I think it would be fair to say that none of us were particularly blown away by our first visit to Tokyo. It was pleasant enough, with peaks of interest every now and then, but coming from London I perhaps find it hard to be really wowed by another metropolis.
That's not to say I don't enjoy city life. New York is a 24/7 buzz and my favourite city on earth, Paris has romance and history, Buenos Aires is edgy and surprising. Tokyo just seemed a bit flat.
So after three nights in the city, and with a whole country to see, we felt it was time to move on. And besides, we were desperate to take our first Shinkansen (bullet train) of the trip.
Because we were in Japan during the famous (and fleeting) blossom season, we had planned a rough itinerary for the first couple of weeks. We knew certain spots throughout the country would be popular with (mainly Japanese) tourists, so it made sense to book a few hostels in advance. After all, we could always cancel if plans changed.
Our next stop after Tokyo was to be Nagasaki, way down in the south. Japan is made up of hundreds, if not thousands, of islands. Most are tiny, but there are three large main ones: Honshu, which houses Tokyo, Osaka, Kyoto and more, Hokkaido in the north and Kyushu in the south.
To reach Nagasaki - on Kyushu - meant an early start for Jake, Mark and I on a fresh Wednesday morning. Badger had made alternative plans, with a promise to hook up with us in a few days on Kyushu.
On the map, the journey to Tokyo Station was a simple one. Four or five stops, including one change. In reality we'd decided to complicate things by travelling in the middle of the morning rush hour. With backpacks.
The 20 minute journey would prove to be a fascinating snapshot of the working life of the world's most populated city.
During a rush-hour journey on London's Underground you can experience the dubious pleasure of being jostled, tutted at, stared at, shoved. Not to mention being forced to smell someone's BO-ridden armpit or listen to the tinny sounds of their crap headphones.
In Tokyo it's not complete serenity (a poster warning women against subway gropers was telling), but there was a degree of respect between fellow travellers as they navigated their way around this sprawling city of 18 million people.
On the platforms people queued obediently in line as they waited for the train to come. Once it arrived, yes - there was a sense of urgency to get on - but few people noticeably pushed ahead to gain an advantage.
And, once on the train, the sea of black-suited salarymen all faced as one towards the doors through which they'd just arrived. And there they stood, hundreds to a carriage, in virtual silence as their train meandered its way from A to B to C and beyond.
They stood cheek-by-jowl and watched the TV screens above the doors, or listened to music on their phones, or stared into space (or into the back of the salaryman in front of them), or - as I saw several times in Japan - slept in their upright position.
While this all sounds incredibly orderly and efficient, and in general it was, the ventilation system on the trains was anything but. It felt muggy, close and after a couple of stops we'd had enough of being sweaty sardines. Which was lucky, as it was our stop.
We picked up some provisions at the maze-like Tokyo Station (think of the newly-redesigned, confusing Kings Cross underground station - but on overdrive) and found our way to the right platform:
Up at platform level we did what most self-respecting first-time tourists to Japan do when they spot a bullet train for the first time. We made our way to the duck-like nose at the front of the train and got our cameras out:
You don't see those badboys pulling out of Platform 14 at London Waterloo.
It felt good to know I was about to fulfil a long-held dream of bombing around Japan on some of the world's fastest trains, and luckily the experience lived up to my expectations.
All the cliches about how Japanese trains depart on their exact minute (or should that be second?) of departure, of Japanese trains being spotlessly clean, of Japanese trains being roomy and comfy - all true.
We had reserved seats all the way down on our 8hr, 3 train journey. The first leg was Tokyo - Osaka, a two-hour bullet through Japan's core, a key commuter route and the busiest stretch of the entire Japanese Shinkansen network.
After a few sleepless nights I was struggling with stinging eyes and felt like plugging in to my tunes and staring vacantly out of a window for two hours. So I did.
On the way south we zipped through the sprawling outer suburbs of Tokyo, bathed in sunshine:
We soon passed one of Japan's iconic sights, Mount Fuji:
Seeing Fuji re-affirmed why I'd decided to come to Japan. Looking across at the enormous snow-capped peak (which, we were told, was unusually visible on that day) out of the window of 160mph bullet train as I listened to my favourite music. Brilliant.
