A pitch black heaven

But the coloured lights fooled you. The lights were wonderful. There ought to be a monument to the man who invented neon lights. Fifteen stories high, solid marble. There’s a boy who really made something out of nothing.

- Philip Marlowe, The Little Sister (1949) by Raymond Chandler.

Summer 2007. Aomori, Japan. I stand on the plains of northern Honshū. The lights are out, the houses and farms all asleep.

Underfoot, the slow crunch of stones on the sun-baked path, tingles my ears and slippered feet. We wander into a small orchard. The leaves on the apple trees rustle against our skin. I hold her closer. City boy, city boy, where have you gone?

The Big Dipper is clear and sharply illuminated. From where I stand, it empties itself over the heavens, spilling out the other stars.

Nothing like Tokyo, where you can’t see past the neon, where the tall buildings, sunk deep into the earth crowd you out of yourself. Here, there is deep, rich darkness.

Behind me stands Mt. Iwaki. In the light of the moon, I can faintly make out its shape. Even though it is neither a particularly large nor steep, it dominates the plain, reminding you of the natural scale and order of things. And all is quiet.

Donald Richie – one of the best writers on Japan – argues that the Japanese made an art out of nothingness. Under the influences of Zen Buddhism, privation (both imposed and as an acquired taste) and strict codes of conduct, the Japanese harnessed it as a productive core to their cultural endeavours. This can be seen in pursuits such as the tea ceremony.

Modern Japan, indeed the modern world often forgets about this nothingness. It should be treasured.

. . .

The Glassy Essence

Fish tales.

• Nearest station: Tsukiji-shijō (Ōedo Line, click here for a route planner)
• Open: Before dawn to ~1 p.m.
• Closed: National holidays, Sundays, some Wednesdays. Click here for 2008 opening days [red dot = closed; blue triangle = temporary opening day].

Background:

Tsukiji Market (築地市場, Tsukiji-shijō) is the world’s largest seafood market. It was founded by Tokugawa Ieyasu (the first Tokugawa shōgun) as a distribution point to feed the growing city of Edo.

The market is world renowned for its tuna auctions. Beside the fish, there is also a fresh fruit and veg area. It would seem, however, that maguro are a bigger draw than matsutake.

Like any place of business, there is a flow of trade. Deliveries from around the world are unloaded and put up for auction. Middlemen make their purchases from seven wholesalers. The produce is then taken to the market stalls, where it is prepared for general purchase.

Similar to practices all over the world, restaurants and chefs have close links with their suppliers. Networking, often facilitated by the kohai-sempai system (junior-senior) or chef associations, means that supplier-restaurant relationships are often long-standing affairs.

The inner market is the licensed wholesale area; the outer market contains stalls selling kitchenware, utensils (such as knives) and various other goods as well as foodstuffs, both wholesale and retail.

Visit:

Set your alarm clock or turn up after a night on the town. Tsukiji is also a good place to visit if you’re struggling with jet lag.

The tuna auctions are one of the main draws for visitors. If you arrive before dawn (~4 to 5 a.m.), you might be able to sneak into the tuna auctions. Most people arrive a little later, with the first trains (~6 a.m. onwards). It is still possible to view the tuna as they are laid out on the warehouse floor, being marked up for delivery. Between 8 a.m. and 10 a.m. visitor numbers peak, but the market is less frantic with business.

Follow the signs out of the station and take two lefts. You’ll see the main entrance to the market, full of trucks unloading and carrying away produce. Tsukiji is a working market so keep your wits about you and watch out for the little carts.

Walk a little further and you’ll hit the market itself, an arc of aquatic wonders: tuna, sea cucumbers, turtles, eels, geoducks. If it lives in the water and you can eat it, you’ll probably find it here.

Tsukiji’s other big attraction is the sushi. There are a plethora of sushi restaurants in and around the market. Daiwa Sushi (大和寿司) is perhaps the most famous. The market staff will suggest it if you ask them for a recommendation.

When it comes to ordering, I strongly suggest you avoid the convenience and comfort of a set menu unless you are on a tight budget. This will not only allow to cater to your tastes and experiment, but more importantly give you access to better quality food and service. Budget around ¥5000 for an assortment of 10 pieces of nigiri sushi (握り寿司) and a bottle of warm sake.

If you are pressed for time, hate waiting or dislike crowded places, the other, much quieter restaurants in the same block will surely also satisfy your cravings. They will most likely result in a more relaxed meal as well. Alternatives can be found outside the market, but quality can vary. Oft mentioned alternatives (which the author has not visited) are Sushidai (寿司大), near Daiwa Sushi, and Sushizanmai (すしざんまい), part of a kaitenzushi (conveyor belt sushi) chain, thus more reasonably priced.

As Tsukiji is a famous tourist spot, a fair number of places will either have an English menu, one with pictures or staff with rudimentary English skills. Also, at the counter most, though not necessarily all, of the types of food on offer will be on display. Point.

