Japan: Yokohama

While on holiday in Japan, I kept a detailed series of notes in honour of Nanowrimo.  All posts about Japan comprise excerpts from my journals.

5th November, 2013

"Yesterday, at the shoe shop where I bought an awesome pair of Vans shoes, the saleslady was wonderfully friendly and smiley.  When she found out we were from Singapore, her eyebrows shot up.  "Ah!  Hotto!" she exclaimed and, palm facing floor, slashed a horizontal line with her hand.

"Yes!  Hot all the year," my mother said, and we all nodded and murmured together.

Then, she spied my down jacket and grabbed my arm and excitedly said, "Kore wa?  Kore wa?"  My mum and I frowned at each other in brief confusion and then: oh!  Realisation!

"Uniqlo!" I said, and we threw our heads back and laughed, to think that life could be so wonderful and simple and the world so small.

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A word on Yokohama:  I love it already.

When I first said that I was maybe spending some time in Yokohama, I was universally greeted by, "What?  Who goes to Yokohama?  What is there to see?"

But I don't travel to see things.  I travel to be.  To be in places, no matter big or small, to experience life.  I've never believed that one has to go to big cities like London or New York to see life (much as I love those places).  Anywhere that people live, there will be things to do and experience.  So we could have rocked up to an industrial town and it would have been fine.  I just want to be.  In different places.

Yokohama, it turns out, is far more lovely than people suppose.  And as an added bonus, because no one wants to come here, it is quiet.  Quietly and serenely self-confident and self-contained, this city by the bay is at once deeply old and spanking new.

There are shining buildings flanking the water and our hotel is shaped like a shorter, plumper Burj El Arab.  The view is spectacular.  We can see the bay and the amusement park on it and can watch barges crawl under bridges, kicking up foam in their wakes.  We can see the lights of the ferris wheel flashing like spokes around a digital clock, watch them turn from purple to red and white, to rainbows that flash.

When I open the window, screams from the roller coasters filter up through the air.  It is all calmly festive.

In Tokyo, we were jostled on every street.  In each shop, my backpack bumped apologetic customers each time I turned.  Here, the streets are so empty, we wonder if it is a holiday.  The air is clean and fresh, the cars only coming in sporadic waves.  The people are quiet and smiley, giving us friendly directions each time we stop to ask.

But my favourite thing is the space.  The bridges are wide, as are the corridors and pathways in malls, as if the whole city is sighing and relaxedly expanding after a satisfying meal.  Our room is so huge that it takes more than five metre-long strides to cross from the fridge to the dustbin.  The best thing about it is the huge bay window with a sill wide enough to sit on, and in front of it, gauzy, buttery sets of curtains and beautiful white writing desk. 

I wish I could stay here for longer, writing at this desk for hours each night, watching the ferris wheel turn colours before it finally goes dark for the night.  This is the desk of dreamers, a desk with a chair that would not look out of place in a writer's garret, complete with a lamp marked with a sailing ship and seagulls, all the signs of wanderlust.

We spend a very relaxed afternoon nosing around the bay, strolling first to the amusement park and then towards a place called the Red Brick Warehouse which is actually two brick buildings that look like Liverpudlian dock houses and hold a positively enchanting array of hipster cafes and shops that sell everything from handmade bath goods to mismatched patterned socks.

We come out in time to watch the weak autumn sun setting over the suspension bridge, then head for dinner.

[Addendum: In the afternoon, before our walk, I proclaim that it is time for some sweets and my mother agrees, so we go looking for a place that will sell the same types of traditional desserts as the day before.  We find them in a beautifully lit Italian restaurant and keep laughing over our good fortune as we swallow cold spoonfuls of green tea icecream and cream.]

I use the evening light to practise some slow shutter photography and oh!  My kingdom for a tripod!  I know it's ridiculous to carry a tripod everywhere one goes but there has to be a better alternative to practically pressing my chin to a dustbin.  I think about Rebecca telling me that she brings her tripod everywhere she travels and wonder if I am about to follow suit.

The rest of the evening is simply spent doing nothing and talking over udon and tempura.  

[Another addendum: Today, we took the train here, which I loved.  I love taking overland trains anywhere because of what I get to see.  When I took them across England, I would stare at the little country houses for hours, yearning to live in them and wondering: who resided there?  Did they own all this farm land?  All those sheep, and the horses too?  

In Japan, I yearn to live in a red brick apartment.  The buildings are neat but arranged in a slightly higgeldy-piggeldy manner; neighbourhoods that have grown around each other over time.  I love them the same way I love looking at blocks of flats back home, admiring the spill of creepers over ledges and the bright laundry out to dry.  I could spend hours taking trains across countries and just looking out the window.]

So, tonight, here I am, looking out over the ferris wheel and vowing to myself that while I am here I will just live and stop worrying: stop worrying about the expectations and what I should be doing and what people think.  I need to just sit with the feelings in this wonderful city.  After all, worries and expectations will always be there, but I may never come this way again.  

It may not be the right fit for people who want landmarks or notoriety but for a few days to just peacefully be?  There is no better place than Yokohama.

PS  Shortly after I make my mother take a picture of me on the windowsill, I suggest that I take one of her.  She demands to be Superman flying over the city.  All right then.

PPS Earlier tonight, I am listening to the Japanese National Anthem and the translation says something to the effect of "May Japan live a thousand years so that all your pebbles grow into mighty boulders," which, well, makes me smile because somewhere in the world, the geography teacher who taught me about weathering must be twitching violently."