Coin Laundry: Ambling through Kyoto and Hiroshima
Sitting on a stool outside a combini whilst sipping on a hottokōhī, I could faintly trace the vermilion coloured outline of the Fushimi Inari shrine glowing against a stygian backdrop. At the other end of town, I found myself trotting through the dark alleyways of Pontocho, suffused in the warm glow emanating from Chinese lanterns inscribed with Hiragana, Katakana and Kanji characters. Strolling through Pontocho felt like stepping back in time with the traditional architecture and intimate alleyways. The reflection of lanterns and signboards gleamed on the rain soaked streets, just as a geiko made a dash through a narrow alleyway. Stepping deeper into a warren of narrow, lantern lit streets felt like stepping back in time. ‘Room 335’, a signboard eponymously named after the Larry Carlton song, reminded me that I was in a post-war Japan with an intense love for jazz and a fascination for all things American. Yet, the Japanese take foreign ideas and products and essentially make it their own. Step inside a combini and you will find an assortment of Kit-Kat flavours available only in the Japanese market.
I discovered another instance walking through the streets of Kyoto with a ravenous appetite, stumbling into a curry restaurant that served a cutlet dunked in Japanese style curry with a portion of rice, a second hand cultural import from India via the British.
Using a washlet equipped toilet is another confounding experiences for any novice unaccustomed to the Japanese way, with a myriad buttons on decked out on an elaborate control panel. A button with a symbol indicating music, plays a flush sound to mask the sound of bodily functions, extricating self-conscious Japanese women from the discomfiture of relieving themselves in public restrooms.
The Japanese obsession with convenience can be seen in almost every corner. Each hotel I stayed in had coin operated laundry machines rooms with a vending machines that dispensed a range of beverages, from green tea to beers should you feel parched whilst waiting for your load of clothes.
In the morning, I made my way back to the Fushimi Inari Shrine, bustling with tourists at the base. The trek up the mountain took me through a series of seemingly endless torii tunnels into the realm of the kami. Torii are traditional Japanese gates that mark the boundary between the mundane and the sacred. Dawdling through a somewhat wooded area and getting lost in the process, I stumbled across Shinto worshippers engaged in a clapping ritual. Stoic stone foxes kept guard outside the tiny shrine. When I finally made it to the top, my linen shirt was drenched in sweat after soaking in the sauna like Kansai humidity, coupled with the oppressive afternoon heat. With humidity on par with any coastal city in the tropics, it was hard to imagine that the Kyoto is occasionally blanketed in snow.
Moving away from the shinto shrine to Kinkaku-ji, buddhist temple temple on the other end of town, I found myself travelling alongside regular Kyoto commuters, engaged in their daily routines. Unlike the frantic pace of life in Tokyo, the former capital feels languorous in comparison. Kyoto denizens carry out their daily affairs with quiet reserve. Whilst most city dwellers were fairly conservatively dressed, younger Kyoto women kept up with international trends, hiding their slender frames under oversized accoutrements. After a hopping on the city metro and a rather long bus ride I found myself at the Buddhist temple. The golden Kinkaku-ji gleamed in the harsh mid day sunlight, a picture postcard perfect photograph. Yet the highlight of this excursion was my discovery of black sesame ice cream. Despite my initial reservations, the subtly flavoured frozen treat took me by surprise. Strolling through a combini or through the aisles of bigger department stores, the range of products unique to the Japanese never ceased to amaze me. To ward of the intense summer heat, I found a range of ‘ice sprays’, cooling wipes as well as the ubiquitous hand fans.
Unlike sleepless streets of Tokyo, the quiet lanes of Kyoto induce an almost somniferous aura. After walking along unlit canal paths and sequestered residential areas, I stopped by a restaurant for a late dinner. As I waited for my Beef Gyūdon (beef bowl), I ended up striking a conversation with a university student who just returned to Kyoto on the last train. Miss Megumi-san was rather curious about my thoughts on Japanese food, especially Japanese curry dishes. Satisfied that my answer was positive, she went on to suggest that I take a train to Osaka the following day and head straight to Namba square, giving me an engaging description, “Osaka kitchen of Japan! You go Osaka, onomoyaki, takoyaki… oishī! (tasty). I feel like I want to eat now!”. When I mentioned in passing about the how the intense Kansai humidity me by surprise, she went on to explain in Japanglish, “today hottest day. Yesterday last day raining. Tomorrow, hotto-hotto!”. Megumi seemed rather astonished when I explained that the southwest monsoons back home last a good four months, “1-2-3-4 month, oooooooh.”