The Tokyo-Osaka leg was also our first taste of the catering on Japan's railway. The female trolly guards (I was about to type 'trolly dollies', but that feels too base) were the epitome of excellent service.
When they enter a carriage they stop their trolly once the door closes behind them, say a quiet welcome to the carriage and then dip their head in a bow to the passengers. They then silently float through the carriage serving people with a level of grace and politeness that I haven't seen anywhere else.
Few of them spoke any English, but 'coffee' is understandable in most tongues, and I was soon being presented with my caffeine hit that would get me through the morning.
The trolly guard presented the cup of coffee, the milk and sugar in a way that we soon became used to in Japan: delicately, gently, with a smile, a bow and a quiet request for some money.
When I gave her a note of Yen, she accepted with two hands (as to use one is not polite), bowed again, quickly got the change and handed it back to me using two hands. I took the change from her and she bowed again, said a quiet 'Arigatou' ('Thankyou') and then moved on.
In the grand scheme of things, that transaction might be seen as fairly meaningless, but it was something we experienced over and over again throughout Japan and is something that encapsulates the Japanese way of life to me: treating people how you would like to be treated.
In Osaka we stocked up with some provisions, bento boxes and other goodies, and went to board our next train:
The next leg, Osaka to Fukuoka, was one of the best trains of our three week trip. Each train we took out there had slightly different designs, quirks, comforts - and this one was fantastic.
We had reserved seats, which gives you a slightly higher class of carriage in Japan, and found ourselves in huge, plush, brown-coloured reclining seats that sat either side of a metre-wide aisle. We had another metre or so of legroom, huge windows to look out of, and a four-hour trip ahead of us. Perfect.
On this leg we'd be travelling through the longest, deepest sub-sea tunnel in the world.
I'd be lying if I said the experience of going through the longest, deepest sub-sea tunnel in the world was any different from going across the channel to France on the Eurostar - or any other train tunnel for that matter. When it's pitch black outside, it's pitch black outside.
Some 23 minutes after entering the long, dark tunnel we emerged blinking into the sunshine of Kyushu.
At Fukuoka we made the final change of the day - this time to a train with a distinct '80s nightclub feel: black leather seats, lots of angular lines and a splash of bright colour here and there. It was a strange one.
We'd seen several ads in Tokyo promoting Suntory Highball. Suntory is one of Japan's largest drink manufacturers and the Highball was the jewel in their crown. As we neared our final destination, looping our way along the sunny coast of Kyushu, we felt it was time for our first Highball:
It was quite bitter - a gin n tonic of sorts but with added sharpness.
The final 2hr journey from Fukuoka to Nagasaki was memorable. This was very different to the commercialised heart of Japan, and Honshu.
We passed small fishing villages with clapper-board houses, rice fields bring primed, and our first real sighting of the famous sakura - cherry blossom.
In the early evening, some 8-9 hours after leaving Tokyo, we arrived in Nagasaki.
We'd booked a hostel next to the canal in one of the oldest parts of town. We walked the 15 minutes from the station and checked in, being given another friendly Japanese welcome from the reception staff.
Our room was a shared dorm - 8 bunks to be occupied by 8 grown men and not much room besides. So we dumped our stuff and headed out, to a bar recommended by the owner of the hostel.
We strolled alongside the stream that ran from our hostel to the bar and the peace and quiet was noticeable. There never seems to be any excess noise in Japan. A good thing.
At the bar we had a couple of beers, were joined by a couple of locals, and then decided to head out into the city to see what else was happening. Over the next couple of hours we had a few more drinks in a few more places, ate some lovely creamy noodles and acted the goat with Colonel Sanders:
At one point we found ourselves in a place called the HIP Building (at least I think that's what it was called). It was a huge tower block of 9 floors, with each floor housing 6 or 7 bars. It was strangely eerie in the corridors, and was a case of trial and error as we tried to find a regular bar to have a beer.
