet were not happy. The party floor was vacant when I poked my head in, so I figured I’d head back to the hotel. My good, my feet are fucking mauling me. They’re like lions, and they’re attached to the bottom of my legs, just mauling me. I’m lying in bed, and they’re mauling, chewing, hurting like two great hurting things.

Japanese TV is proving addictive. Inability to comprehend a word is irrelevant, it’s interesting to see what can be understood without language. I have no idea what I’m watching now, but it’s hilarious. This morning, I had the delight of watching (and this is totally misspelt) Tengen Toppen Gurren Langen, as a Sunday morning cartoon, and then calling my brother to tell him this, as he’ll have to wait a couple of days for the fan subs to be released. Sometime yesterday, I was watching a drama concerning a Mary Sue. I knew she was a Mary Sue, because she was very pretty, everyone loved her, and although she was in every scene, she barely said a thing. Every other character carried the story.


(Japanese Sesame Street, oh yes.)

Wait, I think I’m watching a spoof of flight school. The Captain is training his cadets by making them ride bicycles with wings and fuselages attached. And he’s just gone running off really fast again.

ZZZ time.

Two Pillows

(San-ai hotel, Yokohama)

I forgot to mention that on the walk home the previous night, I had the luck of witnessing an apparently significant part of modern Japanese culture; business men going out together after work and getting smashed. There were mobs of them around Sakuragicho Station. My particular favourite were the three who had taken up position on the steps of a coffee shop. One of them had given up any pretence of sobriety, taken off his shoes, and was using them as a pillow in the middle of the footpath. Classy stuff.

I rocked up to the con on Saturday with no real plans in mind, and bumbled into an interview session with Yoshitaka Amano, which was a slow discussion on the illustration industry in Japan, due to frequent pauses for English translation. It was interesting to note the apparent differences in time frames between the Japanese book market, and the English. The editor of the Vampire Hunter D books was also present, and called up on stage to field questions as well. I only remember his name as ‘Ichi-san’, unfortunately.

I had hoped to have Amano sign a book, but after the interview finished up, he fled. Quite literally. A shame, considering he was one of the guests of honor and didn’t seem to want anything to do with the people who had come to see him. I noticed he hadn’t been scheduled for a signing session either, and I’m pretty sure that was his only panel. Crazy.

After that was a panel discussing the pros and cons of mundane science fiction, from which no conclusions were drawn. It almost sounds like science fiction is castrating itself with its attempts to define what it should and shouldn’t be. I’m probably just not playing sponge in the right places, but I don’t think fantasy suffers the same existential angst.

When that finished up, I headed over to the Inter Continental (I keep thinking of it as ‘incontinental’) to meet up with A, Ellen Datlow, and some of Ellen’s other Clarion students. She guilt tripped us about not writing more. It was not without effect. (Thanks to Raj, one of Ellen's better photos of A and I.)

After a quick meal at the Queen’s Square (seriously, who says eating in Japan is expensive? What on earth are they eating?), I dropped off my bags and then headed back for the Hugo Awards.

Dude, best Hugo opening evarh.

Several Ultramen tangled with seven awesome monster costumes in a way old school original brawl on stage. Just like watching the movies, but better quality.



(That's a lot of Ultraman.)

George Takei and Nozomi Omori presented the Hugos, both being bi-lingual, and skipped between languages with an ease that made me suspect that sometimes, they weren’t aware they were doing it.

FYI, Takei’s voice is sex.

No. Really.

Despite the fact that everything had to be said twice, in each language, the presenters and receivers caught on fast, and cut all their speeches short. Ultraman presented the Best Long and Short Dramatic presentation. Sort of. The character of Ultraman doesn’t actually speak.

Did I mention Takei’s voice is sex?

There was a woman brought up on stage to stand with the two hosts. It was hinted she was a ‘back up translator’, when in actual fact, she was an ornament. She stood there, looking very elegant, and serving no other purpose. Given the kafuffle of last year’s Hugos, this seemed…well, bloody daft.

