'Zero G and I feel fine'

The last few days have been a bit quieter as we wind down to returning home tomorrow, although we did have an excursion to a quite excellent park where most of the rides are operated by pedal power. I tried to get Scarlett to pull her weight and write something, but she insisted that what makes the most sense is to contribute her first entry once she's back home. In the spirit of this blog, however, here are some final inane observations on Japan and the Japanese:

1. There's a great deal of reverence here for the emperor and the royal family. The Chrysanthemum dynasty makes the slightly tenuous claim to several millenia of unbroken descent, which would make them the longest ruling family in the world, and nobody here seems inclined to disagree. The emperor lost all real power after Hirohito's antics in the Second World War alarmed even the most ardent monarchists, but his son, Akihito, retains the support of virtually all Japanese, even if he is purely a figurehead. It's quite interesting that Japan and the United Kingdom, two countries united in postcolonial guilt, also share a deep popular respect for their monarchs. There's probably an essay topic in that somewhere.

2. It's hard to say whether the number one sport here is football or baseball. I think the latter probably just about edges it, since the Japanese are quite good at it. The back pages of the newspapers (which of course are the other way round here...think about it) are littered with pictures of footballing stars, but they tend to be the same ones as we would see at home, your Beckhams, your Ronaldos, your Gerrards, whereas the country's baseball idols are all homegrown. The slightly greater preference for baseball at the moment may have something to do with the fact that the Baseball World Championship is currently taking place, with Japan, the reigning champions, going great guns, into the semi-finals. What do you mean you haven't noticed?

3. The english language is taking over the world. We've seen tourists from various parts of the globe here, and they all rely not on their own languages, or on japanese, to get by, but on english. If two people with no common language meet each other, they communicate in english. I'm sure you already knew that, but being here has really underlined it for me. The French can forget about it - english is the universal language.

Well, that's about it. There are probably others but I can't think of any now. It's time to go home. See you in America.

- Adam

'Gravity release me'

It's funny how quickly you become accustomed to unusual things. Japan is such an alien place in so many ways, but it does not take long to slot in and start seeing everything as normal. Occasionally though, I'm still struck by a sudden wave of 'hold on, what's happening here?', as I was when we left the Park Hyatt the other night. The streets of Shinjuku, admittedly one of the very liveliest parts of the city, were bustling with noise and activity. It was midnight on a Tuesday in March, but it could have been midday on a Saturday, both in terms of the crowds and the illumination, thanks to the curious fondness of the Japanese for neon lights. While London is the city that never sleeps only in the sense that it has insomnia, Tokyo genuinely is up and alert through the night. Perhaps that's why everyone's always flat out on the subway.

Japan is just very, very busy all the time. Haneda in Tokyo manages to be the fourth busiest airport in the world despite the fact that it serves almost exclusively domestic routes; jumbo jets depart for Osaka, Sapporo, Nagoya, and other Japanese cities every twenty or so minutes, packed full of people - where do they all come from?

The trains are often rather overcrowded too, but they still run like clockwork. Yesterday we went down the coast to Kamakura which, as I'm sure you don't need me to remind you, was the de facto capital of Japan for around 100 years during the 13th and 14th centuries. So, naturally, we were spoiled for choice in terms of interesting things to see. It was also unbelievably warm, around 20C, and brilliantly sunny, which always makes for a cracking day out.

One temple, Tokei-ji, is known affectionately as the 'Divorce Temple', since it was, until comparatively recently,

the only place in the land where women could escape abusive husbands; if they could elude their spouses long enough to make it inside the temple walls, they were granted sanctuary, and, after three years, were officially granted a divorce. Apparently, local people would go out of their way to direct to the temple any woman they saw running, assuming they were being pursued by their husbands; they might of course have just been late for an appointment or something, but better safe than sorry I guess. This was the only escape channel for suffering women until female divorce was legalised in the late 19th century. It sounds like a long time to have to spend in a temple, but the gardens were so peaceful and quiet that it really wouldn't be a bad place to pass three years, and presumably many women chose to remain behind and become nuns even after their divorce had been finalised.

Kamakura is also the home of the Daibutsu, a colossal, 13m-high bronze statue of a meditative Buddha. Although not quite as large as the one in Nara, since this one sits outside, framed only by wooded hills and blue sky, it's probably even more impressive. You can look at pictures of it, read about the dimensions of it, hell, I've even seen it before, but the first glimpse of it through the trees is still pretty breathtaking. It was originally built with a roof over its head, but that burned down. Over the centuries, new shelters have been built, and have one by one been destroyed by fire, wind, and earthquake, but the Buddha himself has remained undisturbed, so they gave up building shelters. I like that.