Behind some of the doors seemed to be hostess bars, where middle aged women in lingerie firstly looked at us blankly and then beckoned us in. Thanks, but no thanks.
Behind other doors were smoked-filled bars with carpeted walls where it was difficult to tell what was on sale. Probably alcohol, but you may need to pay for other services too.
We soon gave up and headed home, still struggling to get our heads around how to spend late nights on the town in Japan.
On the way home, a bit let down by not being able to find a proper party or club, we decided to head back to the same bar we'd started in.
The atmosphere had changed over the hours we'd been away. The long, gallery-style bar was now lined with locals: a few guys, a few girls, and a striking man in a suit with a spiky hair-do.
We took a pew at the far end of the bar and ordered some drinks. We were soon in conversation with a couple of people next to us, speaking pidgin English and relying on Mark's artistic skills as he sketched some conversation starters in his notebook (a handy device when you're in a foreign land with no handle on the language).
Once the ice was broken we were soon being embraced by the rest of the bar's inhabitants. Oasis was put on the stereo, free plates of dried shrimp were being passed around, and the Japanese and their British guests were getting on famously.
At one point I ended up locking lips with one of the women, which in hindsight seemed to cause a slight shift in the dynamic of the bar. The man in the suit with the spiky hair had been unnerving me for a while, with his overt gestures towards me (he was gay) and the small tattoo I noticed on his hand (a mark of the Yakuza, the Japanese mafia).
At about 4am, with everyone several sheets to the wind, there was suddenly a commotion behind the bar with the female landlady chucking a glass at Mr Yakuza. Touchpoint lit.
I sensed we had suddenly become vulnerable in this bizarre situation. Yakuza Man looked vaguely psychotic, some of the women were being hysterical, and us three Englishman were standing in the centre of it all.
Jake and I dragged Mark away from the girl he had befriended and we made a quick exit back down the canal. With the sun rising, we took a detour to Lawson Station to buy some rice balls, and made our way back to the hostel.
A strange, fun, whirlwind of a night.
The next day we made our way to the Atomic Bomb Museum, Nagasaki's unfortunate tourist 'attraction'. We were in zombie modes with our hangovers, and I for one was not in the best frame of mind to walk around a museum of death.
Mark went off to another part of the museum, while Jake and I scooted around the main museum hall in under 10 minutes. I knew we'd be heading to Hiroshima later in the trip and just wasn't in the right frame of mind to take in Nagasaki's grief.
Instead, Jake and I headed back out into the sun and walked around the peace garden before jumping on a tram back into the city centre.
We walked through the narrow streets between our hostel and the covered shopping mall, desperate to find somewhere open for us to have a hot meal. It was about 4pm and everything was closed.
We eventually came across a tiny cafe that looked more like a country cottage. We tentatively pushed open the door to what could have been the living room and found a welcoming woman serving up plates of hot food to a small selection of guests seated at low-rise tables.
We sat down and were soon munching through an interesting combination of spaghetti, deep-fried chicken, fish, cabbage and rice.
When in Nagasaki, etc...
Afterwards, Jake went back for a nap and I took a walk. I climbed the steep hill behind our hostel, through an intricately-placed cemetery and past immaculately-kept gardens.
Some 20 minutes later, and thanks to a random encounter with an English girl who pointed me in the right direction, I reached the top of the hill.
The hilltop was my first real taste of the sakura - dozens of blooming pink and white blossom trees gently blowing in the breeze. Beautiful.
People were setting up for a festival that would be happening later on, already laying out their blue tarpaulin mats for the Hanami party under the shade of the blossom trees, weighing the corners of the mat down with gigantic bottles of sake.
I made my way to the top of a couple of viewing platforms and took in the view of Nagasaki below:
I had Tokyo Police Club playing on my iPod, another 2 weeks to look forward to, and all was good with the world.
My final snap of the walk was of this uniquely Japanese anti-smoking poster:
That night we were all a bit frazzled following the previous night's debauchery. We walked through the city, accidentally stumbling across the tame red-light district at one point, had some food, a beer, and got a final late-night snack from the friendly steamed bun seller:
I really enjoyed Nagasaki, it had a vibe all of its own. There was no showiness about it - a very understated city that happened to be thrust to the world's attention through no fault of its own.
