...And God Created Sushi

Facts first- Shinto and Buddhism are two major religions in Japan but Japan is a confusing place.  People consider themselves either Shinto or Buddhist, neither Shinto nor Buddhist, and often times both. On the surface, Japanese do not appear religious, not in the monotheistic sense, not like those of us who think Christ actually died and rose from death for our sins, fancy that, or, that the Quran teachings and its practical applications such as four wives are the way forward in 2012.

Ironically, days before Christmas, Christopher Hitchens, one of my best loved Vanity Fair columnists and a crusader against all things religious lost brutal battle to cancer.  The New York Times tore up its front page on midnight the day Hitchens died to make room for his obituary. Half of my Facebook friends appeared to be in mourning for the loud atheist when I began thinking about this piece on Christmas in Tokyo. The moment was right to brush up on my knowledge of world’s religions, read a few obits, send some Christmas cards and revisit the writings of evolutionary biologist and my favourite man of science- Richard Dawkins.

Japan is a special place on regular days but come Christmas it turns unquestionably odd.  Consider this; 80% Japanese claim no religious affiliation, 64% do not believe in God  and 55% do not believe in Buddha. And yet 93% of the Japanese people do practise some Shinto, meaning "the way of the gods".

Furthermore, Buddhism doesn’t have the concept of Creator God and Shinto is a polytheistic religion, meaning many little deities or ‘gods’. The concept of a God is a hard-sell in Japan subsequently making the concept of atheism equally difficult to interpret. They do have the word for it,  無神論,  but it has a more general meaning, like ‘ not believing in the system’.

And yet, for 3 weeks in December, Tokyo gave impression of being more Christian than the Pope, for not believing ‘in the system’ inspired the most systematic display of marketing and sales tactics I have ever seen. So what’s up with that? 

Buddhism and Shintoism and the Christmas Sales

Buddhism (arrived from China with the opening of the Silk Route in the 2nd century BC )  and Shintoism had a very public breakup in the late 19th century but continued to ‘see each other socially’. Buddhist temples have been built on the sites of the Shinto shrines. My hairdresser, lovely Ken, tried to explain, he is a Buddhist in life but will become a Shintoist when he dies. It is hard to imagine a religion that contents itself on recruiting dead people for members but it is best to never argue with a man holding scissors and hair spray.

Shintoism, native to Japan, originated in prehistoric times, claims no single founder, no ‘church’ canon, no rule book, and fundamentally is a respect for nature, the sun, rock formations, trees, even sounds. Each of these is associated with a deity, or kami. Effectively, Shintoists can, and do worship a flower, a fruit, a beach pebble, or the entire beach (that and the custom of eating lobster on New Year’s makes Shinto something I could easily subscribe to).

So here is a nation of Shinto and Buddhist non-believers and yet in December there is no getting away from the tacky Western holiday tunes and hideous plastic decorations made in 'communist' China. While Buddhism and Shintoism are native to Japan, Christianity in the land of the rising sun is all about the imported plastic from China and Christmas sales, imported pageantry of an imported religion.
Japanese love of toys and cute (kawai) décor reaches epic proportions in the weeks leading up to Dec 24. All the sushi bento boxes come with Merry Christmas stickers, we had three great Christmas trees installed in the lobby of our building and giant panda toys got dressed in outfits more befitting Finnish reindeer.

