Tokyo: Reminiscence

I moved to another hostel today. Punctually at 10 AM. Here, the checkout time is 2 hours earlier than a normal hotel or hostel in Indonesia. My next hostel location was still in Taito district Asakusa, close to Ueno park, around 3.4 km from my current place. On my way, I stopped by at Lawson on Keiyo-doro Ave to buy breakfast – a salmon onigiri and orange juice. Along the way, I saw a salaryman carrying a bag walking in a rush, neatly lined concrete buildings, a cafe named ‘Clock Cafe’ at a junction, and some stores with Japanese signs. I don’t know where it came from but I could smell the fragrance of fresh flowers a few times. Mini-marts (konbini) like 7-Eleven and Family Mart seemed like an endless rivalry between Alfamart and Indomaret in Indonesia; Lawson and Circle-K merely the cheerleaders to keep the game up. Halfway to my destination I couldn’t recall how many times I’d stopped at the traffic lights – but anyway, I loved every time they turned green with their bird-chirp sounds

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A mosaic of “PIZZERIA” on top of the hostel immediately caught my attention. For a moment it felt 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 colorful abstract graffiti. As I entered the hostel, a black man guided me to the third floor. The receptionist desk was still empty—apparently the check-in time started at 4 PM and it was still 11 AM, so I put my belongings in the luggage storage right behind the receptionist room. I changed my t-shirt because it was completely wet. When I came out of the toilet, a western-looking woman was waiting for the receptionist. I told her about the check-in time displayed on the wall. She said that she had just arrived from Kyoto by a night bus. I asked if she wanted to join me to explore the nearest places while waiting for check-in time. She decided to join me since she didn’t have any plans yet.

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At Senso-ji temple, I couldn’t help but silently giggle and feel astonished when I heard a Japanese guide speaking Spanish fluently. Somehow I found it incongruous when an Asian person spoke a Latin language or an African/Caucasian spoke Mandarin or Japanese. It felt like there were certain aesthetic aspects that didn’t align with my social framework. The nature of habit fixation perhaps

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Senso-ji is the oldest Buddhist temple in Tokyo. Tourists swarmed every inch of the street — I wondered how many locals were actually among this crowd. The shopping street surrounding the temple complex bustled with food vendors and various souvenir shops. The scent of incense sticks plugged inside a big pot in front of the temple wafted through the air, bathing the visitors. It reminded me of Buddhist rituals during my junior high school years, when 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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I accidentally came across several cigarette vending machines in the vicinity. There were also sex toys and lubricant vending machines, which seemed absurd. Just imagine if such a machine were placed in a shady corner of Jakarta — it would likely become a trending topic on Twitter and end up confiscated by civil service officers or religious apologists. Or, suppose if it were publicly accepted — people might still feel too reluctant to openly purchase from them, just look at how many people feel daunted, shy, or uncomfortable when buying contraceptives at a minimart

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Around Tokyo Sky Tree, the tallest building in Japan, we rested for a while beside Yokojikken river while eating snacks and drinking grape juice. Kim, my new friend, shared her stories of roaming around Asia, Australia, and New Zealand. About a year ago she’d 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 she continued her journey alone

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At 4 we returned to the hostel and completed the check-in process. Kim invited me to join her friends at 5 PM to attend an ancient ritual at a Buddhist temple. After freshening up, we made our way to Iriya Station, took a JR Hibiya Line to Monzen-nakacho station, then continued on foot to Naritasan Fukagawa Fudodo, our destination. After Kim’s friends arrived, we immediately entered the temple through the side entrance. At a small gate to the main hall, we were asked to remove our shoes and put them in a plastic bag. A gatekeeper handed us a flyer that provided a brief history of the temple and the ritual. We walked through a hallway adorned 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 began I got goosebumps. A monk began the ritual with a striking blow to a big drum like someone possessed by a supernatural force, followed by a group of monks chanting spells while performing fire acrobatic moves which shook the whole room and made me tremble. In a moment I closed my eyes. I felt like my soul had dismantled from my physical body and embarked on a journey through a long distant past

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We wandered around the temple area, where we found street food vendors in front of the Monzen-nakacho station. We bought okonomiyaki – an egg omelet sprinkled with fish flakes and also tried a red bean dorayaki before spending the rest of the night walking, talking, and enjoying the view from Aioi bridge before heading back to the hostel. The day was done

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

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On the way to Tsukiji market, I noticed some middle-aged Japanese women and elderly ladies taking care of their dress and makeup. It looked simple and delicate, giving them a youthful impression

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Last night, one of Kim’s friends told me that the old Tsukiji market — the largest wholesale fish and seafood market in the world — where the tuna auction was usually held in the early morning (around 3 AM) had been relocated to a new location in Toyosu area – about 3 km from the previous location. We had planned to go there but I couldn’t summon my energy to wake up that early, so I just skipped that one. We ended up at the Tsukiji for tourists on the outer part of the old area. For me, it was 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 saw a gigantic oyster that could fit both of my palms. It was 550 Yen per oyster – eaten raw with soy sauce poured into the shell – I couldn’t help but resist this temptation

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From Tsukiji, we walked straight toward the Imperial Palace of Japan in Chiyoda area. We passed by the biggest Kabuki-za theatre in Tokyo, got stuck at the Ginza shopping area, and explored the grand Tokyo Station. There were numerous private gates and complexes around. Inside the palace, there were remnants of the unfinished parts of the castle and extensive beautiful gardens. This palace has been the center of Japan’s government since 1868 after the capital was moved from Kyoto — from what I’d read in an online article, the imperial family members do not reside there

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We took a rest in the Yasukuni Shrine area, where a magnificent and sturdy Daiichi Torii gate stood. I found 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 went 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 describe in today’s standard professions because he worked in several different fields during his lifetime. He was simply an anthropologist, as he devoted most of his time to writing about anthropology and history subjects. 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 with 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 for writing offensive articles.” This is the thing that only kids in the ’40s will understand

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In Shinjuku Station, we wandered around Kabukicho passageways. I spotted a giant Godzilla snooping behind a building, love hotels filled with dim lights, and a Robot Restaurant where most tourists just glanced at the price, snapped a picture, retreated slowly then left—quite understandable given the overpriced ticket. The Robot Restaurant was enlivened with blinding sensory overload, colorful blinking lights and loud techno music – two odd robots with imbalanced breasts and bodies right beside the entrance. I didn’t understand why they named it a restaurant, it seemed more like a discotheque to me

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We navigated 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 reverberated from the people sitting next to each other while enjoying their dishes. I spotted some exhibition posters, handwritings, stickers, and strange objects adorning the walls, pipelines, vending machines, and electrical boxes

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

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

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We walked aimlessly through Shibuya, crossing the bustling intersection several times back and forth just for the euphoric pleasure amidst the crowd. We hiked up to a pedestrian bridge on the second floor of Shibuya Station, where we could enjoy the Shibuya crossing with a bird’s-eye view. The tragic mural ‘Myth of Tomorrow’ on the bridge wall immediately caught my attention as it was part of our destination. The painting depicts the story of the atomic bomb. In 1967, Taro 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 was 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