We also got there right at the perfect time as the sun was setting, so the pictures turned out to be cliche fistful of sunset and skyline. The haters can hate, I still had a fancy time.

After spending more time than they probably allow you to do up there, and getting looks from the staff like we should leave, and then us giving them looks back all “hey motherfuckers we paid like 30 bucks each for this shiz we’ll occupy this son of a bitch if we so please”, we decided it was time to go get drunk.

Conveniently there was a German restaurant located in the shopping complex below that served full on 1L Oktoberfest tankards of beer (at ONLY $27 dollars a go!?!). I’d like to imagine that it was Oktoberfest at this point in time, which is why I deemed it necessary to splurge on such a luxury, however I can no longer remember when we were in Japan. It matters not, for on an empty stomach after all the observation deck observing, the tankard did the job. Since it was our last night, we decided to get some Yakitori, and it was delicious. Many glasses of shochu were consumed. Things go blank at that point, but at least I still have the photos.

This day, it was kinda like the scene from Raiders of the Lost ark, where if you don’t close your eyes when the Ark of the Covenant is open your fake playdough body either melts or explodes with extreme hostility. That is to say, if you stepped into the sun, you were opening your eyes, but if you were in the shade, you were as cool as Michael Jackson pre-Dangerous. So depending on the time of day, and the position of the sun, the shady side of the street would be packed with people and the sunny side was deserted.

Apparently there’s these cafes where the waitresses are dressed up in over-exaggerated French maid outfits, and this is a trend. Some of the maids are out in the streets trying to solicit customers. I tried to take their pictures and they were none too pleased. Having been in these situations before, its rather pathetic how easily they accept my fake evidence of having deleted the photo of them from my camera, when in reality I just popped out the memory card. I was hoping the little vixen would draw some blood, or perhaps give me a nice smack on the cheek, but alas she was satisfied with my weak lie.

We checked out some used gear stores, but this being Japan, and the Yen being seriously over-valued, everything was a such a rip off that it made silk-market bargaining look good. The only used camera stores we came across stocked junk or used digital. Finally we wound up at the absolutely mammoth Akihabara Yodobashi camera, where we found my friend a new digital SLR. Interestingly enough the big Yodobashis are fully equipped with an army of Chinese sales staff, so we had good times talking to them and learned a bit what life was like for Chinese people in Japan. Amusingly, they said it was so-so and they didn’t really like it. But when we asked if they had any plans to move back to China, the answer was a resounding no without hesitation.

The rest of the afternoon was spent playing both modern and classic arcade games in many of the massive temples devoted to the machines whose ilk have been totally decimated by PC gaming and consoles.

After a day totally spent out, we reached up to an area of Tokyo I’ve never been to, Ikebukuro, to see what the scene was like. Actually we heard there was a small Chinatown up there, and because we didn’t have time to see the real one down in Yokohama, we were hoping for a second place prize. Instead we found an international town, with restaurants hailing from all over the world. Unfortunately they all looked a little japanified. Instead we settled on a ramen place that seemed to be quite popular. Outside the fine establishment were pictures of various what I assumed to be famous customers, trying the ramen live on TV. There was actually a line up to get in, and considering it was already 10pm, we figure it must have something special going on. That something special turned out to be a spigot that tapped directly into the FIRES OF HELL. Yes this ramen was the spiciest infernal ramen I’d have ever tasted. They actually had a spiciness scale of the different ramens they offered going up to ten. I was wise enough to opt for a 7/10 as I actually wanted to eat and enjoy my food, instead of becoming a sweaty nervous pile of waste. My comrade put me to shame, and went for a 9/10 bowl, a level only Satan could enjoy. For those curious the 10/10 bowl was actually just a plate of noodles with a bowl of purified magma broth.

Today was a big travel day. My travel buddy and I had a desire to check out Mt. Fuji, never having seen it in the flesh. Climbing it would be a mission, and completely out of the question…the question that asked whether we had the gear, time, money, and will to hike it. Unlike most famous mountains in China, there were no cable cars or death defying SUV rides to the top. Instead my plan was to put us in close enough proximity to the mountain for a good view, to take some pictures and have a moment of clarity that people have before they invent great things like the pool noodle.