Flashback

For me, New Year’s Eve in Gstaad 2011 was a particularly debauched experience. It involved all manner of deliciously derelict behaviour with dear old friends, followed by many days of quiet contemplation and self-loathing. In fact I spent the entire month of January making promises to reform my ways. I also decided to seek more mainstream experiences in 2012- and what is more mainstream than going to places of worship with a bunch of people who actually do not believe.
(I also vowed to be less cynical)

Meiji Jingu in Tokyo was my shrine of choice for the New Year’s. While my friends rang in the New Year in Gstaad again in a tight embrace with a champagne bottle, I was standing in a disciplined line with some 500,000 disciplined Japanese surrounded by cedar trees and hundreds of municipal traffic supervisors shouting instructions ‘move to the left, stay in line, move to the right, stay in line’.
Dressed like Nanook of the North, in a public park on December 31 and not understanding a single instruction I was in a bewildered awe of the contrast of my life experiences. At midnight the gong and the drums went off 108 times (for 108 passions of the human soul) but as I was trying to disable flash on my blackberry I missed the poignancy of the moment. A million people tossed coins in the direction of the main temple.

I leave you with the thoughts of Fukuzawa Yukichi, one of the founders of modern Japan, writer, entrepreneur, founder of the Keio University and a political theorist who also appears on the back of the 10,000 yen note.

"It goes without saying that the maintenance of peace and security in society requires a religion. For this purpose any religion will do. I lack a religious nature, and have never believed in any religion. I am thus open to the charge that I am advising others to be religious while I am not so....Of religions there are several kinds - Buddhism, Christianity, and what not. From my standpoint there is no more difference between those than between green tea and black...See that the stock is well selected and the prices cheap"

Suggested Reading and Trivia

The God Delusion, author Richard Dawkins
Bible, author disputed

According to Amazon.co.uk website, publishing of the book ‘The God Delusion’ led to a 50% growth in sales of books on religion and spirituality (including anti-religious books of Christopher Hitchens) and a 120% increase in the sales of the Bible.

How I (sort of) met the Emperor of Japan. And Other General Observations

Yesterday, thrown in with old newspaper clippings, I discovered some long forgotten Takashimaya department store gift certificates to the tune of 1000yen- the equivalent of 100eur, incidentally a sum very close to my total net worth as of today Nov 7 2011.

The plan was to have breakfast at the fish market and then walk uptown to Nihonbashi, home of Tokyo’s landmark department stores, Mitsukoshi and Takashimaya.

After the raw fish at 10am (which also makes it socially acceptable to have beer at 10am) and leaving the scent of sea weed behind me, I walked the 15 blocks from the Tokyo wholesale central market and on my way passing the world’s most expensive neighbourhoods, Ginza-Chuo- Chiyoda.  At the height of Japan’s Bubble in 1989, real estate here sold for as much as $139K a square foot– more than 350 times the price of Manhattan’s prime property. This made the land under the Imperial Palace notionally worth more than all the real estate of California. The 80s bubble burst, as bubbles do, and now everyone refers to things like  the ‘lost decade’ and ‘lost generation’ meaning they are no longer the wealthiest in the world, but the 2^nd or 3^rd wealthiest in the world. It is funny how they actually believe this ‘impoverishment’ has put them on par with the Ethiopian orphans.

Back to my 100 euro story.

Takashimaya started as a shop selling kimonos in 3.5 square meters of space, and today with the likes of Galleries Lafayette, Le Bon Marche or the Liberty of London is one of the most beautiful commercial spots in the world.  And here I am holding on to my coupons half expecting them to have expired half a year ago. Let me put things in perspective: while a formal kimono on the 7^th floor can set you back 50,000 euros the 100 euros at Takashimaya will buy you some cosmetics, a small jar of cream or some bath salts.

I left the store pretty quickly wishing to avoid further embarrassment. When I start counting my coupons and the UBS card center refuses to authorize yet another payment, isn’t it more fitting that I stand on a street corner playing music with an overturned hat for collection of change. My true place in the world is with the travelling Peruvian street band and luckily ponchos are making a comeback. Very Missoni.

