Tokyo: Reminiscence

I move to another hostel today. Punctually at 10 AM. Here, the checkout time is 2 hours earlier than normal hotel or hostel in Indonesia. My next hostel location is still in Taito district Asakusa, close to Ueno park, around 3.4 km from my current place. On my way, I stop by at Lawson on Keiyo-doro Ave to buy breakfast – a salmon onigiri, and orange juice. Along the way, I see a salaryman carrying a bag walk in a rush, neatly lined concrete buildings, a cafe named ‘Clock Cafe’ in a junction, and some stores with Japanese signs. I don’t know where it comes but I can smell the fragrance of fresh flowers a few times. Mini-mart (konbini) like 7eleven and Family Mart seems like an endless rivalry between Alfamart and Indomaret in Indonesia; Lawson and Circle-K merely as the cheerleader to keep the game up. Half-way to my destination I can’t recall how many times I’ve stopped at the traffic light – but anyway, I love every time it turns green and echoing the euphony of birds chirping

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A mosaic of “PIZZERIA” on top of the hostel immediately catches my attention. For a moment it feels like being in the middle of a Mediterranean village in Italy, with a pizza and pasta advertisement on the corner, and the wall adorned with a colorful abstract graffiti. As I enter the hostel, a black man guides me the way to the third floor. The receptionist desk is still empty, apparently the check-in time starts at 4 PM and it’s still 11 AM, so I put my belongings at the luggage storage right behind the receptionist room. I change my t-shirt because it’s completely wet. When I come out of the toilet, a western-looking woman looks waiting for the receptionist, I tell her about the check-in time displayed on the wall. She says that she has just arrived from Kyoto by a night bus. I suggest her if I’m about to explore the nearest places while waiting for the check-in time, she decides to join me since she doesn’t have any plans yet.

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At Senso-ji temple, I can’t help but silently gigle and feel astonished when I hear a Japanese guide speaks Spanish fluently. Somehow I find it incongruous when an Asian person speaks Latin or an African/Caucasian speaks Mandarin or Japanese. It feels like there are certain aesthetical aspects that don’t align with my current social framework. The nature of habit fixation perhaps

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Our first destination, Senso-ji, is the oldest Buddhist temple in Tokyo. The wave of tourist swamp in every inch of the street — I wonder of how many locals are actually among this crowd. The shopping street surrounding the complex of the temple bustling with food vendors and various souvenir shops. The scent of incense sticks plugged inside a big pot in front of the temple wafts through the air and bathing visitors. It reminds me of Buddhist rituals during my junior high school year, the smoke of the incense would always make my eyes sore during the morning ritual at the temple inside the school

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Accidentally come across several cigarette vending machines in the vicinity. There are also sex toys and lubricant vending machines, which is absurd. Just imagine if the last machine is placed in a shady corner of Jakarta — it would likely become a trending topic on Twitter — ended up with confiscation by civil service officers or religious apologists. Or, suppose if it’s publicly accepted — people might still feel too reluctant or avoid openly purchasing them, just take a look at how many people felling daunt, shy, or uncomfortable when buying contraceptive at a minimart

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Around Tokyo Sky Tree, the tallest building in Japan, we rest for a while beside Yokojikken river while eating snacks and drink grape juice. Kim, my new friend, shares her stories roaming around Asia, Australia, and New Zealand. About a year ago she left her job as a junior contractor at a marketing agency in Germany and began her journey with her best friend. They traveled to Australia, interspersed with volunteer jobs in Tasmania for a few months, then New Zealand, Bali, crawling from the bottom to the top of Asia before continues her journey alone

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At 4 we return to the hostel and complete the check-in process. Kim invites me to join her friends at 5 PM to attend an ancient ritual at a Buddhist temple. After freshening up, we make our way to Iriya Station, take a JR Hibiya Line to Monzen-nakacho station, then continue on foot to Naritasan Fukagawa Fudodo, our destination. After Kim’s friends arrive, we immediately enter the temple through the side entrance. At a small gate to the main hall, we’re asked to remove the shoes and put them on a plastic bag. A gatekeeper hands us a flyer that provides a brief history of the temple and the ritual. We walk through a hallway adorened with thousands of miniature statues dedicated to a deity called Fudomoyo. The temple was established in the 18th century during the Edo period, severely damaged during the second world war. The ritual is called ‘Goma-kiso Fire Purification’ – it’s usually held five times a day. Completely free, but photography is prohibited inside. As the ritual begins I get goosebumps, a monk begins the ritual with a striking blow to a big drum like being possessed by a supernatural force, followed by a group of monks chanting the spells while performing a fire acrobatic moves which shake the whole room and makes me tremble. In a moment I close my eyes, I feel like my soul dismantle from my physical body and embarking on a journey through a long distant past

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We wander around the temple area, where we find street food vendors in front of the Monzen-nakacho station. We buy okonomiyaki – an egg omelet sprinkle with fish flakes and also try a red beans dorayaki before spend the rest of the night walking, talking, and enjoying the view from Aioi bridge before heading back to the hostel. The day is done

