After spending some hours writing the previous instalments of this blog, I eventually headed out to Meguro, an up-and-coming part of Tokyo that seems to have attracted a large number of mid-century furniture sellers, little homewares shops and general designery of the I-never-knew-I-needed-that school of shopping. This took up all of the afternoon – the shops are unevenly spaced along a long stretch of Meguro-dori, and seeing even a small part of them can be quite a walk. Some of the shops were fantastically well priced (in one of those mad moments that some might say punctuate my shopping life, I stood in one contemplating shipping a sofa I don't really need to London), while others had clearly bought into the Tyler Brule-driven hype about themselves and decided that “morally outrageous” would be the only price bracket they'd be happy in. That said, there were some beautiful Hans Coper/ Lucie Rie ceramics in one that were, while my-nose-is-bleeding expensive, actually pretty reasonable for the two artists. I bought none, which was my personal triumph for the day.
That night, Ed took me and another friend to a rather exciting Italian place, which was really italian-as-done-in-Tokyo, which is a somewhat different thing – traditional fish and meats would be pared with Japanese vegetables, nipponite influences and arranged in a typically unitalian, careful way. From here, we proceeded to explore the local bars and, later, a club – which I can mostly remember as being Rihanna-and-gap-year-student-filled and sweaty.
Kyoto was next – I had bought my Japan Rail pass before arriving (I fancied that I might also detour to Nara and/ or Koya-san and the 7 day pass was entirely worthwhile for the Kyoto trip alone), and had already booked my rather basic ryokan-style room. In retrospect, leaving Tokyo for the weekend and going to Kyoto was probably not a fantastic idea – sounds like I missed a fun Saturday night – but then losing your wallet within half an hour of arriving in a city whose language you don't speak isn't that clever either, and that didn't stop me.
Having found the place where I live (I have, consistently, proved unable to navigate Japanese maps, partly because they look weird, partly because the address system is a non-Western – and, objectively bizarre – homing-in-on-area-then-neighborhood-then-block craziness and partly – and this is a big part of it – because they rotate all maps displayed so that the top shows what's in front of you, rather than pointing to the North. Two maps on two walls of the same room would thus be 90° out of sync. This is not as objectively bizarre as the addressing system, since it is just a convention that maps aren't rotated in the West, but is still confusing to a Bear of Little Brain like yours truly), I checked in and paid in advance (it was one of those sort places). I then, inexplicably, left my wallet on the counter and proceeded to go upstairs to my room, play on the Internet and so forth. I had just heard from Renee that she had to fly out with work and would not be in Singapore when i went there, so I'd need some accomodation – so I started to book that, when I realised that I was no longer in possession of my wallet. Searches for it proved fruitless – no-one had seen it, which could only mean that it was pilfered by one of the other guests. Shame, but I shall not dwell on the boring process of cancelling my cards etc – save to recommend AmEx to all of you, and to let you know that HSBC would take the best part of two weeks to get replacement cards to me, even though I was the one paying for the FedEx and asked for them ASAP. AmEx cleverly bypassed the problem by being a truly international firm, who just printed new cards for me in Tokyo the next business morning – I now forever have illegible Japanese characters on my cards for ever, which I assume say “Best before” and other such anodyne things – though it may well be “retarded gaijin who can't even look after a wallet”.
The more pressing problem of not having a wallet was the lack of access to food and other such basics. It quickly dawned on me that I have absolutely no legal means of payment for Stuff until I get back to Tokyo – and that I would thus have to try and hit the golden mean between leaving Kyoto immediately and seeing nothing, or staying for two days as planned and not eating during all of that time and seeing everything I'd planned. I opted for one day.
Kyoto is the old capital of Japan (actually, it's AN old capital of Japan, Nara being the other, yet older, one), but this fact is very confusing to one who has just arrived there: it is phenomenally, staggeringly and filthily ugly, in a way that only 1970s concrete – both painted and raw – can manage to be. Every shade in the greige/brown palette fights with every other, dank greys and diphtheria-browns attacking from one side of the road, to be rebuffed by dusty consumption-pink and dried-on-egg-yellow. It is all futile, since all are ultimately defeated by a peculiarly unattractive lichen grey-green. It is not a welcoming sight.
In the middle of all of this are various temples and palaces, fight9ing for attention – some more successfully than others. Yet, as is often the case, the ones that manage to get one's attention are the rather duller specimens; the true treasures need to be found in the backstreets, behind grocers and tiny tea-rooms, in the middle of blocks that have, over centuries, been built up around them.
As son as I arrived in Kyoto, it started snowing and did not stop again until after I left. When I woke up in the early morning, everyhting was covered by a fragile blanket (shroud, perhaps, given the concrete) of white and I rushed out to capture it all on film, dimly aware that I must also make the most of my time, before hunger strikes.
The pretty bits of Kyoto are really VERY pretty; in my experience, they tended to be concentrated on the east side, with rival temples and other sites meandering gently up a series of hills, allowing the penurious early morning visitor to sneak past the gate-keeper and enjoy unparalelled views of the city while standing among hillside graves, many of them looking to be long-forgotten. The other side of Kyoto – that of the old artisans of all kinds, making beautiful brooms, tea-cakes and rice-paper, of elaborate kaiseki cuisine served by agreeable maidens – was sadly denied yours truly because of the peculiar state of his financial affairs.
Partway through the day, I did find some money - ¥1000 – in a jeans pocket. This is equivalent roughly to five of Her Majesty's pounds sterling and was enough to pay for a McDonald's meal (I tried to make even this travesty a cultural experience by ordering the exotic “seafood burger”. It was horrific.) and to allow me access to view the just-coming-into-view plum blossoms at the Kitoman Teigu monastery – the site of a whole festival dedicated to the flower, which I had meant to attend on the Monday, but would now not be able to. I was served there some powdered green tea (which, as a genre – and with almost unbounded respect for Japanese culture and customs – I must declare to be singulalrly the most misguided drink conceived by any man or beast, anywehre – especially givebn the fact that the unpowder4d variety is most agreeable) and a slightly mediocre sweet, which is a shame, since I find very few Japanese sweets to be anything short of delicious. The momo blossoms were great – though I suspect they would be greater still in a week's time, when more of them would be out. Still, the juxtaposition of snow and blossom was most pleasing.
Just before leaving Kyoto, it occurred to me that I might be able to either pay for my rooms with a credit card (both dad and Ed had offered to lend money in that way), thus getting a “refund” of the cash I had already paid; however, sadly, the establishment where I was staying could not accept credit cards that were not present. Mock-outraged, I managed to at least convince them to repay me the money I had paid for the second night which I would not now be using. Most of this money was promptly spent on some lovely incense, procured from the shop that used to supply the Imperial court (the people of Kyoto are even more reverential about the equivalent of Royal Warrants than are the British).
Monday was spent reprinting my AmEx cards and making sure that they worked – having been denied the pleasure of spending for twenty-four hours, I needed numerous confirmations of my regained ability, to the joy of local sellers of bags and t-shirts (and, doubtless, to the eventual consternation of my bank manager, Keith). I also kept my appointment at the ominous sounding “Sin Den”, which I had booked weeks before Ed told me that it was THE place for Westerners to cut their hair; given the reputation for quantitative improvements in fun levels that blonds are said to enjoy, the name boded well for my (first ever) bleach-job. The results were at the higher end of my expectations – though it seemed (seems?) like much less of a difference to me than it did to others (Ed was at the very least polite enough to suggest it suited me during drinks at the Hyatt that evening – which were a lovely way to finish my Tokyo stay, with the whole nighttime city spread out before us). I left the next morning, a shameless and complete Edophile.
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