But without a poncho, without a hope and with the smallest shopping bag containing the smallest perfume bottle I gave up this travesty of a shopping experience and decided it was more pleasant to talk a  walk outside. It was a mild autumn night, 22 degrees at 7pm on a Saturday and the street was beautifully lit and lively with a number of people standing outside the store main entrance. Assuming there was a promotion going on, this was perhaps an occasion to score even more coupons; by staying don’t I increase the chances of getting a free Nivea? Also I hear Korean pop bands are really big in Japan and perhaps the crowd was waiting for Beyoncé of Seoul to make an appearance? With nothing urgent to do I waited…

But it was most peculiar. People looked respectful and solemn; it was highly unlikely they were waiting for a pop sensation. And a minute later when a black car pulled outside the store entrance the entire street broke in spontaneous applause and instantly every passer-by held up his phone ready to take pictures. The car door opened and out came the Emperor and the Empress of Japan!

People believe in Emperor’s divinity as descendant of Amaterasu- Goddess of Sun and seeing a God (of sorts) at a department store on a weekend is a really big deal.

Flashback.  Athens 2009. Was it when Joe Biden or one of the two Clintons came to Greece that we, the residents of Paleo Faliro, had to remove our modest little cars from the streets deemed to close in proximity to the motorcade itinerary of the visiting official?

And how many times have I been violently pushed off the road in Belgrade when a jeep with tinted windows and rotating lights (universal signal for Asshole On Board) carrying some corrupt political puppet who just wants to get home quicker than the rest of us.  Numerous times I have seen the Geneva shops on Rue du Rhone close so the wife of an ‘important’ man could try and stuff herself into a (3 sizes too small) dress with as few witnesses as possible.

Is it any wonder that our politicians, decision makers, fat cats, hereditary or the ones  we ‘democratically’ elect to office live in constant fear of the lynch mob lurking on every corner. They are quite right to feel threatened and to choose complete isolation from those they govern. To the best of their knowledge and the sentiment of the common man – they probably deserve whatever punishment is coming. Just about every citizen of the world I come from feels lied to and swindled, is grossly manipulated and really fed up.  Last week in Greece some MPs had to use the back door to get out of the parliament building for the fear of getting hit on the head with a flying brick. The ruling elite correctly gauges the public resentment, it is surprising no one has brought the guillotine back from retirement.

But in Tokyo, when the Emperor goes about his business the police do not stop the traffic, the city does not grind to a halt, people are not brushed aside like so many insignificant flies. It is a fantastic reminder of how things should be, at seeing the Emperor people may applaud, older ladies may bow but a second later everyone goes back to their activities -uninterrupted! 
Because the Emperor’s presence does not inconvenience the common man, the common man isn’t out to strangle the Emperor or to launch rotten eggs at him , shout obscenities or force him into exile in Switzerland.

The Empress wore a delicate dove grey kimono and went to see the ikebana exhibition on the top floor. I don’t know what the Emperor came to do, but whatever it was, it was done privately, with dignity and style. A man standing next to me commented in English ‘We are very lucky’.

I agree. They are lucky. 
For this man, catching a glimpse Emperor Akihito and the Empress Michiko a sign of good fortune but I consider it a positive reading and a sign of a healthy society. The most recognized man in the country is not afraid of his own people.

For not wanting to inconvenience the citizens of Tokyo by shutting down traffic, riding in a motorcade or annoying fellow shoppers with security guards, attitude and arrogance, the Emperor of Japan, who may or may not be directly related to the Sun God, is definitely a character.



We know Obama is Nigerian but how tall is he?





equality of the sexes





 

7 Minutes in Heaven or How Halloween Came Early This Year

(dedicated to citizen Alexandros K of  Athens and Peloponnese, currently exiled in Switzerland)

The ‘clairvoyant’ capabilities of my friend Alexandre are truly astounding. He called me prosaic on the very same day I spent half of it rummaging through racks of used Chanel clothing.

What injustice by the hand of a friend!

The blog will go on strike!

The blog will join the Greek civil servants in protest!

Oh Karali, Karali, can you think of a more poetic activity? Shopping for vintage Chanel is like witnessing the nativity scene in Bethlehem with the real baby Jesus instead of a plastic baby Jesus in a school play. It is like watching kittens playing with dolphins. It is like the sun rise over the Himalayas but in a freak store basement.

