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."

Weapons of choice

Here's a quick glimpse of the book I'm currently using as a journal; a small Muji notebook that I've had for two years but never really delved into.  It's all the things I promised I'd never do - white, spiral bound, dot grid - but I.  Love.  It.  

Maybe it's something about the way the spiral holds a keychain that one of my students shyly handed to me last week.  Maybe it's that the dot grid perfectly contains both my cramped handwriting and drawings.  Maybe it's that the pale cover matches whatever I throw at it.  I'm completely smitten.  I don't even mind how the spiral makes me contort my hand over to the next page.

While we're at it, I thought I would showcase a few of my weapons of choice as well.  The paper is possibly a poor 80gsm which isn't bleed proof for markers (I don't even mind that!) so I've been relying on gel pens for colour, as well as stickers, deco rush tape (essentially correction tape with patterns on) and of course, my beloved rolls of washi.

From left to right:

1)  Mildliner in lilac - just about the most acceptable amount of inkiness before bleedthrough hits.
2) Pilot Hi-Tec-C Maica Gel Ink Pen in brown - I bought it for the jewelled top and the loop in the cap for stringing charms just killed me. 
3) and 4)  Muji 0.5 gel pens and cheapo plastic pen grip.
5) Uniball Signo 0.38 in Green Black - my new favourite colour.
6) Uniball Signo 0.38 in Black - the best everyday pen ever.
7) Delfonics pen from Becky - Awesome for lighter grey lines and precision in a ballpoint.

Japan: Meiji Jinggu

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. 

"4th November, 2013

Going from Harajuku to the shrine is an interesting experience.  The scenery goes from bright and overstimulating to calm and serene in minutes.  In fact, on the way in, an elaborately cosplaying couple crosses paths with a quietly refined woman in a kimono.  At the Shinto gates, we bow deeply.  My mum points out the chrysanthemum on the top beam - the family was royalty.  In fact, the shrine was built for a Meiji emperor.

The path in is wide and covered with tiny grey stones.  The buzz of the city fades away and under the canopy of trees, the air is cool and heavy and fresh.  A stream runs across the grounds, cutting under what looks like an ancient bridge.  We slow down too, taking in the lush air, the thick green.

I start noticing the children very early on, toddling carefully along the path in full kimonos and the robes and pants that little boys wear, some with make up on, hair fully coiffed.  They are such perfect, enamelled little jewels that I exclaim each time one passes, walking slowly so that she doesn't trip over her heavy clogs and hems.  

Some of the mothers are dressed up too, slender and shining with pride, slowly guiding their children across steps and cobbles.

(Later, I look up the significance of the day.  Turns out we are nearing a day when children aged 3, 5 and 7 visit shrines to ask for blessings in their finest gear.)

First, I gawk, then I go mad trying to capture all the beautiful children.  I'm torn between trying to snatch candid shots as they twist this way and that, or ask politely if I can get a picture, so I end up doing both.  Parents, it turns out, are mostly proud and happy to have their young ones photographed and even encourage them to smile.  One grandmother claps delightedly when I ask if I can shoot her granddaughter and tells me to wait before running and pulling her grandson out of the crowd as well.  They both stand there, adorable in their shell-shocked state, and I bow deep thanks.

One particular girl, I follow for ages, trying to surreptitiously sneak a shot of her looking back over her shoulder.  She quickly sees me and keeps glancing back at me, almost pleading with me with her eyes to take her picture. Eventually, I wave at her.  She grins and waves back.  I raise my camera and she stands up tall and proud, a consummate model.

I am loving the fact that I got to take pictures of such lovely children.  I would've liked to take one home in my suitcase with me, but I guess these photos are the next best thing, as are the ones I managed to get of three separate Japanese brides as they prepared for their wedding ceremony, gently and beautifully stoic in their starched white clothes.  

My mother and I watched the processions across the shrine yard in awe, then went to pray at the shrine itself.  The shrine is old and solid and graceful, all dark wood and jade green roof.  The sunlight starts breaking through the clouds, turning all the wood gold.

"Learn how to say a prayer," my mother says, pointing to a sign that gives instructions.  I toss a coin into a box, bow twice, clap my hands and close my eyes.  I'm essentially atheist but I love the Universe and everything in it and so when I start to wonder what to pray for, a part of me opens up and says, as if it is the most natural thing in the world, "Thank you.  Thank you for letting me come here.  Thank you for this chance.  I am so, so lucky and I want to thank the Universe for conspiring in this."

And I open my eyes, surprised by the sudden outpouring of true gratitude.

We finish the walk with a piping hot omelette rice drenched in beef stew and molten cheese in the tiny, neatly-appointed basement of a franchise called Apple Tree.  We spend the rest of the evening at Ropponggi Hills (move along folks, nothing to see here except toilets that allow you to play sounds to mask the tones of... your business) and Shibuya, incredibly cute, kitschy shops with multitudes of beautiful clothes and stationery and decor items I do not need.

So I sit on my hands in a cafe instead, and we share two scones with jam and cream, which feels even better.

I don't mean though, that I don't do any shopping at all.  In fact, the dressing and spirit of Harajuku and Shibuya are so inspiring and infectious that I decide that I just have to do it, to buy one thing that is in keeping with the spirit of the area, one thing that is fun and loud and a little crazy.  So, I do.

On the way back to the hotel, I watch locals bound in and out of the carriages with infectious grins.  An obachan sits and reads, following each line carefully with a bookmark.  A couple leans into each other.   What a glorious day it has been, I think, and my mind stretches back to the prayer I said in Meiji Jinggu.

Thank you.  Thank you for this chance."

A cup of kindness

Unlike Christmas, which I am rather ambivalent towards, I like New Year because it feels like a new beginning for me.  Sure, it's arbitrary and man-made but an artificial chance is still a chance. 

From the age of 12 I've been making resolutions (some absurd and most not kept) but this year I got to thinking about the resolutions early.  At lunch with Edie, Sindhu and Shirin the other day, Sindhu put forward the idea that if you cannot genuinely be happy for people, the Universe takes things away from you and I was greatly struck by it.

I felt like the principle extended to a kind of general niceness - if I couldn't genuinely try my best to be kind, then maybe there would be some kind of seriously negative energy generated. 

The more I thought about it in conjunction with my resolutions, the more I realised that all the mean, unkind, inappropriate things that I do, say or think have to do with temptation.  Anger and irritation tempt me to mean thoughts or unnecessarily sarcastic words.  Delight in gossip tempts me to see the worst in people.  

And while I don't really think people should eschew wicked humour and view each other with a sugary piousness, I do feel that I could try harder to understand where people are coming from or to walk a mile in their shoes rather than judging them in my head right off the bat. 

I happened to run out of pages in my old journal several days before 2014 and so, with the theme of fresh starts in mind, I put this C.S. Lewis quote on the first page of my new one.  

In the New Year, I plan to practice holding off the temptation to be nasty... for an hour each time, at least.