This was all to be done with the transportation provided by the Japan Railway, whose network of steel would be carrying us for free. I figured that the station Fujinomiya was the closest JR station to the mountain, and planned for us to stay there for about 20 minutes. After our brief stay we could hop on a different train and head back down to the high speed line towards our day’s destination, Tokyo.

We grabbed a couple of bento boxes* at Kyoto Station, and off we went on our journey to the famous volcano. By some technical oversight of mine, I neglected to read up on the fact that during the summer Mt. Fuji is almost always shrouded in heavy clouds despite however perfect the weather is in the rest of the country. So of course we get to Fujinomiya and there was absolutely nothing to see except an abandoned mall and a bunch of yokels. No big loss as I didn’t give us a huge window of time there. We were still able to make it to the megapolis before sundown.

After checking in, we walked over to Shinjuku and wandered aimlessly amongst the millions of people making their way home. Dinnertime rolled around and there was a certain sushi restaurant we began searching for that took us twice through Shinjuku station. It was something akin to being lost in a Lewis Carol novel, but perhaps my low sugar, high alcohol blood level may have played a part in that. By the time we found the restaurant we were both plotting ways of cutting each other up a la Alive. There was a huge line all the way out of the restaurant, but conveniently they had chairs to sit on while we waited. Even more conveniently, there was a convenience store just across the way that most certainly stocked cold beers. Of course we were much too classy to buy a bunch and then quickly guzzle them down while waiting.

The restaurant was called Numazuko and served up some solid revolving conveyor belt sushi. Not quite the same level as Karato Ichiba in Shimonoseki, but still worthy of my meaty little paws. Everything we tried was good, except some tuna I ordered, but tuna is tough in these days of depleted fish stocks. Definitely a step above most of the other places I’ve been to, and absolutely smashes the face of 禾绿(Helv) in Shanghai. After dinner we called it quits and walked home through Kabuchiko, which was entertainment in it’s own right. Just think hookers of all persuasions, Nigerian touts, big groups of drunks, punks, yakuza thugs, and you’ll understand there would be lots of interesting dreams that night.

*Ok bento boxes. The Japanese lunch boxes. Why can’t we have these nice things? They’re awesome. I love how they’re all compartmentalized, so your different foods don’t get contaminated with each other like a bunch of buddies in a bathhouse. Then there’s the expensive ones that are wrapped up like a Christmas present…only NICER. Perfect for rides on the train or in the back of your chauffeured Rolls Royce.

As I mentioned on day five, there was something of a heat wave going on in the Kanto region. Sure enough, we would feel the force of Mother Nature’s bosom as she crushed us with all 37 degrees of it day six. But what would the high temperatures be without tempting the gods of heatstroke by renting bikes and pedaling around all day?

Feeling like a sack of potatoes about to be turned to hash browns, I made it clear to my comrade that we had to stick to the river paths near the water where it would be cooler, or face our doom. Kyoto has a river that runs from the north of the city down through its heart, and right out of its bearded anus, although we never went down that far. Instead we chilled along the river as many other Kyotoites were doing. Once the mid-day heat was past, we ventured into Gion, where the geishas hang out drinking 40s on the stoops and play dice in the alleys. We didn’t see any, probably because if they were to expose themselves to the heat, all their makeup would melt off exposing themselves as the horribly deformed mutants they are.

After Gion, we checked out the Kennin-ji Zen temple, it was neat but mostly under renovation. There was a whole lot of shoe changing and ill-fitting slipper wearing going on. We also took part in an anti-nuclear protest that was organized by the hideously deformed mutant geishas the Japanese Communist Party. Made my comrade and I feel like we were back home – except back home the Communist party doesn’t need to protest, they do whatever the hell they want. Finally we capped off the day by a trip to the imperial palace, located in a huge park. It reminded me of the Forbidden City in Beijing, but on the contrary, it was actually forbidden to go inside, unlike the Forbidden City, where anyone can go in. The palace itself is closed on weekends, so instead we hung with the hobos. After a short period of time, a squadron of mosquitoes had declared war on our sweet flesh, so we retreated to the north to our homely domicile.

My genius plan had our hotel situated mere minutes from the Shin-Osaka train station, allowing maximum sleep-in time after the previous night’s revelry. The bullet train from there to Kyoto was only 15 minutes give or take. Upon arrival I decided that a taxi would be the most convenient way to get to our ryokan, because like hell my mind or body was in any condition to be navigating to a small Japanese inn in a city complete alien to me.