 (Those of you expecting to read about the freak stores as in the commonly accepted definition of what is freakish in Tokyo come back tomorrow when I will report on the FCS, Fetish Circus Show, one event from‘Arts and Culture’ pages you dont want to miss)

So wipe off your naughty grins, this blog post is purely girlie, and the word in Japanese is gyaru.

Just about now, all the boys are closing the page and going back to internet porn. I assume Karalis has stopped reading after the first paragraph and has gone out.

For the remaining one reader I will illustrate my absurd love of vintage Chanel (correct terminology for when something is used, often times useless, and invariably overpriced). When I was 18 and living off my student allowance and father’s money on Rue Villa Laugier in Paris I considered vintage Chanel cardigans (fit for walking with a walking stick) a shrewd investment. Some magazine used the word ‘investment piece’ for a coat and I thought they meant literally. I cant imagine what my father must have thought, but I always knew the day would come when I'd pull off that look with effortless style. 
That was in 1997.

To make up for the gaping hole in the budget created by buying useless knits I had to drink less and babysit more but that is when I began to view favorably all of sorts of capricious and eccentric behaviors. I had good training for what’s to come- Tokyo (and subsequent financial ruin).

Between the 23 city wards you can chart a map of vintage stores by neighborhood (but in this fabulously vast city that is too broad a category), designer, decade and finally budget. With prices that range from comfortably numbing to violently expensive I find solace in window shopping. And just like the Blues Brothers before me, I am on a mission, not putting the band together like Belushi and Ackroyd, but finding the Holy Grail, motherload of vintage, the elusive, under-appreciated, discarded by a woman who wasn’t thinking straight- orphaned Chanel bag in mint condition at a decent price.

After lunch with friends, strolling from Asakusa Mitsuke down to Aoyama (gibberish) and in  terrible discomfort brought on by a sushi binge (again!) I was about to venture underground to go home when a sliding door across the Kotto street caught my eye.

Such is life.

What made me go through the nondescript door I haven’t a clue. It could have been anything, a news agent, a vet, a Sony dealership, but no, it turned out to be the gates of heaven.

And just like what you’d expect from heaven, the place was half empty.

Rows upon rows, endless, interminable rows of Chanel bags, sequined shoes, sequined dresses, delicate silks, ancient travel trunks, finest boudoir lingerie, and then, even more Chanel bags and Miriam Haskell costume jewelry  had my head spinning like I had just fallen down the rabbit-hole.
This place is the size of an industrial warehouse; it could house a small Ikea (since the Ikea Kokohu fiasco trip I see dangers of Ikea everywhere) but strangely enough there were no crowds.

"If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn't be. And what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?"

I thought I did.

The clueless, misguided, alien visitor on planet Tokyo that I am, I take a pretty lambskin quilted Chanel bag, look at the price tag, 6000 yen, and instantly grab another three because at roughly 60 euro a piece, I’m thinking, if I buy 10 to resell in Europe I have made my year’s salary today and I can continue with this early retirement scheme. My impoverished heart was beating furiously and my thinking was certainly muddled! Slowly regaining my senses I take another bag (so now I am holding four) and head to the cashier.

Truth is, I am suddenly a bit apprehensive as I go looking for the cashier because during this out of body shopping extravaganza I haven’t registered another shopper, I have not seen a sales clerk, there appears to be no shop assistant or any human of any kind for that matter. And above all, most conspicuously, there seems to be no cashier!

What a bizarre place!

So holding the four bags and with a puzzled expression I walk the labyrinth of neatly stacked vintage treasures and come all the way back to the front where a neat man with glasses like John Lennon greets me with a smile and hands me a form to fill!

Great, these people really think I can fill customer satisfaction forms in Katakana! Mad day all around and no one is normal.

