Tokyo: Afterimages

I relocated to another hostel today. Checking out precisely at 10 o’clock. The checkout time is 2 hours earlier than typical hostel in Indonesia. My next hostel was still in Taito district Asakusa, close to Ueno park, around 3.4 km from my place. On my way, I stopped by at Lawson on Keiyo-doro Ave to buy breakfast – a salmon onigiri and orange juice. I also 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 comes from but I could smell the scent of fresh flowers multiple 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 remember how many times I’d stopped at the traffic lights – but I loved every time they turned green with their bird-chirp sounds.

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As I approached the hostel, a vibrant “PIZZERIA” sign on top of the hostel caught my attention right away. For a moment it felt like being in Mediterranean village, with a pizza and pasta advertisement on the corner, and the wall decorated with colorful abstract graffiti. As I entered the hostel, a man led me to the third floor. The receptionist desk was still empty — it appeared the check-in time started at 4 PM and it was only 11 AM, so I put my belongings in the luggage storage behind the receptionist room. I switched my t-shirt because it was completely sweat. 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 suggested if she wanted to join to explore the nearest places while waiting for check-in time. She decided to join since she had no other plans yet.

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At Senso-ji temple, I couldn’t help but softly giggle when I heard a Japanese guide fluently speaking Spanish. I found it incongruous when an Asian spoke a Latin or vice versa. It felt odd like some aesthetic aspects that didn’t match with my social framework. The nature of bias fixation perhaps.

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Senso-ji, Tokyo’s oldest Buddhist temple. 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 bathing the visitors, reminding me of Buddhist rituals during my junior high school years, where incense often make my eyes sore during the morning ritual at the school’s temple.

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I accidentally came across several cigarette vending machines in the vicinity. There were also sex toys and lubricant vending machines, it seems odd. If such a machine are placed in a shady corner of Jakarta i’m pretty sure it would become a trending topic on Twitter and end up confiscated by civil service officers or religious apologists. Even if it were publicly accepted people might still feel too shy to purchase it, just look at how many people feel uncomfortable when buying contraceptives at a minimart as if they were buying illegal drugs.

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Near Tokyo Sky Tree, the tallest building in Japan, we rested for a while by Yokojikken river while eating snacks and drinking grape juice. Kim, my new friend, recounted 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 headed 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 with 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. In a moment I closed my eyes. I felt like my soul had dismantled from my body and embarked on a journey through a long distant past.

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We wandered around the temple area and 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, it gives 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 had been relocated to a new location in Toyosu area. 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. Despite growing up near the sea, it was my first encounter with a colossal oyster that could fit both my palms. It costs 550 Yen and was 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. According to an online article, imperial family members do not reside there.

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We paused in Yasukuni Shrine area, near a grand and sturdy Daiichi Torii gate. I found a spot to sit on the floor and stretching my legs near a big statue of Omura Masujiro, the father of the Imperial Japanese Army. As I sat there, my mind drifted back to a sunny day during my university vacation when I visited my grandparents’ house. He lived through world war 2, he worked in several different fields during his lifetime. But devoted most of his time to write about anthropology and history subjects. On that day, while I was unloading all of the old books and documents from a 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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Somehow we arrived at 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.

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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 caught my attention. 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