We're beginning to approach the end of our time in Japan, and I'm aware that Scarlett hasn't yet written anything, so I'll do my best to galvanise her into action. Wish me luck.

- Adam

'The unforgettable fire'

Yesterday, after a very pleasant monorail trip across Tokyo Bay to the reclaimed island of Odaiba, I went on my lonesome up to the Tokyo National Museum in Ueno, which was really interesting. Loads of good exhibits, from 6th-century Buddhist statues to traditional Japanese art to samurai swords. Maybe it was more interesting than it sounds. Some of it was quite odd actually; one building was dedicated to the whole of Asia, not just Japan, with Korean pottery, Russian cooking utensils and Egyptian mummies all rubbing shoulders together.

I entered the first display room just in time to see an American man have a quite spectacular fall. As he was running down the stairs he tripped on the last step, staggered across the room for two or three seconds as he tried to stay on his feet, spraying his belongings over a wide radius as he did so, and then finally hit the ground and barrel rolled several times. Incredibly, I seemed to be the only one who noticed this tremendous commotion; I retrieved his jeans from a statue of the Buddha (he was carrying a spare pair, the fall wasn't quite that spectacular) and made sure he hadn't broken any bones (if he had, of course, I would have merely gone to find somebody vastly more qualified), and he pretty much thought I was a saint. Such was the nature of the museum that we kept bumping into each other on the way round after that. I think he had elected not to divulge his embarrassing episode to his wife, because when she was looking his face never betrayed any sign of recognition, but the moment her back was turned he would throw me a weak but whole-hearted smile and a thumbs-up.

After the museum, I went to a shrine in Ueno Park that I found profoundly moving. In the aftermath of the atomic blast in Hiroshima, a man from Tokyo went to the city to search for his relatives; at his father's house, he found only flaming wreckage. He lit a candle on the fire, and decided to keep it burning as a permanent reminder of what had happened. The flame eventually found its way to Ueno, where it quietly continues to burn today. Looking upon it was really rather sobering. I have my own views on nuclear weapons, and why they are, perversely, an important instrument of world peace, but there's a big difference between understanding something intellectually and understanding something emotionally, and it's very important to keep the awful realities of these contraptions in mind when discussing them. You can't fail to do that when looking at this light that never goes out. Beside it there were some inscriptions written by survivors of the attack,

 one of which I found particularly emotive: 'I felt a vibration, I looked up, and I saw the sky explode over the city of Hiroshima'.

On an altogether lighter note, we went that evening for drinks at the Park Hyatt hotel, which is, as well you know, where they filmed Lost in Translation. As well as being brilliant because you can go 'look! that's where he sits

 when he has breakfast!' and so on, the views from the 52nd-floor bar are pretty sensational. So that was a great evening.

Well, I guess, goodbye, and enjoy my jacket which you stole...from me.

- Adam

'From any angle'

Since I'm very much renowned a a man who has his finger firmly fixed on the fiducial pulse, I'm aware that many of you are looking to me to give you the lowdown on how the Great Recession is affecting Japan, particularly in light of the Japanese government's recent pronouncement that the economy contracted by 12% in the final quarter of 2008, with the prospect of even more gloomy and media-friendly figures to come. As an outsider, it's difficult to gauge the national mood, but judging from the pictures on the otherwise unfathomable TV news, people seem to be altogether more preoccupied with the rediscovery of a long-lost statue of Colonel Sanders in an Osaka river. Everyone's still wearing suits, that's about all I can tell you - and if that isn't a surefire sign of career success, I don't know what is.

Also, there still seem to be a fair number of people going to theme parks. We went to one, Tamatech, with Jeremy, Rachael and the children on Sunday; after all, it's a good two months since we were last in an amusement park, and we were starting to feel considerably less amused. There was only really one big ride, but it was thrillingly reminiscent of Dr Doom's Fearfall at Islands of Adventure, so that was fun.

On the expressway on the way there we caught a heart-stopping glimpse of Mt Fuji in all its symmetrical glory. It's so much higher than everything else on the horizon that it takes a couple of seconds to actually comprehend what you're looking at - initially I thought it was a misshapen cloud. It's a pretty breathtaking sight, albeit one, typically for Tokyo, framed by electricity pylons.

