Adieu Tokyo

A small garden in the Todoroki Ravine Park 

Breakfast at my hotel in Ueno. I had the pancake for this morning's repast:

As I wrote in the previous post there are very few must-see sights or things to do remaining for me in Tōkyō 東京. Instead, feeling as natsukashii 懐かしい as I was the day before I set off to seek out yet another old residence of mine. This one was located in Setagaya Ward 世田谷区, or to narrow it down, in the Kaminoge 上野毛 area. The station there had been rebuilt in 2011, 17 years after I'd moved out. Designed by none other than Tadao Andō 安藤忠雄, it bears little resemblance to the unremarkable little station I used to use on an almost daily basis. Further evidence that neighborhoods get better once I'm gone:

"Tax the Rich". An idea I could get behind were I eligible to vote in Japan. This is a poster for a candidate from the Japanese Communist Party 日本共産党. The city I moved to from Kaminoge was Komae 狛江市. During the time I lived there Komae was under the authoritarian thumb of a Communist mayor. All private property was seized by the city, and anyone who objected was shipped off to a gulag. Fortunately he was ousted in a bloodless coup in 2012 and Komae is now safely back in the hands of the Establishment:

My old アパート. I used to live in the ground level unit. It was the first apartment where I lived alone, sans roommates, and I loved it. It was a standard 1K, meaning there was a six-tatami mat room, as well as a small kitchen and a UB (Unit Bath - toilet and bathtub/shower in the same room). The building was already 20 or so years old at the time I moved in, meaning it must be approaching sixty years of age, but it still looks habitable. Over time I made my rabbit hutch more comfortable, buying a bookcase and covering the tatami mats with carpeting. The final step was having an air conditioner installed - until then I had somehow managed to make it through several hot and humid Japanese summers with nothing more than an electric fan to keep me cool (and only an electric blanket and a space heater for the chilly winters). 

Two things kept me living there instead of moving upscale. One was location - the neighborhood was very nice, with the Tama River 多摩川 being a relatively short walk away and convenient train connections to Jiyūgaoka 自由が丘 and Shibuya 渋谷. There was even an art museum with an attractive garden about eight minutes away on foot that I would occasionally visit. Setagaya itself is probably the most comfortable of Tōkyō's 23 wards due to its greenery and quiet suburban feel.

The other factor was cost. During a period when Tōkyō's property prices were still extremely high as a result of the asset price bubble I was only paying ¥63,000 in rent, just $630 or so at that time. Now, thanks to the weak yen, that rent would only be around $400 USD!:

The other reason for revisiting old haunts was to see the Todoroki-keikoku 等々力渓谷 again. Tōkyō's sole remaining natural ravine (or valley, or gorge,depending on the translation), I would go there from time to time (only a 17-minute walk or one station away from Kaminoge) for a brief respite from Tōkyō's concrete jungle. It was rarely busy, and some Japanese people I asked had never even heard of it, even though they lived not too far away. I don't recall ever seeing another Westerner there whenever I visited. The trail begins at the Golf Bridge ゴルフ橋:

 

However, I began to notice a distressing trend beginning two or three years ago. Those dreaded foreign influencers and content creators started to post about Todoroki-keikoku, applying the kiss of death - a "hidden gem" located "off the beaten path". I had to see for myself if things had changed as a result. On a drizzly Friday morning there was only a handful of visitors walking along the Yazawa River. However, half of them were people who looked like me, and there was even one older gaijin couple being led about by a local guide, as if the ravine was in a remote location and the only way to find it was to utilize insider knowledge, instead of being a short walk from Todoroki Station 等々力駅.

At least the gorge wasn't overrun with visitors, Japanese or otherwise. It remains a pleasant walk (especially when the climate is more cooperative). The valley is home to some horizontal kofun 古墳 (ancient burial tombs) dating from the late Kofun 古墳時代 to Nara 奈良時代periods: 

How a kofun looked back in the day...:

...versus what you can see today. There are some kofun in the Kinki region 近畿地方 that are larger in volume than even the Egyptian pyramids, though this clearly wasn't one of them. The practice died out (no pun intended) with the introduction of Buddhism to Japan in the 6th century CE, leading to cremation becoming the preferred method of dealing with the dead:

The Fudō Falls 不動滝 are/were used for takigyō 滝行, an ancient spiritual and physical discipline practice where participants stand directly beneath a cold, cascading waterfall. I've never actually seen anyone engaging in this practice here:

The grandiosely-named Todoroki Japanese Gardens 等々力渓谷内日本庭園 is actually just a small, though pleasant garden:

At the top of a short staircase leading away from the ravine is the main grounds of the Todoroki Fudōson Temple 等々力不動尊. There were only a few visitors here, but again about half of them were gaijin like me:

Time brings changes and I need to keep up with them, as does the Todoroki 等々力 area itself (I once considered moving into an apartment not far from the southern end of the ravine), though I hope it remains the quiet neighborhood that I remember from decades gone by. But int the meantime I had places to go and people to see, so I moved on and back to Ikebukuro 池袋. Outside the east side of the station I saw this "Taiwanese Castella" shop. Castella カステラ is a Japanese honey sponge cake, though it was introduced in Nagasaki 長崎 in the 16th century by Portuguese missionaries and traders. It would've been interesting to sample the Taiwanese take on this treat...:

...but I had a lunch date with another old friend, this time at an okonomiyaki お好み焼き restaurant: 

I've known Aviva for 36 years, dating back to when we both teaching (and in her case, training) at ECC, one of the largest Eikaiwa 英会話 school chains in Japan (and one of the few to survive the down years of the late 1990s when the Japanese economy stagnated after the asset bubble had burst). The last time we had met was in June of 2023, when my daughter joined us for lunch (also in Ikebukuro). I'm happy to report that she is still her cheerful, outgoing self and I hope that never changes:

After a brief return to my hotel in Ueno 上野 for a short rest, social gadfly that I am I was out and about again, this time to meet another old EEC friend for dinner in Yūrakuchō 有楽町. While waiting for Wes, I snapped this photo of a small Shintō shrine 神社 located opposite the izakaya 居酒屋 where he had made a reservation:

Located under the train tracks, Andy's Shin Hinomoto 新日の基 was a great call by Wes. I was not satisfied with the photo of the exterior of Andy's that I took so I've "borrowed" this one:

https://www.timeout.com/tokyo/bars-and-pubs/shin-hinomoto

Andy's is a long-running establishment in the Yūrakuchō area, with origins stretching back to 1946 from what I could find on the Internet. Andy, the current owner, is a native of England who married into the family and took over the helm from his father-in-law. The grub was great, especially the seafood, and the lively atmosphere as the place soon filled up at the end of the working day was conducive to a great evening of catching up:

As I noted above Wes is another friend from my Tōkyō English teaching days. Looking back at our last crossing of paths, it was also three years ago, in the evening after having had lunch with Aviva earlier in the day. History repeats itself, though this time Amber couldn't join us:

 

My last full day in Japan found me once again in Shibuya, a district I used to know very well through work and personal connections, but which has been undergoing a massive redevelopment project in recent years that has eradicated several once-familiar buildings:

Hachikō ハチ公 is still there, of course, but as the curmudgeon in me likes to remind people, back in my day if you wanted a photo with the mutt you just walked up to it and had someone take your picture, without any need to wait in a queue:

Nonbei Yokochō のんべい横丁, a small district of around 40 largely intimate bars and izakayas that dates back to 1950. I think I may have drunk at one of the establishments back in the day, but the good friend of mine who took me there knew one of the bar owners and was a regular at her place. Nowadays, of course, the vibe is very different thanks to a clientele that's much more diverse. And it turns out I'd returned to Nonbei Yokochō in the company of my wife and daughter in the winter of 2024:

The reason I was in Shibuya was to meet up with yet another friend, this time at a Turkish restaurant called Kebab Chefs ケバブシェフス渋谷:

I've known Doug for around 25 years, when the two of us were studying Japanese at a school in Okazaki City 岡崎市, in Aichi Prefecture 愛知県. After lunch we took a long stroll, first from Shibuya to Harajuku 原宿, and from there around Yoyogi Park 代々木公園, stopping at one point for a coffee and ice cream break:

And if you think you've detected a pattern you would be correct. Yes, it'd been three years since our last get together, and, yes, Amber was present as well:

Touching base these past few days with Doug, Wes, Aviva and Jun (see the most previous post) was the best way to finish up what had been yet another enjoyable visit to Japan. But as they supposedly say in France Rien de dure; soon it was time to wrap things up in Tōkyō and *sigh* prepare to return to China. With a relatively early morning flight the next day, I had booked a room in a hotel at Haneda Airport 羽田空港. Before checking in there I had my final dinner at the airport, a karaage から揚げ set to go with a 生ビール:

As I was able to access the Hotel Villa Fontaine Grand Haneda Airport ホテルヴィラフォンテーヌグランド羽田空港 directly from Terminal 3 I couldn't see how large of a building it was. The length of the corridor on my floor provided a clue, however:

Sunrise on the final morning as seen from my room:

My plane took the scenic route from the terminal to the runway. Kawasaki's 川崎 industrial complex could be seen off in the distance:

じゃまた:

And so another journey in Japan is in the books, this one significant in that I reached my goal of visiting all 47 of the country's prefectures. This one was particularly enjoyable thanks to the opportunities I had to see old friends again. But now this era of good feelings has to come to end. For one reason I'm back at work in Guangzhou 广州. And for another I've chosen to end this post (and the series it covered) with a rant. Read on...

My final thoughts are concerned with seeing so many foreign travelers (yes, myself included) during the time I was in Japan. To give some background, I lived for ten years in Tōkyō starting in 1989; spent three months studying in Okazaki; stayed one month in Matsumoto 松本; and finally resided with Shu-E for 17 months in Yokkaichi 四日市. Since 2006 every year I made a solo trip to Japan from Taiwan before joing the Foreign Service in 2012, and have returned to the country nine times since then (not including this most recent visit), most of them with my wife and/or daughter. That's 37 years in total for those of you playing at home. Prior to Covid I could travel outside of the larger cities for long stretches and not see a single Westerner (except perhaps the local AET). However, this time I was surprised at how many fellow gaijin I came across in Kakunodate 角館 and Towada-ko 十和田湖, and would continue to see until I returned to Tōkyō (and the latter of course being swarmed with tourists from all over the world). I've long been aware of these so-called "hidden gems off the beaten path" (news flash: they're neither) from decades of reading guidebooks and talking with Japanese people, but how did these visitors learn of the OiraseValley 奥入瀬渓流, Goshikinuma 五色沼 orAizu-Wakamatsu 会津若松? 

I put the blame on Instagram and, even worse, content creators. Doug pointed out the reasons for why gaijin end up in Japan have changed over the years. In the late 1980s people traveled to Japan because that was where the money and the future were both perceived to be (similar to how China is thought of these days by some naive folks); or, like me, they were genuinely interested in the country's culture and history (lengthy side note: in college I took several classes in Japanese history and cultural anthropology as part of my East Asian Studies minor; in the introductory session of one history class the professor showed slides of the neighborhood in Kōbe 神戸 where he lived while he was teaching at a university. Instead of traditional gardens or elegant women wearing kimono, there were photos of drab danchi 団地 housing blocks, as well as my favorite, that of a giant bowling pin with female breasts standing atop a bowling alley. This upset a few of the students because even then some people had definite fantasies as to how Japan should appear). At the language school in Okazaki many of my Western classmates were inspired by anime アニメ and manga 漫画 to study 日本語 (looking back on my childhood I did watch Speed Racer and all those kaijū 怪獣 movies, so perhaps my muses weren't all that different). Today it seems to be primarily so-called influencers on social media.

Has overtourism become an issue in Japan? A lot of Japanese (including my friend Jun) think that's the case. The same social media that drives so many foreigners to visit the country is also replete with videos of non-Japanese acting boorishly, or at the very least not behaving according to local customs. To be honest I didn't witness any terrible behavior on this trip, though I did silently reproach some tourists with backpacks and suitcases trying to board crowded trains at the tail end of the morning rush hour. But the sheer number of non-Japanese in places like Shibuya is overwhelming at times. 

There is a small upside to all this. By virtue of saying a few words in Japanese when checking into my accommodations (especially the more traditional kinds) or ordering in restaurants I would invariably be the recipient of praise for my linguistic dexterity, which to be honest was a much-needed ego boost. Rather than demonstrating my (limited) fluency, however, the constant choruses of 上手ですね more likely reflected the linguistic limitations of the vast majority of my fellow gaijin travelers. 