Just as well, the Kanto Region was experiencing something of a mini heat wave when we arrived. The taxi found our ryokan no problem, but didn’t have change to break 5000 yen note, which was totally weird. Usually Japanese people in a position of money reception never have problems making change, unlike in China where you get exasperated grunts for anything but exact change to the penny.

Our 75 year old ryokan was in a quiet, laid back area of northern Kyoto, had courtyard garden and was well kept. The place was totally geared towards western guests though, so the entire house was plastered with obsessively passive aggressive warnings on what light switch not to touch, where not to hang things and which laundry detergent not to eat. There were so many it was to the point of making me feel like a complete idiot on behalf of whatever western morons stayed there before and did such stupid shit that it warranted sticky notes everywhere. Plus it was killing the vibe.

In the evening we took to the town to explore and chart out some new izakaya joints. If Kyoto has good food, we sure didn’t find it. I tried in vain to locate an old school izakaya joint like the first one from the night before, but all we came up with was a worn out mostly empty place with beers that were too warm and food that was too greasy. We wandered around in circles for a few hours like a couple of confused ducks and marveled at all the restaurants that are hidden away in the alleys. However considering it was Friday night, they were mostly empty and food in this country being an fist in the face of exorbitance, I didn’t feel up for the time honored tradition of pointing randomly at things I couldn’t read on a menu only to be served fruit cake and pigeon pie.

Convenience store food it was, yet again. But not really, because after walking a two mile radius of our ryokan we determined that convenience stores there do not exist. So vending machines it was. Oh well.

The overnight bus ride from Fukuoka to Osaka was as respectable as overnight bus rides go. The Willard Express bus we were on had seats that reclined far enough to be comfortable for a dwarf to sleep; there was also a leg rest that came up. It was basically comparable to business class on old school airplanes before they brought in the lie flat beds. The bus made one or two stops at truck stops on the highway. I woke up for one of them just to see what a Japanese truck stop is like, and you can check it in the pictures below. To sum it up: an endless array of coffee drinks.

We arrived in Osaka at 7:30am, way too early to check into our hotel there or do anything really except cataloguing salarymen passed out in their own vomit on the sidewalks. As lovely as that sounds, a nap was in order, so it was time to check out how Japan’s love hotels took on Korea’s. The great thing about these places is they are available for short periods of time, and during the day they are discounted, perfect for a snooze to catch up on the less than stellar sleep on the bus. The hotel we tried was 100% automated. You didn’t have to interact with a single human being to select your room, check in, check out, or pay. Actually it was a little creepy, because the door to the room locks and won’t unlock until you pay. I could only imagine some HAL type antics going on in there. Hell I bet some freaks would be into that. Still it had everything you need for a good rest…or other activities.

After the nap we decided to grab lunch then be dumb tourists for a bit. Osaka is fucking huge. You’d never think it but it the region has a population of something like 19 million, which is the same size as Beijing. Near the train station was a building called the Umeda Sky Building. This one had yet another observatory in it, so we figured what the hell, lets head on over and check her out. Observation decks are precious for us lazy folk, you need not walk more than a couple hundred feet to see the entire city. While we were up there killing time, on a map there was an off the path destination that immediately caught my eye: the Osaka Sewage Museum. In my mind I pictured the most amazingly over-engineered toilet systems on display, this being Japan and all, and I knew that I had to try one for myself. Foolishly we bought train tickets from a ticket agent instead of the official counter, and the idiot there sold us tickets to a train station on a different line, on the other side of town. We figured this out once we had arrived on the other side of town. With the day now wasted, as we would have to head back during rush hour, I made it my petty mission to relocate the agent and return the tickets despite the fact they cost less than a bottle of water (although they would incur future costs of alcohol to lower my stress levels at this point). When we got back, they refused to refund them because they had already been used, but I refused their refusal, and so began a 15 minute silent standoff. Eventually they blinked, and we got our 300 yen and went on our merry way.