The weather has suddenly improved considerably in Tokyo. Today we revelled in the sunshine and went to Meiji Jingu, the biggest Shinto shrine in the city. It has generated some controversy in the past, as it was originally built in the intensely nationalistic period prior to the Second World War in order to lionise the Japanese people over all others. Fortunately, we detected none of that stuff; it was just extremely peaceful. There were a lot of people in the shrine itself, but the surrounding grounds were nice and quiet - possibly because you had to pay to get in those. Worth it though. Following that, we made a trip, via an unremittingly busy Shibuya, to Happoen, which our guide book described as the loveliest garden in Tokyo, and it wasn't lying.

Tomorrow we're going to a kind of real-life Tomorrowland in Odaiba, a reclaimed island in Tokyo Bay, before venturing out of the city again on Wednesday to Kamakura. Watch, quite literally, this space.

- Adam

'Can you guess?'

Apparently, a major problem for Japanese overseas tourists is something called 'Paris Syndrome'. Many people here have a highly idealised vision of the French capital as a romantic, vibrant city filled with urbane sophisticates who sit around in salons discussing the Enlightenment and the nature of existence - the Paris of Truffaut, Disney and the 18th century. Some Japanese save up for years, even decades, to go to there; for many it is their first trip abroad. They leave home with a lifetime's worth of positive preconceptions. When they arrive they are elbowed on the Metro, nearly run over by taxicabs and then shouted at by their belligerent drivers, and just generally overwhelmed by the noise and the grime, and they quite literally go into shock. The Japanese embassy in Paris reportedly has to fly hundreds of traumatised nationals home every year.

After spending even a little time in this country, it's not hard to grasp the reasons for this phenomenon; every city we've been to is so clean and efficient that the true nature of Paris, and indeed pretty much any foreign city, must come as something of a surprise, to say the least. It's the little innovations that are so good here - the doors of the train are demarcated on the subway platform so you know where to stand; there are buttons on the tables of restaurants that you press when you're ready to order; there are uniformed officials

on street corners that you can talk to if you're lost.

When we first came here twelve years ago, one of the things we noticed was that all the cars had mirrors on the back so that you can see where you're going when reversing into parking spaces. What a clever invention, we thought. Gradually, these have become the standard on cars at home, though it has taken a while. When we came back here this time, I noticed that nobody seems to have these anymore. Odd, I thought, to abandon something so useful. Turns out, they all have videocameras installed now instead. Genius.

Still, in spite of all these urban delights, it's nice to escape the cities for a bit and see a little of pre-neon Japan, which we've managed to do in the last few days. Nara, which became the country's first permanent capital in the 8th century, is littered with venerable landmarks, including the biggest statue of the Buddha that you're ever likely to see, housed in what is still the largest wooden building in the world. Apparently. You can't fail to be impressed by the scale and majesty of the thing. It really is massive.

We meandered around other shrines and temples, past the multitude of tame deer that hang around in the streets, and saw more sculptures of Buddhist deities, in various collections, than I'd care to mention (want to know the difference between Ashura and Karura? I'm your man).

We've also managed to make a trip to Himeji, a small city to the southwest of Kyoto and Osaka whose skyline is dominated by its stunning castle; a permanent, inescapable link to the past. Inside it was very interesting, the view from the top floor was sensational, the gardens beside the grounds were beautiful, the sun was shining, and, most importantly, we had an excellent lunch, so it made for a top day out all told.

Yesterday we left Kyoto and, via a tremendously scenic train journey, made our way to Matsumoto, a little town nestled in the Japanese Alps, right in the centre of Honshu. We're heading back to Tokyo tomorrow. I'll keep you posted.

- Adam

'Clear Water'

Our second day in Kyoto kicked off with a trip southeast of the city to Fushimi, an elaborate network of shrines built into the hillside, all linked by an incredible number of bright orange 'Torii' gates. Scarlett started counting them but rather wisely gave up pretty quickly. They just went on and on.

What I find most amazing about Fushimi is how ancient it is, some five or six centuries older than any of the other places we had thus far visited in Kyoto. While Europeans were stumbling around blindly in the Dark Ages, bumping into stuff, the Japanese were building these remarkable monuments.

They had good reason to; they needed to get the attention of the gods. You can certainly understand why Shintoism, and animism in general, developed in Japan, with nature as beautiful and as terrible as it is here. Equally, you can understand why virtually all Japanese would consider themselves to be Shinto believers today. Nature hasn't become any less beautiful or terrible since.