A and I decided it was still too early to hit the party floor, so hunted for dessert. Our prey turned out to be rolled crepes, with whipped cream, custard and strawberries. Nom nom nom.

The party floor was again, ridiculously over-crowded and hot. We made a brief stop in at the Norwegian room to ninja some drinks, before discovering a secret party made of awesome. The Sense of Gender party was in quite a grand suite, and we found a small, not particularly crowded tatami room, that had a window open. Yes! Air! We secured some floor space, which lead to people leaving us offerings of food and drink. I’m not kidding, they kept just putting food in front of us. I tried sake for the first time, a particularly good brand, if I understood the man correctly. Deadly stuff. It was strong, yet it had absolutely not bite to it. It didn’t burn on the way down at all, and was deliciously smooth.

Late and big nights make it hard to get up though, and I’m glad I set me alarm this morning, or I wouldn’t have made it. Slunk into Cory Doctorow’s kaffeeklatch, and played sponge, followed by a panel on copyright. Naomi Novik talked about founding the Organisation for Transformative- crap, I can’t quite remember it. Basically, an organization along the same lines as the Comic Defence Fund, but for fan fiction writers. Word, I say, word. They were pretty much preaching to the choir, but related some pretty interesting and horrifying information. What bothers me most is, given every thing that was said, I think the change in the way copyright works has to come from America, and have a knock on effect through all the Free Trade Agreements America has with various countries. Given the massive influence American policy has on the world, has on Australia, it rankles that I don’t get to vote in their elections. Not that my vote has made a difference in Australian elections anyway.

A trip out to for lunch, which was an enormous sushi set for 1395 yen, which I could actually identify. It contained some atomic wasabi, which blew my nose out several times. We’re both weak people, and hit the mochi ice cream again. Someone import this!

I’d intended to sit in on the Masquerade afterwards, but the start was delayed, so I skipped out. I figured, a couple of hours spent sitting in my hotel room, not doing anything, was due. My feet appreciate it.

I think I had a different cleaner today. Yesterdays seemed to be under the impression that two people were staying in this room; I was left with two sets of slippers, two yukata, two cups, two tea sets, two razors, about five toothbrushes, none of which I’ve used. I did have two pillows though. Alas, only a lone pillow greeted me when I got back.

I love the streets around the hotel. These tiny, cramped one way streets with barely enough room for a single car to drive along. It’s impossible to get your bearings, with the sun hiding in haze and tall buildings on all sides.


(happy love sheep graffiti)

-30 degrees celsius

(Sai-an Hotel, Yokohama)

While there is only one hour difference between Australia and Japan, I was on nightshift. Not all the flying and running around in foreign countries I did unwound my sleep pattern, and I woke at 4am with a screaming headache, and no painkillers. This made me a sad panda.

After a quick perusal of the program, I decided none of the early panels required my presence, and jumped on the subway to Chinatown. It seems weirdly ironic, visiting Chinatown in Japan when I can get all the Chinese food I want at home, but wow. Melbourne’s Chinatown is a sad sorry affair in comparison. This was several knotty city blocks, strung with lanterns and imposing gateways.

Unfortunately, I went to early (around 10) and nothing was open yet. So, back on the subway to worldcon. At least, that was the plan. For some reason, my Suica card didn’t read properly, so I followed the not particularly well translated and probably misunderstood instructions, and inserted it into the ticket reader. Where it jammed. A station attendant appeared quickly, and opened up the whole machine to get it out, reprogram it, and sent me on my way with a speed that suggests it happens pretty often. Still. Whoops. I’ve broken a piece of Japanese public transport. My bad.

Said public transport, by the way, is like a wet dream. Seriously. The trains are cleaned at their terminations, each time, multiple times a day. The seats aren’t damaged. There is no graffiti. I found myself on one of the reknowned ‘women only’ carriages, and it was very pink.