After returning to the hotel for refreshment, we were starving and thirsty, and walking along the road to the Shin-Osaka station we located the most awesome izakaya of the trip so far. I was attracted to a sign for 220 yen beers, which is cheap as rice in this country, and through some dirty windows, I could see a few people inside. So we slid open the doors and made our presence known. The place was actually pretty big and full of salarymen who were well on their way to drunktown. As for deco it was probably decorated by one of said salarymen sometime in 1983, and hadn’t been changed since. Another plus, they had an English menu, and the food on it we tried was delicious. It was here that I developed a newfound appreciation for Japanese beer. Now don’t get me wrong, the Japanese beer is still mostly horrible. It’s better than the piss served in China, but it’s still wastewater at best. However, this particular bar served the beer so damn cold, there were ice formations in my glass, there was also a nice layer of creamy head and after the long day, it was like a chorus of angels tap dancing in my mouth.

We decided not to fill up there, and instead went down to the Shinsaibashi/Dotonbori area to check out the scene. This part of town is an endless grid of restaurants, bars, and Filipino hookers. We found one izakaya overlooking the river that was awesome not just because everything was only 300 yen but also because you made all your orders via a touch screen computer on the table. No English, but the pictures and Chinese characters were good enough for us to figure out what we wanted. They need this gadgetry in China so bad. No more “we don’t have that today” for half the things on offer, no more fucked up menus because of inflation related price changes, and no more yelling “FUWUYUAN!!!” from everyone in the damn restaurant for every damn little thing they need.

After our top up on food and a little bit of shochu, it was time for a quick stroll before heading home. The quick stroll got stretched late into the night, when we stumbled upon a crazy little whiskey bar that had virtually every kind of whiskey I could want, and a bartender who could make killer cocktails and wear a mean bowtie. Bonus, he spoke some English, so despite us being the only customers, we had some company. Then some two more customers materialized. They just so happened to be Taiwanese people! Which means we spent the rest of the night getting drunk with them and going to a bar that had really expensive cats. No really, it was a bar whose claim to fame was $3000 cats you could pet. I think there’s a certain point in your night, when animals start to get involved, that you call it quits. That point was passed for us, so I knew it was time. The next day we were headed to Kyoto and I didn’t want to wake up choking on furballs.

After checking out and locking up our luggage at Hakata station, we wanted to determine the boarding location of our overnight bus to Osaka was so that we wouldn’t miss it. The friendly but hopeless information desk at Hakata station once again was unable to provide us with anything resembling coherent information. We managed to find the location thanks to a random Lawson’s shopper, so it was all good.

I can’t help compare the English level between China and Japan. What in the name of Johnson McDicksworth is going on here? Japan is already a highly developed country, so there is no reason for the average Hiroshi to pick up English from an economic point of view…or is there? In China, it seems like everyone is learning English or is gonna die trying. Hell, in Shanghai, it’s hard to find people who can’t speak English. Even my 80-year-old Shanghainese neighbors can string together abstract sentences about pickled radish. You wanna know why Shanghai is the most developed city in China? It’s because foreign businessmen can come here and communicate with hookers without their minders. If that’s not an economic advantage I don’t know what is. It seems however that not everyone in Japan is ignoring this though.

On the topic of language, I’m surprised more people here don’t speak Chinese. I was expecting more people in the service industry to have the mad Mandarin skills, since Chinese tourists are flocking here like birds trying to escape from their cages that haven’t been cleaned in 30 years and are all stank with bird shit. Ixnay on the Chinesay though.

Most of our day was spent checking out the absolutely deserted shrines and temples of Fukuoka. Most of them had been totally rebuilt, and while they were well maintained, most of them looked like they had been rebuilt rather recently and in such a way that it ruined their original aesthetic in terms of choice of materials. This is something I’ve grown accustomed to seeing in China, as many temples there have been totally rebuilt. Compared to what I saw in Fukuoka, China also has the advantage here. My assumed logic behind this is that most of the Shrines and Temples in Japan are still used for very specific purposes, and hence the Japanese have gone with functional renovations in many of the temples, cramming them with the little engineering feats that make life so convenient here, like robotic incense dispensers and such.

Before long it was time to bid Fukuoka adieu for the time being as we were off via the overnight bus to Osaka.

Most of the time, we would be struggling to decide what not to eat, as everything here is delicious. Sadly, the mornings are not one of those times. Instead, they’re more like dead zones in which legions of salary man zombies march to work subsisting solely on canned coffee. We hit up a bakery in Hakata station for the morning carb intake, and while Japanese baked goods aren’t going to be the darlings of the summer bake sale anytime soon, they kept my insulin levels in check.