I say 'No thank you, I just wish to pay.

He goes ‘ No pay’

I go ‘ Yes, yes, I have not paid yet, I wish to pay’

He goes ‘ No buy, no pay, only fashion shoot rent. Fill form for company’

Inside my head there is an explosion of screams but I am so defeated I barely have the strength to utter a meek ‘W H A T’

Let me not waste any more of your time the way they’ve wasted mine with the mythical combo of cheap and genuine Chanel. What I thought bargain of the century is in fact the daily rental price a fashion magazine or stylist pays for the rights to shoot the bag!

These Japanese may be smiling but are no idiots.
Your name needs to be on a preapproved list, ID and all. They havent kicked me out because no one even dreams you would go in unless fashion is your business. Maybe at first I had been mistaken for a foreign fashion editor? Or a foreign designer? But dressed the way I was, probably just foreign.

I ask - where else could such a place exist without menacing guards and CCTV?  

A sliding door that opens for anyone off the street and takes you straight to Shangri-la is possible in Tokyo alone.

What seemed like heaven is now going to haunt me for days.


early Halloween at the haunted house



How to Stop Worrying and Start Living

After last night’s bar crawl in Shinjuku I was so financially ruined I barely had enough coins to take the subway back home. But it is true that poverty (granted, my poverty is not abject) stimulates creative thinking, not long ago I came across the review of Scott Fitzgerald’s short novel ‘On Booze’ and immediately remembered how even the review gave me a naughty smirk.

Perhaps if I started reading Burroughs, Marquis de Sade and Fitzgerald I could subside on a diet of literature and tea…I am hoping their wild stories of substance abuse, depravity and all day long cocktail hour will make my virginal nights at home more entertaining. Obviously I can’t watch Japanese TV and obviously I cant go gallivanting in Ginza every night. First would lead to a mental breakdown and the second to financial ruin of massive proportion.

So today I slummed it on the subway uptown to Marunuchi, a district around the central Tokyo station, high-rise buildings, 10 Bottega Veneta stores, shoe shiners diligently shining loafers worn by employees of the thousand and one investment banks found on this tiny plot of land across from where the Emperor and Empress of Japan live a good life. Slightly isolated but decent folk they are. 

Marunuchi is also home to Maruzen, the first bookstore in modern day Japan that also had the commendable role in bringing the Burberry rain coat to the Far East. It is a historical fact that until the bookstore owner started importing Burberry coats in 1914 all raincoats worn by the Japanese were made of rubber!

But I went looking for FS Fitzgerald.

Lost in the sea of odd English titles, Yoga Dogs, Margaret Thatcher: From Grocer’s Daughter to Prime Minister, How to Stop Worrying and Start Living, Life and Love with the World’s Worst Dog and The End of Poverty (by that I was intrigued!) .... was the very thin F S Fitzgerald’s paperback’ On Booze’

I grabbed it and ran out….

Judging by the book titles and sales- apocalypse according to the Mayans will be a good thing!



because one is never enough



Post-colonial times in Yokohama or how you can end up in Ikea if you're not careful

If that double-bolted land, Japan, is ever to become hospitable, it is the whale-ship alone to whom the credit will be due.

Herman Melville, Moby Dick

On Sunday I went to Yokohama after hearing Bill Granger’s Sydney based eponymous restaurant opened a branch and is serving delicious pancakes. Since returning to Japan I have been on a regimen of long walks and raw fish and figured I could do with a little beefing up for the winter.

The ways of reaching Yokohama from Tokyo are too many to mention, between the total of 303 Tokyo subway stations you need not change trains more than once regardless of where you’re departing from.
And if you aren’t coming to Tokyo any time in the foreseeable future but wish to get the vibe. - ‘Read the directions and directly you will be directed in the right direction’

Lewis Carroll was genius and Japanese reality goes like the first pages of Alice in Wonderland.