Also, people who say that the trains are always on time, to the minute, are incorrect. Not that a two minute delay is anything out of the ordinary in any country. The difference being, there are trains every few minutes here, as opposed to one every twenty back home.

The dealers room was a bit of a let down after last year. I was expecting to be tempted by all sorts of things, but most of the vendors were Japanese, stocking Japanese texts. My lack of reading skills makes me a sad panda. Japanese books are beautiful, neat little objects, and I coverts them.

I briefly watched a paint off between Bob Eggleton, Michael Whelan and -------- Kato, which was quite fascinating, noting their different approaches. Sat in on a panel discussing hospitals and health in the future, which planted some interesting ideas. Another on what we love to read out of SF, which was good for recommendations. The Tech Savvy Criminal was my only must for the day, dealing with what it takes to be a criminal mastermind in today’s age of increasingly complicated technology and security. The basics I already knew, just from reading the reports at work (don’t be an idiot seems to cover it), but some great and kooky ideas for general mayhem were thrown out, good stuff to chew on.


(paintbrushes at fifty yards two feet)

Afterwards, I found A, and we invaded Queen’s Square, a shopping centre across the road from the con. After much umming and ahhing, we dived into a noodle shop, and despite the fact that clearly, neither of us spoke much Japanese, were given a Japanese menu. I just pointed at a random item, and ended up with tempura and cold soba noodles with dipping sauce. I think that was the first real meal I’d had a in a long while. Some caucasians came in after us, and were given an English menu. Doh. I rather like this pattern of adventure food though. I still have very little idea of what it is I’m eating, but it’s amusing. Not to mention 1,000 yen is very decent for dinner.

The success of dinner drove us to hunt of desert, and we found ‘Mochi Cream’, a shop selling traditional mochi with icecream added in the filling. I satisfied my craving for red beans, and it was most, most delicious. Definitely going back to try the chocolate and fruit flavours. 156 yen is also ridiculously cheap for something so yummy. Someone in Melbourne, import this idea!


(mochi cream of joy!)

Still having some time to kill before the room parties started, we decided it was time to do the Cosmo Clock, apparently the highest ferris wheel in the world. However, we were distracted on the way by ‘Ice World’, which was advertising -30 degrees C and swimming angels. 500 yen is cheap for curiosity.

Oh my good. The best 500 yen I’ve spent.

The entry featured a giant plastic polar bear in a wood log hut, and this tiny tank, filled with even tinier swimming angels. Seriously, they were about a centimetre big, which is not apparent from the photos outside. They looked exactly like some of the monsters from Skies of Arcadia, and this cracked me up. It was cool in that room. Not too bad though.

Then A opened the door to the next section, and swore like a sailor.

They weren’t kidding about the temperature. After we’d laughed ourselves silly at the outrageousness of it, we realised we were quite literally freezing, and fled. It was great, totally freaking awesome.


(...the temperature got to my brain. Plus, that bear was threatening my masculinity, which isn't spelt right. Wait. Eek! Is that a badly positioned hand I see there?)

Gigi, I’ll have you know that the Cosmo Clock was fantastic, and slow, and you wouldn’t have had a problem. Also, gorgeous view at night. It’s silly how beautiful coloured lights are. Cities even more so.


(Minamoto Mirai 21 from the Cosmo Clock)

The party floor turned out to be not quite big enough for the parties it contained. Not just that people had spilled out into the corridor and were sitting in front of the elevators, but that the airconditioning couldn’t handle it. The Aussie bid party was so crowded we were squeezed out. The Kansas party was quiet with good food, and the Seattle party we finally settled, and found some Norwegians who were more than happy to tell us about climbing Fuji-san.

I piked out early. Waking at 4am is wrong, wrong, wrong. Good night.

(Again, apologies for the photos. I feel I must be dumb, but I can't find a simple function to resize images anywhere Eddie that doesn't involve some weird exportation from iPhoto that makes them look blocky as. The pictures are a combination of originals and exports. Let me know which ones suck and which ones don't.)