Later, we visited Sanjusangen-do temple (got that?) in the centre of Kyoto (which is quite a journey - it's easy to forget that this city is about the same size as Birmingham, if rather less bleak). This temple houses 1001 statues of the Buddhist deity Kannon, built in order to protect the earth, and arranged in seemingly endless rows. Moving down the hall, looking into their eyes, it is impossible not to be moved, on some level, by this astonishing display, if only by thinking about the people who sculpted them and the centuries that have passed since.

There's quite some contrast between the beautiful statues, shrines and temples in Kyoto and the dreariness of Protestant churches. The emphasis here seems to be on creating an external environment designed to foster individual spirituality, and this seems to me to be the right approach. Standing on the hilltop at Fushimi shrine and looking down amongst the gates and shrines, why wouldn't you believe?

Our final destination of the day was Kiyomizu-dera, one of Kyoto's picture postcards - an enormous pagoda above an apparently famous wooden terrace that overlooks the city. We drank from a fount of clear water that supposedly cures all ailments, although I feel this claim was somewhat undermined by the fact that we took our cups out of an ultraviolet steriliser. Surely you don't have to worry about germs at the fountain of youth?

So that was Kyoto. It was really good. Next time on the Bayfield Travel Blog, I'll update you on what we got up to at Himeji and Nara. We sure are some crazy kids.

- Adam

'Chosen by your leader'

We've just spent a few days in and around Kyoto, the former capital of Japan. As you would expect from a region that is considered to be the cradle of Japanese civilisation, there are a lot of places of historical significance here, principally Buddhist temples and Shinto shrines. And we've managed to see a lot of them.

After arriving on the Bullet Train from Tokyo, the first site we visited, Kinkaku-ji, is quite extraordinary. In 1397, the shogun Yoshimitsu decided that he wanted to construct a monument to his own opulence, and so built (or rather, had built) a magnificent three-storey villa, painted gold. The glory of this Golden Pavilion, reflected in the 'Pond of Mirrors', is something else altogether. 

It is not difficult to imagine the serenity that Yoshimitsu would have felt strolling around these gardens on a summer's morning, or that of the monks who took up residence here after his death, but unfortunately these days it is shattered somewhat by the swarms of tourists that pack into this place. I'm conflicted between a frustration that the original peace of here, and elsewhere in Kyoto, has been destroyed by the chattering hordes, and an uncomfortable awareness that I too am one of them - I would not be here, would not be seeing it at all, were it not for the tourist industry. Part of the problem, I suppose, is that what I actually want to do is visit the past, and as far as I'm aware that's not possible. No matter. I can make do with this.

We then made our way to the many Zen Buddhist temples at Daitoku-ji, and happily these were substantially less crowded, probably because we arrived quite late in the day. As with most places in Japan, you have to remove your shoes to go inside the temples (I think this should be the rule everywhere, it seems very sensible, although perhaps the fact I'm known as 'Shoes-Off Bayfield' may have something to do with that). 

The Zen gardens were very interesting. I especially liked one metaphor: the transience of man's life in the great span of eternity is represented by a tree whose flowers linger only one day after blossoming before falling to the ground. Pretty deep. Also, there was a revealing quote on one wall - 'don't take the monastic for granted, for underneath the robes may be a badger in sheepskin'. I don't think you'd catch many religious leaders in the West saying that.

There's a great deal to admire in Zen Buddhism as a philosophy, and the temples remain appealingly tranquil refuges from the hectic world of modern Japan, even if there are gift shops at most of them. It is, however, somewhat difficult to reconcile this ideology, especially its popularity amongst the warrior class, with Japan's heavily militarised past.

Kyoto is a phenomenal place. There is so much more to see.

- Adam

'All Tomorrow's Parties'

I don't know whether the ability to sleep in public is something that is taught in schools in Japan, but it's certainly a skill that everyone here seems to possess. People will get on the subway, fall immediately asleep (sometimes standing up), travel perhaps only two or three stops and then instantly snap awake and disembark. It's quite instinctive. I wish I could do it. 

Of course, it might all be rather less controlled than I suppose, and they all get off as soon as they wake up because they panic and realise they've slept beyond their station, but I suspect not.

We've used the subway quite a lot so far; it's beautifully efficient. Yesterday we went  on it up to Shibuya, one of the most manic parts of the city, browsed (some of) the shops and ate delicious noodles in a sidestreet 'ramen' cafe. They saw us coming a mile off (literally - they had a screen in the kitchen showing the street outside) and tucked us away in the far corner of the restaurant, away from the regulars, though, like virtually everyone we talk to, I think they were pleasantly astonished when Scarlett spoke to them in Japanese.