That's not to say I don't enjoy city life. New York is a 24/7 buzz and my favourite city on earth, Paris has romance and history, Buenos Aires is edgy and surprising. Tokyo just seemed a bit flat.
So after three nights in the city, and with a whole country to see, we felt it was time to move on. And besides, we were desperate to take our first Shinkansen (bullet train) of the trip.
Because we were in Japan during the famous (and fleeting) blossom season, we had planned a rough itinerary for the first couple of weeks. We knew certain spots throughout the country would be popular with (mainly Japanese) tourists, so it made sense to book a few hostels in advance. After all, we could always cancel if plans changed.
Our next stop after Tokyo was to be Nagasaki, way down in the south. Japan is made up of hundreds, if not thousands, of islands. Most are tiny, but there are three large main ones: Honshu, which houses Tokyo, Osaka, Kyoto and more, Hokkaido in the north and Kyushu in the south.
To reach Nagasaki - on Kyushu - meant an early start for Jake, Mark and I on a fresh Wednesday morning. Badger had made alternative plans, with a promise to hook up with us in a few days on Kyushu.
On the map, the journey to Tokyo Station was a simple one. Four or five stops, including one change. In reality we'd decided to complicate things by travelling in the middle of the morning rush hour. With backpacks.
The 20 minute journey would prove to be a fascinating snapshot of the working life of the world's most populated city.
During a rush-hour journey on London's Underground you can experience the dubious pleasure of being jostled, tutted at, stared at, shoved. Not to mention being forced to smell someone's BO-ridden armpit or listen to the tinny sounds of their crap headphones.
In Tokyo it's not complete serenity (a poster warning women against subway gropers was telling), but there was a degree of respect between fellow travellers as they navigated their way around this sprawling city of 18 million people.
On the platforms people queued obediently in line as they waited for the train to come. Once it arrived, yes - there was a sense of urgency to get on - but few people noticeably pushed ahead to gain an advantage.
And, once on the train, the sea of black-suited salarymen all faced as one towards the doors through which they'd just arrived. And there they stood, hundreds to a carriage, in virtual silence as their train meandered its way from A to B to C and beyond.
They stood cheek-by-jowl and watched the TV screens above the doors, or listened to music on their phones, or stared into space (or into the back of the salaryman in front of them), or - as I saw several times in Japan - slept in their upright position.
While this all sounds incredibly orderly and efficient, and in general it was, the ventilation system on the trains was anything but. It felt muggy, close and after a couple of stops we'd had enough of being sweaty sardines. Which was lucky, as it was our stop.
We picked up some provisions at the maze-like Tokyo Station (think of the newly-redesigned, confusing Kings Cross underground station - but on overdrive) and found our way to the right platform:
Up at platform level we did what most self-respecting first-time tourists to Japan do when they spot a bullet train for the first time. We made our way to the duck-like nose at the front of the train and got our cameras out:
It felt good to know I was about to fulfil a long-held dream of bombing around Japan on some of the world's fastest trains, and luckily the experience lived up to my expectations.
All the cliches about how Japanese trains depart on their exact minute (or should that be second?) of departure, of Japanese trains being spotlessly clean, of Japanese trains being roomy and comfy - all true.
We had reserved seats all the way down on our 8hr, 3 train journey. The first leg was Tokyo - Osaka, a two-hour bullet through Japan's core, a key commuter route and the busiest stretch of the entire Japanese Shinkansen network.
After a few sleepless nights I was struggling with stinging eyes and felt like plugging in to my tunes and staring vacantly out of a window for two hours. So I did.
On the way south we zipped through the sprawling outer suburbs of Tokyo, bathed in sunshine:
We soon passed one of Japan's iconic sights, Mount Fuji:
Seeing Fuji re-affirmed why I'd decided to come to Japan. Looking across at the enormous snow-capped peak (which, we were told, was unusually visible on that day) out of the window of 160mph bullet train as I listened to my favourite music. Brilliant.