The next morning I hopped on a Shinkansen to Hiroshima, via Kobe. Moving westward and deeper into the Kansai region, I found myself taking in a laid back vibe compared to the maddening pace of Tokyo. From Kobe to Hiroshima, my carriage was dominated by a significantly older demographic. As I took in the Kansai scenery, the senior Japanese man seated next to me was engaged in a vintage paperback. From a fleeting glance, it appeared as if the characters and sentences were written vertically, in stark contrast to most other languages. Further ahead in the carriage an octogenarian woman clutched a transparent bag containing station Omiyage (Souveniers), whilst an older coupler unboxed a bento meal set. After passing through Okayama and Fukuyama I finally arrived at Hiroshima station.
Quite contrary to the image of a dystopian wasteland etched it my mind, Hiroshima charmed me with tramlines laid along quaint, tree lined avenues. Inside the tram car, women dressed in colourful summer dresses flashed smiles as I made my way in, quite unlike the stoic Tokyo commuter experience. Stepping out of the tram at Genbaku Dome-mae Station, I made my way to the A-Bomb dome, one of the few remnants of the city’s old identity before the annihilation. Crossing the Motoyasu river, I found myself in the vast expanse of the Peace Park. Observing the atomic bomb dome across the placid water of the Motoyasu river, it was hard to imagine that the vast green expanse where I perched myself along the river, was the focal point of the decimation. Retracing my steps back to the back the tram stop, I noticed a ferry pier to the side. Upon inquiring with the staff whether the ferry would take me to Miyajima Island, a beaming woman replied, “Hai! Next boat come in 15 minute.”, after which she implored me to the sit down in the tiny air conditioned ferry station. The tiny cubicle was equipped with a vending machine dispensing ice cold beverages. The Japanese obsession for convenience is perfectly in sync to with the weather to provide services in sync with the seasons. As the rainy season gave way to summer, umbrellas and cheap combini raincoats gave way to cooling solutions.
After cruising along the many rivers that meander through the city, we were forewarned that the speedboat would be travelling full throttle through the open waters of the Hiroshima Bay. Unlike most of the other attractions overrun by Chinese tour groups, Miyajima Island seemed to be dominated by Japanese day trippers and students, along with a few Gaijins. As I made my way to the mythical red torii that appears to be floating on waters of the bay, I found myself drenched in sweat and imagined the thoughts going through marines stationed along the Kansai region in the summer of 1945. After passing through restaurants, souvenir shops, cat cafés and coffee shops, I finally reached the red torii. Much to my dismay, the torii was under renovation and covered with a scaffolding. The fact that it was low tide took away most of its mystique.
Gauging by their sheer numbers, the deer that populate the island appeared to be the indigenous inhabitants, as they blended with the landscape. Whilst most of the deer matched the mild mannered Japanese in terms of temperament, a few rouge deer came across as somewhat feisty. Just as a professional photographer perched himself up on a ladder, taking a photograph of a group of Japanese high school students, an overenthusiastic stag attempted to jostle the cameraman, almost tipping the stool over. After much drama, the stag was finally placated. The whole episode ended up being the most hilarious highlight of my trip on the island.
Hopping on a JR ferry back to Miyajima station, I made my way back to the main train along with school students returning home. When I finally arrived at the main station, I discovered that I had a long wait for the next Shinkansen back to Kyoto via Osaka. Shopping at railway stations in Japan is easily one of the most interesting experiences as every station highlights the region’s specialities. As I strolled through a store I could not help but notice a bright yellow coloured tabasco bottle with the ‘Lemosco’ inscribed on the box. As I ambled along the food courts and souvenir shops it did appear that Hiroshima was indeed the lemon capital of Japan. Making my way to a station restaurant for a chance to unwind and charge my phone, I inquired with the waitress whether any of the tables had a plug point nearby. I was ushered in with a warm smile, “sir, charge for phonie!”, pointing to an electrical outlet, “ I get Engrish menu for you”. I pointed at the option for a Japanese style Ham Burger, not knowing what to expect, Japan being one of the few places where I would relax my otherwise stringent Kosher food habits. When my meal arrived it didn’t exactly appear to be a burger, at best it could be described as a deconstructed ground meat patty dunked in a gravy. On the side I had a portion of rice, what appeared to be a miso soup, a slice of fragrant citrus fruit and pickles, quite a sensory experience from what I initially thought would be a rather banal burger. As a solo traveller, there’s never a dull moment when you find yourself lost in translation.