Tsukiji Market is an insitution, top on the list of things many visitors to Tokyo wish to experience and with good reason. The atmosphere and food are magnificent. You will most likely have some of the best sushi of your life. Should you need one, it also gives you the perfect excuse to have a drink with breakfast.

Tips & Advice:

• Dress sensibly. Pools of water, fish guts and other slakings abound.
• Unfortunately, this is also not a very child-friendly excursion. Take kids who are crazy about sea-life to an aquarium (or Okinawa) instead.
• Tired of waiting for sushi? You will often be seated faster if dining alone. Perfect for the solo traveller. If you are in a group, decide beforehand whether you are willing to split up, then grab at the opportunities as they are presented.
• Even kaitenzushi looking a little pricey? Look for a restaurant that serves chirashi sushi (ちらし寿司) – a rice bowl with scattered cuts of fish and seafood on top. Not as elegant as nigiri sushi, but a hearty, tasty, cheaper alternative.

My Way:

I arrive around 7 a.m. and head straight for the market. The policeman in his koban by the entrance watches the tourists hurry by under the grey skies.

I almost immediately lose my bearings. I’m always a little disorientated when I first hit the market. The noise and bustle is a shock to the system at this time in the morning.

I make it to the tuna warehouse. The fish are lined up like so many statues at a temple. I narrowly avoid death by heavy lifter as I snap away with my camera.

Wandering back into the inner market, I watch men cutting up tuna with band saws and three foot long knives. At one of the stalls an Englishman is purchasing a slab. I ask him whether he runs a restaurant in Tokyo. No, comes the reply, as he drops the paper wrapped, crimson tuna into a wicker basket. He’s going to smuggle the fish back to Cornwall.

I stop to marvel at an old man deboning unagi (eel). When my friend Ichi the Chef brought me here, he explained to me that to work with such skill and speed required years of practice. Eels are notoriously difficult to handle.

I try to figure out the way back towards the main gate and find Daiwa Sushi. Just as I’m losing faith in my usually homing pigeon level sense of direction, I emerge into the pale morning light blinking.

Crossing roads more deadly (but probably cleaner) than those of Naples, I queue for sushi. I try an underhand tactic, exploiting other visitors’ lack of Japanese to make the wait shorter. The hard-boiled waitress gives me short shrift.

I adopt a new tactic: play by waitress’s rules. She’s scary.

I squeeze right up to the Chinese guy in front of me after the queue is ordered to take up less space. His group are using English to isolate their aged mother. They start speaking in Cantonese, with similar intent, suggesting their mother take the next available place for one person.

Inside the restaurant I immediately order a bottle of warm nihonshu. I ask for a bigger bottle. There aren’t any. Politely declining the chef’s offer of a set menu, I set about ordering à la carte.

My good friend the geoduck (mirugai) is absent. Fortunately, everything else I love is available. The ama-ebi (sweet shrimp), aji (horse mackerel) and awabi (abalone) are all excellent.

I order anago (conger eel) and ō-toro (fatty tuna belly) to finish. It is convention to end with anago (a speciality of this restaurant). I ignore this, pop the conger into my mouth first, then close with the ō-toro. A slice of heaven.

. . .

Video soundtrack by EeL.

The first guide is up!

The guides are intended to assist and hopefully enlighten, though not tyrannise. If you’re after a quick reference, contact details or map, then head over to The Directory.

Guides are generally be broken down into the following sections:

Overview: basic info.
Background: a little history & context.
Visit: why, what, where, when & how.
Tips & Advice: nuggets.
My Way: personal anecdotes & how I did things. Learn from my cock-ups how not to do things.

Itineraries will also be published, providing suggestions on how to string the various activities together into a day to remember.

Itineraries will be available in easy to print pdf files (gathered in Guides & Omake). The page can be folded into a neat-O four page booklet. No need to carry around that heavy, bulky guidebook anymore! Ain’t that swell?

Chibimichi (little streets) are, as the name suggests, supplement guides and itineraries. They cater for special interests or those who like to stay on the go.

As countless wise men and fools will tell you, all things are subject to change. Guides are accurate as I can make them, and always subject to updates. Tokyo is especially subject to a dizzying pace of change.

Thanks for reading, and hope you enjoy the guides.

Let’s go exploring!

It’s around that time of the year again. Birds are singing. Flowers are blooming. And the fat men are booming.

The 2008 Summer Grand Sumo Tournament in Tokyo is gearing up for its opening day later this month (11th May – 25th May). Go if you have the chance.

Here’s a look back at the 2006 event:

More on my first time (at the sumo) after the jump.

I had watched some sumo on TV, but had found it rather boring. In the flesh things were completely different.

I arrived early to buy tickets on the day. There is usually an allocation of 350 of these tickets, reasonably priced at ¥2100 for an adult and ¥200 for a child (aged 4 to 15).

The first matches were between the lowest ranked wrestlers. For the virgin sumo goer, these rounds provide a chance to ease yourself into the action.