The Tokyo-Osaka leg was also our first taste of the catering on Japan's railway. The female trolly guards (I was about to type 'trolly dollies', but that feels too base) were the epitome of excellent service.
When they enter a carriage they stop their trolly once the door closes behind them, say a quiet welcome to the carriage and then dip their head in a bow to the passengers. They then silently float through the carriage serving people with a level of grace and politeness that I haven't seen anywhere else.
Few of them spoke any English, but 'coffee' is understandable in most tongues, and I was soon being presented with my caffeine hit that would get me through the morning.
The trolly guard presented the cup of coffee, the milk and sugar in a way that we soon became used to in Japan: delicately, gently, with a smile, a bow and a quiet request for some money.
When I gave her a note of Yen, she accepted with two hands (as to use one is not polite), bowed again, quickly got the change and handed it back to me using two hands. I took the change from her and she bowed again, said a quiet 'Arigatou' ('Thankyou') and then moved on.
In the grand scheme of things, that transaction might be seen as fairly meaningless, but it was something we experienced over and over again throughout Japan and is something that encapsulates the Japanese way of life to me: treating people how you would like to be treated.
In Osaka we stocked up with some provisions, bento boxes and other goodies, and went to board our next train:
The next leg, Osaka to Fukuoka, was one of the best trains of our three week trip. Each train we took out there had slightly different designs, quirks, comforts - and this one was fantastic.
We had reserved seats, which gives you a slightly higher class of carriage in Japan, and found ourselves in huge, plush, brown-coloured reclining seats that sat either side of a metre-wide aisle. We had another metre or so of legroom, huge windows to look out of, and a four-hour trip ahead of us. Perfect.
On this leg we'd be travelling through the longest, deepest sub-sea tunnel in the world.
I'd be lying if I said the experience of going through the longest, deepest sub-sea tunnel in the world was any different from going across the channel to France on the Eurostar - or any other train tunnel for that matter. When it's pitch black outside, it's pitch black outside.
Some 23 minutes after entering the long, dark tunnel we emerged blinking into the sunshine of Kyushu.
At Fukuoka we made the final change of the day - this time to a train with a distinct '80s nightclub feel: black leather seats, lots of angular lines and a splash of bright colour here and there. It was a strange one.
We'd seen several ads in Tokyo promoting Suntory Highball. Suntory is one of Japan's largest drink manufacturers and the Highball was the jewel in their crown. As we neared our final destination, looping our way along the sunny coast of Kyushu, we felt it was time for our first Highball:
It was quite bitter - a gin n tonic of sorts but with added sharpness.
The final 2hr journey from Fukuoka to Nagasaki was memorable. This was very different to the commercialised heart of Japan, and Honshu.
We passed small fishing villages with clapper-board houses, rice fields bring primed, and our first real sighting of the famous sakura - cherry blossom.
In the early evening, some 8-9 hours after leaving Tokyo, we arrived in Nagasaki.
We'd booked a hostel next to the canal in one of the oldest parts of town. We walked the 15 minutes from the station and checked in, being given another friendly Japanese welcome from the reception staff.
Our room was a shared dorm - 8 bunks to be occupied by 8 grown men and not much room besides. So we dumped our stuff and headed out, to a bar recommended by the owner of the hostel.
We strolled alongside the stream that ran from our hostel to the bar and the peace and quiet was noticeable. There never seems to be any excess noise in Japan. A good thing.
At the bar we had a couple of beers, were joined by a couple of locals, and then decided to head out into the city to see what else was happening. Over the next couple of hours we had a few more drinks in a few more places, ate some lovely creamy noodles and acted the goat with Colonel Sanders:
At one point we found ourselves in a place called the HIP Building (at least I think that's what it was called). It was a huge tower block of 9 floors, with each floor housing 6 or 7 bars. It was strangely eerie in the corridors, and was a case of trial and error as we tried to find a regular bar to have a beer.
Behind some of the doors seemed to be hostess bars, where middle aged women in lingerie firstly looked at us blankly and then beckoned us in. Thanks, but no thanks.