So what does this all mean? Nothing, really. As much as I would like to separate myself (and be seen to be separate) from the pack, I'm still a tourist, a non-resident stopping in every now and then to see a few sights and eat some food (and spend some money) before going home or moving on elsewhere. There's little I can do vis-à-vis the millions of other foreigners except to keep traveling to less well-known destinations, speak Japanese as much as I can and try to follow all the cultural and social norms. Even back in the day I was conscious of being the good gaijin, especially when it came to living in an apartment after being turned down many times for not being Japanse. I didn’t always succeed but I tried my best to remain aware.

Yes, I have my own personal bucket list of things to cross off when it comes to Japan, but I’m not looking for that Instagram-friendly shot to generate views and promote my lifestyle brand. Nor am I going to make blog posts or YouTube videos on "5 secrets you didn't know about...", complete with a thumbnail showing my shocked face. I just want to continue exploring a land that has meant so much to me over the last few decades. You're more than welcome to come along, though I don't mind doing it on my own, either. 

またね...

*If you couldn't deduce that was sarcastic commentary on the state of political discourse in my homeland, there you're also part of the problem. I hope you enjoyed the midterms! 

 

What a load of Bushidō

 

The Yakui Mon gate (1860) of Aoyagi-ke

In 1620 a small town was laid out in the inland hills 50 kilometers/31 miles east of Akita 秋田, 60 kilometers/37 miles west of Morioka 盛岡. Orginally established as a military outpost by the lords of Akita, with a hilltop castle guarding the dangerous northern direction, Kakunodate 角館 grew into a town of around 80 samurai residences, with 350 merchants' houses located to the south. 

Kakunodate never grew into a large city. In fact, it's no longer even a town, having been merged with another town and a village in 2005 to create a city called Semboku 仙北. But what it did eventually become was a tourist destination, thanks to a couple of reasons. Every spring, several hundred cherry trees, brought from Kyōto 京都 three centuries previously, bloom spectacularly along a two kilometer/1.2 mile-long path on the eastern side of the Hinokinai-gawa 桧木内川:

https://www.tourism-alljapanandtokyo.org/festival-en/f-05-03?lang=en

The other reason is the one that brought me to Kakunodate - the grouping of 200-year-old samurai mansions lining Bukeyashiki 武家屋敷 street. I started off my first morning there (day four of my trip) in the restaurant attached to the Tamachi Samurai Residence Hotel 田町武家屋敷ホテル: 

My room:

Imagine my surprise when I came down from my room to head outside only to come face to face with someone whose videos I often watch on YouTube. Quinlan Faris makes his living guiding visitors throughout the Tōhoku region 東北地方 (of which Kakunodate is a part) with his company GoNorth Japan. I subscribe to his YouTube channel which is why I recognized him almost immediately. Quinlan was waiting for his clients while I was off to see the samurai quarter, so we chatted only briefly. But he was very friendly, and if you have any interest in hiking in Japan I recommend checking out some of his videos:

Passing by an old cigarette machine. Other than its obvious state, I knew this machine was no longer functioning because Mild Seven is now called Mevius, and the cost was still only ¥220 - cancer sticks today go for at least twice that amount. Or so I've heard:

Walking past a Shintō shrine 神社:

My first stop upon reaching Bukeyashiki street was the residence located at the opposite northern end. Built in 1809 the Ishiguro-ke 石黒家 is one of the oldest samurai houses in Kakunodate. The original owner was a financial advisor to the local daimyō 大名 (feudal lord), and his direct descendants still live on the property today. Part of the main house is open to visitors, who are given a brief tour after paying the entrance charge:

Once the tour has been wrapped up visitors are free to check out the exhibits:

Leaving the main house:

Near by is Aoyagi-ke 青柳家, considered by many to be the one residence visitors should make a point of seeing. Spread over 10,000 square meters/107,639 square feet you begin your explorations in the 200-year-old thatched main house, which remained inhabited until 1985:

The compound now contains an eclectic mix of galleries, like this one on Kakunodate Shunkei-nuri Lacquerware 角館春慶塗, a technique that flourished during the Edo period (1600-1868) 江戸時代 but which subsequently died out:

The Armory showcases a collection of armor, guns, helmets, swords and war flags from the 15th through 19th centuries:

When people think of samurai 侍 they probably conjure up images of warriors dueling with katana 刀 swords like those in the photo above. In reality most foot soldiers used weapons such as spears in battle. And what eventually led to the end of the Sengoku period 戦国時代 and brought about the unification of Japan was firearms, introduced into the country in the 1540s, and which completely altered how battles were fought:

This white standard is the oldest item in the collection, dating from the Kamakura period (1185-1333) 鎌倉時代:

Further copies of the Kaitaishinsho 解体新書, the anatomical book previously encountered in the Ishiguro-ke (see above in case you've already forgotten):

There are also exhibits demonstrating the Westernization of Japan's elite starting in the Meiji period (1868-1912) 明治時代:

There were also unfortunate reminders of modern Japan's darker (i.e. pre-1945) side, such as these records about sending soldiers off to war or the march of the beloved horse:

Some fascinating photographs of early modern Japan, such as this scene from the Shimonoseki Campaign 下関戦争:

The arrival of the "black ships" 黒船 shortly after the opening up of Japan, aka gunboat diplomacy in action:

The Ryōunkaku 凌雲閣 was a twelve-story structure erected in 1892 in Tōkyō's 東京 Asakusa 浅草 district. The first high-rise building made of bricks in Japan, it collapsed during the 1923 Great Kantō Earthquake 関東地震: 

A photograph of members of the First Japanese Embassy to Europe in 1862:

In Kakunodate (as in other old districts in Japan) you frequently come across examples of kura 倉/蔵, which was a traditional storehouse made of clay, stone or timber that was used to keep valuable items safe from the fires which ravaged Japanese cities and towns. This one has been converted into a museum/cafe:

The museum part has collections of western antiques such as cameras, clocks and gramophones:

I took a break in the cafe, relaxing with a Kakunodate coffee and a slice of apple pie with vanilla ice cream:

As climate change affects the availability of food, Japan has seen a sharp rise in bear attacks in recent years, with a record 13 fatalities in 2025. Kakunodate wouldn't be the first place I would see signs warning of bears during my trip:

Bukeyashiki street:

Next stop was the Kakunodate Cherry-Bark Craft Center 角館樺細工伝承館, or just the Denshōkan 伝承館:

The museum is dedicated to how local artisans use cherry-tree bark to craft items such as seal cases, tea caddies and tobacco holders. It was more interesting than I expected even though most visitors outside on Bukeyashiki street seemed to give it a pass:

A cherry blossom-pattern inkstone box:

An example of a sedan chair 輿 used by the nobles and samurai to travel during the Edo period:

Apparently I missed the local festival 角館祭り by a mere two weeks:

This honzonden 本尊殿 (a small structure housing an object of worship) was once located in a local shrine:

An ema 絵馬 called "opposite eyes" 向い目. These were offered on the 8th day of the fourth month of the lunar calendar at a Buddhist temple in Kakunodate. The eight eyes depicted symbolize the healing of worshippers suffering from eye diseases:

Winter ware:

Lunch time and an opportunity to try another local craft beer:

For lunch I ordered what the English menu described as "Inaho Style Rice Bowl with Hinai Local Chicken and Egg", failing to recognize it was oyakodon 親子丼, which I had for dinner the previous night. A reminder that I should always refer to the Japanese menu instead:

Inaho 食堂いなほ, the restaurant where I had lunch:

As Japan's population decreases and younger people move to the cities for education and work, abandoned homes and businesses have become common sights in rural areas:

Back to Bukeyashiki street:

Hirafuku Hyakusui 平福百穂 and his father Hirafuku Suian 平福穂庵 were painters in the traditional nihonga 日本画 style. The Hirafuku Memorial Art Museum 平福記念美術館 spotlights some of their works, as well as those of other artists from Kakunodate. Upon entering the concrete structure, you pass by a beautiful piano (no touching):

The special exhibition room featured photographs of this region of Japan:

A frozen over Lake Towada 十和田湖, which was next on my itinerary: 

Some photos from the small main gallery. "松林煎茗" - I have no idea what this translates to in English. By Hirafuku the elder from around 1885:

Ugong High Gate 于公高門 depicts a Chinese legend of a judge named Yu Gong who performed good deeds like repairing the gate of his village (Hirafuku Suian, 1889):

Peacocks 孔雀 (1914) by the younger Hirafuku:

Naotake Odano 小田野直武 (1749-1780) is one of the other local artists being featured by the museum. He left Kakunodate for Edo 江戸, where he studied Western painting techniques, as can clearly be seen in Shinobazu Pond Map 不忍池図: 

It was when I was exiting the museum through the rear exit that I met Ryōma:

Ryōma is a second-year (junior) student in high school. He lives nearby in Ōmagari 大曲, but likes to come to Kakunodate, especially when the sakura are blooming. After high school he plans to learn auto maintenance at a vocational school because he's into cars. I know this because unlike his silent, camera-shy friend, Ryōma is eager to practice English. He's still in the early stages of mastering the language, but I hope he never loses his interest or enthusiasm. I also hope he realizes his dreams for the future:

While many old homes are open to the public there are also many residents who wish to maintain their privacy:

Kura can be encountered even away from the tourist district:

Near my accommodations is the Andō Jōzō 安藤醸造本店, a traditional miso- and soy sauce-maker occupying a 150-year-old red brick storehouse. It stands in what was once the merchants' district, separate from the districts set aside for samurai (in the north) and traders (in the south). It was here I ran into Quinlan and his clients:

One large room in the interior is open for visitors to have a look...:

A hagoita 羽子板, a wooden board traditionally used to play hanetsuki 羽根突き, an old game bearing some similarity to badminton. These days hagoita is more of a decorative item than a piece of sports equipment. I still have the one I bought decades ago at a festival market at a Buddhist temple in Tōkyō:

...but the main reason for going inside (free admission) is the opportunity to sample various soy sauce flavors. I also bought a cup of soy sauce ice cream, though to be honest it was difficult to detect anything except what I presume was cream:

My final stop on the way back to the hotel was at the Shinmeisha Shrine 神明社:

For dinner I had udon noodles うどん, washed down with a Tazawako Beer. The label depicts a namahage なまはげ:

The hotel lacked a common bath, but they did offer discounted tickets to the Kakunodate Hot Springs かくのだて温泉, five minutes away on foot. There, one of my fellow bathers that evening was a heavily-tattooed middle-aged gentleman, clearly a yakuza ヤクザ. His appearance there was something of a surprise as many onsen now bar entry to anyone with tattoos. He kept to himself and left soon after I arrived:

More intimidating was the resident cat, who made sure no one else could use the massage chair in the lobby:

Kakunodate is well worth a visit, especially to those interested in the samurai, and there was a surprising number of foreign visitors there (including at my hotel). But though I'm very interested in Japanese history I have managed to avoid Shōgun, both in its novelized and televised forms. This is intentional. It annoys me to no end to go into a bookstore in the U.S., make my way over to the history section, locate the shelf with the books on Japan and find out 90% of them are about samurai. What especially brings out the inner gatekeeper of this Japanophile is hearing people go on about these noble warriors, strictly adhering to the time-honored moral code of bushidō 武士道. These articles (here and here) do a better job than I could at explaining why you shouldn't let Tom Cruise educate you on Japanese history (please don't take The Last Samurai as historical fact), but the next time you start fantasizing about being a Zen warrior skilled in the arts of swordsmanship a la Miyamoto Musashi 宮本武蔵, remember this - the samurai were human beings just like you and me. Meaning many of them lied, cheated or betrayed those they had sworn to serve (my Japanese history professor in college asserted bushidō was promoted in the Edo period because so many samurai needed to be reminded how they should be behaving). Throughout Japanese history, but especially during the Sengoku period, feudal lords and their samurai retainers would frequently switch sides, sometimes in the middle of battles. Edo period popular culture often depicted ordinary townspeople getting the better of inept or corrupt samurai, though within strictly prescribed limits. The samurai are a fascinating part of Japanese history who certainly played a role in shaping modern-day Japan, but too many writers go overboard with the tired tropes. There is so much more nuance and depth to the samurai than what Netflix was showing you two years ago.

And don't even get me started on ninja 忍者, or ikigai 生き甲斐 or whatever other bullshit is currently running rampant on social media...