Later, we sat in the upstairs window of a well-known Seattle-based coffee establishment (the icy tentacles of globalisation are firmly entrenched here) overlooking Shibuya's famous 'scramble' crossings; three enormous pedestrian crossings that all converge and trisect each other on one junction. There is a curious fascination to be had just watching the patient build-up of people at each of these, and then the movement of the crowds in unison as the lights change to green (or blue, as the japanese reckon), and then again the slow build-up. Humanity just bloody everywhere. This is a seriously big city.

Today we went to 'Zoorasia' in Yokohama with Jeremy, Rachael and the children. I'm not normally on board with zoos, being put off by the concrete walls and depression, but this one had an airy, spacious feel to it that I liked, plus we saw elephants, tigers and otters (possibly the most underrated animal) so you can't really argue with that at the end of the day.

I also took on some 'joyful vitamin c' from a lemon-flavoured drink produced by a well-known japanese beverage company. For relaxing times, make it...Suntory time.

- Adam

'For miles and miles'

We've been here a couple of days now, and although we're still trying to overcome the inevitable jetlag, we've managed to do some pretty cool things already. 

On Wednesday we went back to Scarlett's old stomping ground in Kichijoji, milled about in the shops and arcades (Mario Kart the arcade game is very cool) and had an excellent lunch. I'll say this about the Japanese: they can cook rice. Jeremy and Rachael then took us out to dinner in the evening; we sat on the floor and ate sushi - very traditional.

Yesterday we went up Tokyo Tower, which gave us a good sense of space and, more importantly, size. You only really appreciate just how immense this city is when you see all of it, or rather, you realise that even from over 1,000 feet you can't see all of it. I'm not a big fan of urban sprawls, as a rule, and the view from the top of the tower seems to indicate that Tokyo is guilty of urbanisation of the most reckless kind - a sea of high-rise office blocks and power cables. But there is an odd kind of beauty to the chaos here that I don't really see in most other cities. Perhaps it is the juxtaposition of old and new - even amongst all the ultra-modern buildings, the eye is drawn inexorably to the numerous temples and shrines, little oases of serenity amongst the tumult. 

Tantalisingly, we can almost see Mt Fuji, but not quite - the foothills in front of it are visible but the mountain itself is lost in the haze. That will have to wait for another day I guess.

We now have another couple of days in Tokyo before we head off to Kyoto on Sunday. Will be sure to keep you posted.

- Adam

'I'm beginning to see a point of light on the horizon'

The flight to Japan is monstrously long, but one good thing is that you really get to appreciate just how big a place the world is. Except for a couple of hours over the English Channel and the Sea of Japan, there is land beneath you the whole way. A lot of it. 

More particularly, you understand just how big a place Russia is. You zip over Holland, Belgium, Germany, Denmark in a matter of minutes, but then you cross the Russian border and don't reach the coast for about 10 h

ours. 

Siberia is astonishing; mile after untold mile of snowy plateau, interspersed with only the very occasional sign of human inhabitance, and I found myself wondering how many years it has been since anybody set foot on some of these steppes. That might sound crazy, but staggeringly few people live here - only 180 million in all Russia, and the vast majority of those are in the cities. In the 18th century it took the explorer Vitus Bering (you know him - the one after whom the Strait is named) and his crew three arduous years to cross this country just to reach the starting point for his famous oceanic journey, and I'm beginning to understand why. It's a heck of a long way. Especially if you're dragging a ship along with you.

Darkness comes and goes remarkably quickly (we are, of course, traversing timezones at a tremen

dous tempo), with only the odd light in the darkness denoting a human presence.

Eventually, mountains begin to rise up out of the ground, and then you cross the ocean and you see Japan. The Land of the Rising Sun. Unfortunately, that sunrise is bad news for us - just as we're beginning to feel sleepy, morning has broken at our destination. There's a long day ahead.

We got through it though, principally by wandering around beautiful Japanese gardens (public ones, like those of the imperial palace, not trespassing through people's backyards) and eating. We were also stopped in the street by the nicest old man, who was keen to try out his English on us. He used words like 'thrifty' and apologised for 'disturbing your precious walking time', so we told him his English was excellent and I think he could have died happy there and then.

Anyway, you're all probably very tired (there's the first of doubtless many Lost in Translation references), and I've started writing nonsense (no change there, you might say), so I'll sign off for now. The important thing is that we're in Tokyo.

- Adam