Behind other doors were smoked-filled bars with carpeted walls where it was difficult to tell what was on sale. Probably alcohol, but you may need to pay for other services too.
We soon gave up and headed home, still struggling to get our heads around how to spend late nights on the town in Japan.
On the way home, a bit let down by not being able to find a proper party or club, we decided to head back to the same bar we'd started in.
The atmosphere had changed over the hours we'd been away. The long, gallery-style bar was now lined with locals: a few guys, a few girls, and a striking man in a suit with a spiky hair-do.
We took a pew at the far end of the bar and ordered some drinks. We were soon in conversation with a couple of people next to us, speaking pidgin English and relying on Mark's artistic skills as he sketched some conversation starters in his notebook (a handy device when you're in a foreign land with no handle on the language).
Once the ice was broken we were soon being embraced by the rest of the bar's inhabitants. Oasis was put on the stereo, free plates of dried shrimp were being passed around, and the Japanese and their British guests were getting on famously.
At one point I ended up locking lips with one of the women, which in hindsight seemed to cause a slight shift in the dynamic of the bar. The man in the suit with the spiky hair had been unnerving me for a while, with his overt gestures towards me (he was gay) and the small tattoo I noticed on his hand (a mark of the Yakuza, the Japanese mafia).
At about 4am, with everyone several sheets to the wind, there was suddenly a commotion behind the bar with the female landlady chucking a glass at Mr Yakuza. Touchpoint lit.
I sensed we had suddenly become vulnerable in this bizarre situation. Yakuza Man looked vaguely psychotic, some of the women were being hysterical, and us three Englishman were standing in the centre of it all.
Jake and I dragged Mark away from the girl he had befriended and we made a quick exit back down the canal. With the sun rising, we took a detour to Lawson Station to buy some rice balls, and made our way back to the hostel.
A strange, fun, whirlwind of a night.
The next day we made our way to the Atomic Bomb Museum, Nagasaki's unfortunate tourist 'attraction'. We were in zombie modes with our hangovers, and I for one was not in the best frame of mind to walk around a museum of death.
Mark went off to another part of the museum, while Jake and I scooted around the main museum hall in under 10 minutes. I knew we'd be heading to Hiroshima later in the trip and just wasn't in the right frame of mind to take in Nagasaki's grief.
Instead, Jake and I headed back out into the sun and walked around the peace garden before jumping on a tram back into the city centre.
 |
| Passing through a tunnel |
We eventually came across a tiny cafe that looked more like a country cottage. We tentatively pushed open the door to what could have been the living room and found a welcoming woman serving up plates of hot food to a small selection of guests seated at low-rise tables.
We sat down and were soon munching through an interesting combination of spaghetti, deep-fried chicken, fish, cabbage and rice.
When in Nagasaki, etc...
Afterwards, Jake went back for a nap and I took a walk. I climbed the steep hill behind our hostel, through an intricately-placed cemetery and past immaculately-kept gardens.
Some 20 minutes later, and thanks to a random encounter with an English girl who pointed me in the right direction, I reached the top of the hill.
The hilltop was my first real taste of the sakura - dozens of blooming pink and white blossom trees gently blowing in the breeze. Beautiful.
People were setting up for a festival that would be happening later on, already laying out their blue tarpaulin mats for the Hanami party under the shade of the blossom trees, weighing the corners of the mat down with gigantic bottles of sake.
I made my way to the top of a couple of viewing platforms and took in the view of Nagasaki below:
I had Tokyo Police Club playing on my iPod, another 2 weeks to look forward to, and all was good with the world.
My final snap of the walk was of this uniquely Japanese anti-smoking poster:
That night we were all a bit frazzled following the previous night's debauchery. We walked through the city, accidentally stumbling across the tame red-light district at one point, had some food, a beer, and got a final late-night snack from the friendly steamed bun seller:
I really enjoyed Nagasaki, it had a vibe all of its own. There was no showiness about it - a very understated city that happened to be thrust to the world's attention through no fault of its own.