It took me 40 min. to reach Yokohama Bay but when the first foreigner Commodore Matthew Perry sailed to Japan in 1853, it took him 7 months at sea. He was 50 years old and troubled by arthritis; the voyage was financed by a small brokerage house Lehman Brothers (charming historical side note) and the Shogun ruled Japan with an iron fist.

Main purpose of Perry’s mission was to establish a coal station so that American steamships could travel the great Asian trade route and move ahead of their European rivals. He hoped to convince Shogun allowing trade would be beneficial to his rule. Also, it would be nice if the Japanese stopped killing foreigners on general principle.

Perry arrived in Yokohama Bay days after his 50^th birthday with a crew inexperienced in battle and not a word of Japanese spoken by anyone. The first words exchanged between his crew and the Japanese were shouted in French ‘Departez’ (leave!), language which neither Perry nor the Japanese understood well but the message was clear.

After a long and tedious game of cat and mouse, Japan allowed Perry ashore (alive). He  offered them soap and milk and even ceremoniously slaughtered a cow to promote the benefits of American beef! Yokohamans (Yokohamese, Yokohamians, Yokoh-amish, Yokohammsters, there is a lively debate on this…) offered seafood and showed how women and men bathe together, nude, in public baths. That is how Japan opened to the West and how West fell in love with Japan hook line and sinker.

I digress, remember I set out to have brunch at Bills ….and to find the restaurant I got off the train somewhere along the discontinued rail line close to the spot where Perry signed the Treaty of Kanagawa  (trade, cooperation and all good things) some 150 years ago.

Picture Yokohama- European style houses in all their colonial splendor next to Sumitomo Mitsui Bank branch offices and electro music blasting from cars at the light. In Tokyo you never really notice cars and you most certainly don’t ever forget you are very far from home. In Yokohama, after a few beers, you could easily be fooled (it was in fact the day of Octoberfest- sponsored by either a German brewery or the German Embassy? Same difference). The Germans had put up stalls all along the waterfront and proceeded to sell hotdogs inside the historical warehouses. Terrible yodeling could be heard from a marquee outside the Odabashi Pier (where you can board a ship to Borneo if you feel so inclined) and every 5 minutes it was ‘Danke Schoen’ from the loudspeaker! Until 1949 the US Navy had jurisdiction of the Odabashi Pier, the Pier was renovated by an Iranian- Spanish team of architects in 1992 but on Saturday it felt very much like Bavaria!

Colonization! Globalization! Pros and Cons! Pick your side now but the most shocking part of the day is yet to come.

I was desperate to avoid the drunken masses, it was a beautiful sunny day and looking at Japanese failed attempts to out do the expats in downing beer is a pointless activity. In the beer drinking competition- white man always wins!

There is a pretty hill in Yokohama with a large French settlement (France-yama) but it is up hill and I was already feeling rather worn out from traipsing across town. The Chinatown is at sea level and not far, so I quickly ventured in but was even more quick to get out! Being accosted by frauds in fake Buddhist robes selling ‘stones for happiness’ and being shouted at by an aggressive palm reader (no photos!) – not for me.

Ciao Chinatown Yokohama, I’m headed back to Tokyo on the first (fast) train.....

...or so I thought…..

For the story to continue to make sense (as much as my writing skill allow) I should mention I’ve been meaning to buy a new reading lamp, so when judging my moronic decisions of the afternoon keep in mind my bedside reading lamp gives poor light.

At the Sakuragiacho Station Yokohama tourist information booth they gave me an elaborate map of the ten trillion subway, metro and rail lines connecting Yokohama, Kawasaki and Tokyo with all their sprawling suburbs that form the biggest urban conglomeration in the world!

I asked for the quickest route back to Tokyo and in response the kind woman at the Information counter scribbled ten different solutions to the problem and sent me off.

One change at the Yokohama Station.

Second change at the Shin Yokohama Station.