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This morning, I take my dirty clothes from the past few days to self-service laundry on the 5th floor. On the same floor, there are four shared bathrooms, a small kitchen, and an ironing room — the toilet and the bathroom are separated on separate levels

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On the way to Tsukiji market, I notice some middle-aged Japanese women and elderly ladies take care of their dress and makeup, it looks simple and delicate, hence giving the teenager’s impression

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Last night, one of Kim’s friend told me that the old Tsukiji market — the largest wholesale fish and seafood market in the world — where the tuna auction usually been held in the early morning (around 3 AM) has been relocated to a new location in Toyosu area – about 3 km from the previous location. We have planned to go there but I can’t summon my energy to wake up that early, so I just skip that one. We ended up at the Tsukiji for tourists on the outer part of the old area. For me, it’s just a normal day witnessing people selling and buying seafood since I grew up in a seashore town, but for the first time in my life, I see a gigantic oyster that could fit both of my palm. It’s 550 Yen per oyster – eaten raw with soy sauce poured into the shell – I couldn’t help to resist this temptation

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From Tsukiji, we walk straight toward the Imperial Palace of Japan in Chiyoda area. We passed by the biggest Kabuki-za theatre in Tokyo; stuck at the Ginza shopping area; exploring the grand Tokyo Station. There are numerous private gates and complex around. Inside the palace, there are leftovers of the unfinished part of the castle and extensive beautiful gardens. This palace has become the center of Japan’s government since 1868 after the capital was moved from Kyoto — from what I’ve read in an online article, the imperial’s family members do not reside there

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We take a rest in the Yasukuni Shrine area, where a magnificent and sturdy Daiichi Torii gate stand. I find a spot to sit on the floor and straighten my legs in the middle of the park near a big statue of Omura Masujiro, the father of the Imperial Japanese Army.’ As I sat there, my mind goes back to a sunny day during my university vacation when I visited my grandparents’ house. My grandfather, who lived through world war 2 was a complex character, a little bit difficult to be described in today’s standard profession because he worked in several different fields during his lifetime. He was simply an anthropologist, as he devoted most of his time writing around anthropology and history subjet. On that day, while I was unloading all of the old books and documents from an old cupboard in his small library, I found a stack of letters of his curriculum vitae which suddenly made me burst into laughter as I read a particular entry that stated, “captured and put in prison by Japanese soldiers because writing offensive articles.” — this is the thing that only kids in the ’40s will understand

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In Shinjuku Station, wandering around Kabukicho passageways. I spot a giant Godzilla snooping behind a building; love hotels filled with dimly light; a Robot Restaurant where most tourists just glance at the price, snap a picture, retreat slowly then leave, it’s quite understandable for the overpriced ticket. The Robot Restaurant is enlivened with blinding sensory overload colorful blink of lights and loud techno music – two odd robots with imbalance breast and body right beside the entrance. I don’t understand why they named it as restaurant, it seems more like a discotheque for me

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We navigate ourselves to Golden Gai, a dimly lit narrow alley crammed with plenty of small bars, meat restaurants, and salarymen. Along the way, laughter and small whispers reverberate from the people sitting next to each other while enjoying their dishes. I spot some exhibition posters, handwritings, stickers, and strange objects adorning the wall, pipelines, vending machines, and electrical boxes

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We take a JR to Harajuku Station. Just a span from the station, I spot cat cafe right beside the ‘Aujourd’hui Accessories,’ and hedgehog cafe a few blocks ahead. We follow the line through various tax-free shops along the way. The shops display a tantalizing array of eclectic products ready to suck your pocket and captivate the pedestrians with the illusions of various products lined up side by side

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I see a group of youngsters with eye-catching styles and anime costumes while enjoying dinner at a small restaurant in Harajuku area. It clearly reminds me of the carnival day during my kindergarten

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We walk aimlessly through Shibuya, crossing the bustling intersection several times back and forth just for the euphoric pleasure amidst the crowd. We hike up to a pedestrian bridge on the second floor of Shibuya Station, where we can enjoy the Shibuya crossing with a bird’s-eye view. The tragic mural ‘Myth of Tomorrow’ on the bridge wall immediately catches my attention as it’s part of our destination. The painting depicts the story of the atomic bomb. In 1967, Tora Okamoto, the painter, was supposed to deliver the painting for a new hotel in Mexico. He spent two years completing the painting, but unfortunately, the owner went bankrupt before the hotel’s opening. The painting went missing and discovered in 2003 before it was brought back to Japan and restored. Sadly, Taro never had a chance to see his mural displayed in this station. The mural, preserved its myth in Taro’s resting place

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Hotel: Waqwaq Hostel, Asakusa
Hotel Environment: Italian style
Treatment:  Tea, coffee, and biscuit for free in the morning
Others: Fancy pizza cafe on the first floor, Senso-ji temple about 15 min walk
Impression: cramped but comfy