Ok, welcome back. Sitting comfortably? More comfortably than Julie was in business class? I doubt that.
We arrived at Tokyo Station at around noon and decided we’d walk 30 minutes to our hotel rather than jump on another tube. Immediately, we fell foul to the infamous citidels that these Tokyo stations embody. Google Maps tells me that we were in there 12.15 to 12:33pm (err, bit creepy mate?). Admittedly some of that time was taken up by a very helpful chap who just seemed to be wandering around the station – perhaps he had been trying to find his way out for days? He didn’t look malnourished, but you never can tell. We eventually found our way out and squinted at the bright morning sun like every lead actor in every Alcatraz escapee movie does.
Turns out that the route from Tokyo Station to Hamacho Hotel was the business district. This meant lots of men in suits (cliche alert) and barely any neon lights (not a cliche alert.). We slalomed our way through everyone and arrived at the hotel. It looked lovely from the outside; plants and trees seemingly growing out of the brickwork and windows. Thankfully, it was just as nice inside.
It was far too early to check in, but we asked if they could look after our bags until then (has any hotel ever said no to that? Yet I still treat it as the pinnacle of good srevice). We were rather thirsty so we sat down and I had first of 38,391 (approx.) Coca-Colas in Japan, and we also had some delicious ice cream. I seem to remember thinking it was the greatest ice cream that had ever passed my lips but given that I’ve already forgotten the flavour it was probably top 20 at best. We paid the insanely polite waitress, and headed out to find a Japanese garden (or as they’re called in Japan, ‘gardens’.) (Disclaimer, I wrote that joke last night and thought it was hilarious but I now realise that the Japanese would actually call it a 庭園, but you lot are far too uncultured for that.
We crossed over our nearest bridge and made our way to Kiyosumi park. Now, Japanese seasons roughly match ours, but not a lot of leaves had turned to autumn colours yet. There was a lot of green about, which is fine, I suppose, but like, where’s the orange guys? I suppose it’s Global Warmings fault is it? Oh, it is? Ok sorry. We had a wander around this lovely park, marvelling at the tiny dogs that everyone in Tokyo has. Then we came to a fence; one that separated Kiyosumi Park, and Kiyosumi Garden. That’s the shit we’re after! We hurried to the entrance to find a price tag and empty pockets. Nae bother, we’ll find ourselves an ATM.
Let’s rewind again. This will probably happen a lot because I can’t be arsed to edit the blog and obviously I haven’t storyboarded it because I’m not mental. We did vast research for Japan (“We?” says Julie, eyes wider than a canyon) and one little nugget of advice was that the egg sandwiches from the 7-Elevens taste like heaven. So, with this in mind, I bought myself one for a late lunch. Do you know what? Whoever it was who shared this eggy wisdom was BANG on the money. It’s literally just an egg sandwich with the crusts cut off, but I could eat them for days.
Anyway, we drew out a wad of Japan’s finest ¥ and set off back for the garden. I would describe it to you, but there’s really no point when we took photos, so gawp at those instead. There was a particularly life-changing moment where a tiny turtle seemingly reached out to us, but as it no doubt only knew Japanese, we couldn’t converse, so I tried to feed it a leaf. It did not appreciate the gesture and I did not appreciate its disrespect.
By now, check-in was open so we wandered back to the hotel and to our room. A lovely room it was, complete with complimentary pyjamas. This of course legitimised Julie’s plan to lay down “for a minute” and consequently go to sleep for a good 4 or so hours. “BUT I’M ON HOLIDAY!”, I roared, inwardly (little nod to I, Partridge there).
I decided I’d take a solo walk around the area now that night had fallen. My first thought was how incredible safe everywhere felt, even as I wandered down quiet back alleys. Everywhere was so clean as well, and lit so atmospherically like a movie set. Strangely, these little back streets were exactly how I’d imagined them.
I returned to Julie around 7pm, shook her awake (gently! Stop sensationalising everything), and I suggested we make our way over to Akihabara, about an hour away on foot. For those that don’t know, Akihabara is considered the hub of modern popular culture; gaming, anime, electronics that sort of thing. Upon arriving in the area, we found ourselves outside a ‘pachinko’ parlour, which is essentially the Japanese version of a fruit machine (but way more complex and more of a gaming element). We walked up to the automatic double doors and KAPOW! Lights! Music! Cigarette smoke! Clanging of machines! It was an absolute assault on all the senses.
We also went in a number of multi-floor arcades, with hundreds of grabber machines, the ones you get in the UK at bowling alleys and such-like. Golly, you would win just about anything. Yes, they had the usual plush toys, but there were machines for winning packs of noodles, figurines in huge boxes, cans of food. There were middle-aged men in expensive suits, alone, trying to win little scantily-clad manga figurines with their hard earned piles of 10 yen. I tried to win Julie some Frozen stuff (obviously I mean the film but given the variety of machine, there was a probably a Birdseye fish finger machine on floor 9 or something). I did not do well, at all. That was until we reach a machine full of the tiniest, weightless little animals toys. In a never done before feat (I assume), I managed to grab two of the little mites in one grab. We won a fox and a dog. Look how happy/tired I am!
We then realised it was about 11pm, so we went to a restaurant nearby, ordering from the table iPad. Not wanting to be overly adventurous on day one, I settled for “rice with a raw egg”. And, fair play to the Japanese, that’s exactly what they gave me.
A spot of Googling transpired that I needed to crack the egg myself (I mean, what is the chef getting paid for, eh?) directly onto the rice, and the heat from the rice would cook the egg. SOUNDS LEGIT. Someone we met later in the holiday told us that he too was unaware of this etitiquette, so instead of Googled it (which ironically is the worst breaking of any etiquette) he cracked the egg directly into his mouth. Alas, I ate the meal, and obviously survived unless you follow the vicious rumours that I use a ghostwriter.
The rest of the evening is a bit of a blur so the jetlag was finally taking hold. Did we get a tube home or did we walk? Anyone? Hello?! (Why yes Harold Bloom, that IS an incredible open ending that “rivals The Diary of Anne Frank”)
15 days in Japan. 