And whilst looking for the right platform and corresponding gate I saw a poster that said IKEA KOHOKU free shuttle bus!

The lamp, the lamp, the lamp!

I decide it is marvelous to profit from the free shuttle bus option and I leave the safety of the sign-posted train station and exit the Shin Yokohama station somewhere in Shin Yokohama. Today I know Shin Yokohama is somewhere north west of Yokohama, but this information was unavailable to me on Sunday.

Once outside the station the neat signs for Ikea Kohoku shuttle were nowhere to be seen. I asked taxi drivers, they spoke no English. I asked a US military guy who was clueless. I asked two Japanese ladies, they seemed to be going in a different direction but knew where it was! Bless the kindest nation, not speaking a word of English they walked me straight to the bus stop. A good 10 min walk!

Sunday nights are an eerie time everywhere in the world, and even with all big stores open daily, 7 days a week, I was trying to gauge the magnitude of my mistake. Was I just being silly or was I a complete moron looking for Ikea between Yokohama and Tokyo on a Sunday night.

As the first clue- the bus stop was empty.

At last a man in a light green uniform and cap shows up and starts talking to me. I have no idea what uniform that is ( military? sanitation? park ranger?) and even less what he is trying to communicate?  Luckily another person enters this surrealist nightmarish parking lot/bus stop scene; he speaks English and is also waiting for the Ikea shuttle bus which should be arriving in 5 minutes he says.

And it does.

The man in uniform climbs in to drive, the previous driver gets off and thank God this is all going well.

Or so I think until we take a long narrow road going parallel to a bigger broader road which turns to be a major ‘Expressway’ and soon we are speeding towards Ikea (wherever it may be) and I see Mt Fuji majestic in the distance.

This is a really bad sign.

Last time I saw Mt Fuji was from a Kyoto bound train! Two possibilities here, you can either see Fuji from all over Japan (Earth is round, so probably not the case) or we are headed South in the opposite direction of Tokyo! Does Ikea have an Ikea style hotel where lost people can sleep until morning when visibility and conditions are more favorable for finding the way back?

It now becomes very clear, it was not silly getting off at Shin Yokohama looking for Ikea, it was idiotic.

But eventually we do get to Ikea.

I buy a lamp 10 minutes before closing time.

The same damned shuttle takes me back to Shin Yokohama very late on Sunday night and even I know trains run on a different schedule Sunday nights. Some run every 20 min instead of every 5, some only go to big hubs and some don’t run at all. Especially confusing are the commuter trains and I was deep in the commuter land!

Back at the informations counter my suspicions are confirmed, I can not go back the same way I arrived.

Alice : I simply must go through!

Doorknob: Sorry, you are much too big, simply impassible.

Alice: You mean impossible.

Doorknob: No. Impassible. Nothing’s impossible.

And so I am told I must head back in direction of Yokohama, get off at Higashi Kanagawa and from there onwards to Naka Nobu (think I can remember that) and through to Ookayama to catch the rapid train on the Shonan Shinjuku line to Gotanda- home.

However I’ve now got the bulky Ikea lamp to deal with….

At Higashi Kanagawa station I get off as told but discover the last train to Naka Nobu has departed, the next train is the express and wont make the Naka Nobu stop. Typically, at Higashi Kanagawa I can not find the tourist info booth and none of the locals speak foreign languages. It is no longer Higashi Whatever Station it is a Monty Pythons special.

Hating myself, hating Ikea even more, lamp may give decent light but if I am going  to charter a plane to get back home it would’ve been more economical to get a little something crystal from Baccarat!

What started as a day of luxury, brunch and stroll by the sea, is now a disaster with Ikea furniture to be assembled at midnight.

Colonization, globalization, lost in translation and now Ikea!

Tomorrow I am going to Milkfed, boutique and clothing line designed by Sophia Coppola. That’s the program and I’m sticking to it!