As the day progressed and we moved up the divisions (based on success rather than weight), the pre-match rituals became more intriguing. Wrestlers took more time psyching themselves up, ratcheting up the tension. By this time I was placing bets with my companion.

Bouts were short and sharp. The best were explosive displays, filled with techniques my uncultured eye had no chance of picking up; the worst, all handbags and wobbling flesh. Couldn’t lose really.

My favourite moment came in a bout of mismatched sizes. One huge sumo against a small, agile fellow. Think monkey vs. hippo.

The wrestlers squared up. Monkey was raring to go. You could see the barely controlled aggression twitching in his lithe frame (well, as lithe as sumo wrestlers get). Hippo, in comparison, seemed sluggish.

Monkey pounced. He scrambled forward blindly, head down. At which point, Hippo took one step to the side and unceremoniously swatted Monkey to the ground. The referee pointed his fan towards Hippo, as if any needed confirmation of the winner.

Though the stadium was relatively empty there was still a decent atmosphere. Indeed, I enjoyed the space. There were enough people to make some noise, but at the same time I was able to move around to watch the action from different angles.

Around the arena there were several food, drink and souvenir concessions. Many spectators brought their own bento to feast on, something I recommend.

Having arrived without provisions, I bought a hot dog from a stall vaguely wondering whether an ultra-nationalist might take offence at the Americanness of it. Then again, the world has changed.

Sumo wrestlers are an increasingly international bunch. Europeans, such as the Bulgarian Kotoōshū, have achieved fame and distinction, while the current yokozuna (grand champion), Asashōryū, is Mongolian.

If after the wrestling you feel inspired to follow the way of the sumo, the best and easiest thing for you do is to eat. Settle down to some chankonabe, the stew that the wrestlers shovel down in vast quantities. Tasty, tasty.

. . .

2008 Grand Sumo Tournament ticket info here.

. . .

300 Pounds of Heavenly Joy

LOVE PAPER? 

Love Takeo & Winged Wheel.

It’s business time. Pull out your card. What’s it say?

If you’ve read or seen American Psycho, you may be familiar with Patrick Bateman’s business card obsession. He would have had a hard time controlling his raging urges if he’d ever made it to Tokyo.

Glancing through the Wallpaper* city guide on the 7th floor of Shibuya’s Tower Records, I spotted their recommendation for a stationery shop. I had been looking for this [NSFW] when my mind wandered.

Jotting down the address, I planned to visit at a later date. I had taken up bookbinding a few months previously. Inspiration had come from the design and craftsmanship of Japanese books and paper. A serendipitous jaunt through Tokyu Hands had landed me a starter kit and tools.

Now I needed more materials. Specifically washi (和紙), fibrous Japanese paper usually made from kozo (mulberry), gampi or mitsumata. Washi is often designed exquisite aesthetic sensibilities and has a great tactile appeal. Yet at the same time it is structurally tough and hard-wearing.

Winged Wheel, located in the quiet backstreets of Omotesandō (表参道), is a superlative stationery boutique. The store provides a bespoke service. While I was there several young, well-heeled Tokyoites were choosing name cards and party invitations from the selection of gorgeous designs and papers. If you’re in need of a quick fix, they also carry ready-to-buy sets.

The staff were extremely helpful. They spoke a little English too. I’m sure it would be easy to place an order without any knowledge of Japanese.

Orders can also be made by e-mail. Goods are shipped overseas via the efficient EMS service.

I, however, was on the look out for large sheets of washi for making books. When they found out they didn’t have what I wanted, the staff kindly suggested I try the nearby branch of a paper specialist in Aoyama.

Takeo (竹尾) is the dog’s. If you have any love for top quality design, let alone paper, you owe yourself a visit. Take some time to relax on a sofa with the reams and reams of sample sheets. Fill in an order form once you’ve made your choices and hand it over.

The staff at Takeo seemed somewhat colder than the lovely lasses at Winged Wheel. Maybe they were just wary of my wide-eyed wonder at it all. Maybe they familiar with American Psycho.

The Aoyama store also sold some neat, minimal notebooks and journals. They would make great presents for the writer or paper fetishist in your life.

If you only have a casual interest in washi, then a trip to Tokyu Hands (Shinjuku, 7F or Shibuya, 6A) would probably be sufficient. Both branches of the famous ‘creative life store’ sell washi in varies forms and sizes, including origami packs with instructions. At time of writing they also carried home bookbinding starter kits.

I’ll leave a more in depth look at the magnificent Tokyu Hands for a later post.

. . .

See The Directory [English or 日本語] for addresses, maps and contact details.

. . .

THIS IS NOT AN EXIT

LONDON.

I even felt relieved, though that was more to do with escaping the confines of a twelve hour flight. Most of me – the important parts at least – was still back in Japan.

Two years worth of memories were waiting to be dug up and flung across the web. Here’s hoping my Necronomicon is shipped over safely.

. . .

They have come back from the dead!! Ahhhh!

TOKYO. I am leaving you.