Foreigner in the supermarket for foreigners or Common People by Pulp

Common People by Pulp

She came from Greece she had a thirst for knowledge…

The fact that I am writing this piece on Japan whilst sitting in that expat shrine, big Starbucks across from Hiro-o station in Meguro is a tad hypocritical of me.

True to form, the Japanese love of detail, beauty and design is present even at this common man’s coffee dump!  The elsewhere ordinary paper cups are decked out in ‘ cherry blossoms’, and on every object is discreetly written (shout out to Kass) ‘ Limited edition Japan only; It figures, where else in the world would the world's smallest biscuit appear a delightful deal at 1000 yen a pop?

I took her to a supermarket,

I don't know why but I had to start it somewhere,

so it started there.

I said pretend you've got no money,

she just laughed and said,

"Oh you're so funny."

My desperate attempts to hunt down Vanity Fair magazine have led me to the famed National Azabu Supermarket (est. 1960), an expat Mecca deep in the expat enclave of Hiro.  I was told it is the only supermarket in Tokyo where you understand what you are buying. After a month of clueless attempts to guess whether I am buying chemical bleach or hair conditioner I decided to give Azabu a chance.

Suddenly people are bigger, shopping carts are bigger, nasty boy band music playing and people are generally hung-over and disheveled looking. Some guys in hooded sweaters were stocking up on  Marmite like a nuclear winter was coming tonight.

It is at this precise moment I realize, I have started to judge my own race by Japanese standards. To quote Paul, a genteel French investment banker I met last night  ‘Tokyo makes you feel like a  white pig’.

Word.

I cant ridicule the expat crowd going for the western products like sharks in a feeding frenzy too much because my own little heart skipped a beat when I finally met with Vanity Fair magazine next to a row of Daniel Steel novels. 

In expat land apparently anything goes.

Instead of dull as hell supermarket photos I am giving you this poster from the tokyo metro. They lost me...in translation AGAIN

Brave new bathtub

Fact.
You know nothing of the modern world unless you have recently moved into a newly constructed ‘smart building’ in Tokyo. The building is so smart; the same construction company ought to diversify into making people smart enough to comfortably live in it without feeling inferior to the concierge.

Here I am sitting on the floor of my new smart house, just me, two cans of coke and a take out lunch box meticulously divided into 7 compartments, rice with a purple topping, weird green paste, weird fish, weird pickled vegetable (one piece of), weird piece of something round and a fried green bamboo-like stick. 

The house is entirely empty, no chairs to sit on yet so I am embracing the local culture by sitting on the floor and picking at my weird plate of lunch. All day long there has been a procession of people from Tokyo Gas, Secom Security and several others I cant positively say which company they represent. The Tokyo gas guy showed up with a realtor (moonlighting as translator) to tutor me on using the ten control panels meant to make my life easier! Spectacular failure!

Why do I need the intercom between the bath (not bathroom mind you- the intercom is electronically connected to the BATHTUB itself) and the kitchen? And adding to the growing list of absurdities,  there is a button in the kitchen that automatically fills the bathtub with water! All hail the brave new bathtub…

There is a more logically placed button (in what the Japanese call ‘powder room’) for reheating the water in the tub. A japanese voice (coming from what must be the secret world behind the bathroom wall) tells you the temperature of the water in the tub...With all that water and electronics I am surprised death by electrocution is not a bigger issue in Japan.

But what really made me feel like that monkey in Odyssey 2000 are the sci-fi control panels for BAKING FISH. The fish is a big deal here, obviously, it merits a special fish specific oven and hence a special set of million control buttons and one big touch screen panel.

Never think to disrespect another housewife, if she is from Tokyo chances are NASA and CERN are her recruiting about now.

Once I have bathed and baked the fish I might as well eat the fish alone, looking at the intercom makes me not want to buzz people in....ever.

this is my view -from one smart building you can clearly see other equally smart buildings.