Not much has changed since the last time I was in Fukuoka, which is one of the reasons I like it. Nice and reliable. Since I have a good handle on things here, I decided that we should check out some of the tourist stuff I haven’t seen. First stop: Fukuoka tower. The building is a large slab of steel and glass that holds absolutely no superlatives whatsoever, but the weather was good, so photos are delivered. The building was built in 1989 at a cost approximately 6 billion yen, and by my calculations on the number of people that were visiting today, divided by the ticket price of 800 yen, the tower should be paid off in about 390 years. Money well invested Fukuoka…but hey my pictures turned out nice.

The city lost even more money on our journey back downtown. I entrusted my comrade to pay for us as we were leaving the bus (here, you take a ticket, then pay when getting off, as fare is determined by distance), but instead our payment was placed in the change maker machine, and we walked off without paying a damn thing. The bus driver drove off without despite us giving chase once we realized the screw up. I felt kind of bad because clueless foreigners seem to get the blame for everything here, and we were only adding fuel to that fire, but there’s not much more we could do.

The rest of the day was spent wandering around Tenjin some more before heading to explore the ruins of Fukuoka Castle and Ohori Park. The ruins are essentially a bunch of mounds fortified with stone walls that give another nice view of the city once you get to the top. The place was entirely deserted except for some hobos and a guy playing a saxophone. The park is a giant ring around a man made lake that has some turtles in it. I couldn’t determine if the turtles were in their teenage years, however I’m fairly certain they were not ninjas. But you never can tell.

Our last sight of the day was the Fukuoka art gallery. Most of the art was contemporary garbage that while executed, was exhibited out of context. The gallery of Buddhas was cool. Some of the sculptures were so amazing in their details, I knew the person who sculpted them probably spent half their life doing them, but disturbingly I couldn’t help but imagine them as plot device in a movie where they get destroyed by Ben Stiller.

It was at the gallery my friend and I came upon the most interesting contrast between Japan and China we had discussed yet. Upon entering each exhibition, there was a booth with a curator, that would stand up, bow, and thank us enthusiastically for coming to the show, while handing us a program completely in Japanese. It was plainly obvious our language ability was equal to a kid with Down syndrome’s pet cucumber. After browsing, on exit, they would again greet us, thank us, and ask us to sign our names in the guestbooks. My friend was mighty impressed with the graciousness, manners, and respect shown to us dumbass foreigners. Maybe I’m a little jaded, but I’m sure that’s just how it’s done in Japan, and while they put on a great face, I think they don’t give a damn about us, but are just too good to show it. With this situation in China, the curators wouldn’t give you the time of day, but at least they would be sincere in not caring about you. So it comes down to pleasantness/insincerity vs. rudeness/honesty. We both discussed the merits and problems with these two positions for a while, and then moved on to other topics like immigration to Japan.

The day was capped off the day with a couple bowls of delicious Hakata style pork ramen from Ippudo. During dinner we struck up conversation with the boss who spoke some English, and this lead to a quintessential Japanese experience. After paying the bill, we left, and began our walk home. About five minutes later, as we were walking up a side street, the boss came running up to us. “Sorry, I didn’t get to thank you and say goodbye!” We thanked him greatly and off to the restaurant he went. My friend was absolutely blown away by this sign of courtesy, and I couldn’t help be a bit impressed myself. Anyone know a good Japanese immigration lawyer?

Over the next ten days I will be taking a vacation in Japan, because…well…why the hell not? It’s not like I’ve got mountains of work piling up, threatening to bury me under them like the モンキーキング.

I started off my morning with an errands list stretching over the city like some retard’s version of connect the dots. That retard of course would be me, as I was just finishing cramming my slacks and sweater vests into my bag when I realized my passport was playing hide and seek. After turning the apartment I had only just made spotless into something akin to a scene from Libya, I finally had the good sense to check the pockets of my shorts…that I had just washed. Yes sir, my passport now resembled a marshmallow after being cooked over a campfire for too long.

I figured a blow dryer and some heavy books would be the only way I could make this lump of international identification intelligible. Once that was done, I was off to pick up some dry cleaning, then to a bank to get some cash, then to a travel office inconveniently placed on the top floor of a busy office building that only seemed to have one functional elevator, then off to anther bank to for work related matters.

Despite having a series of taxi drivers that insisted on stopping at every single red light (I mean come on, this is one of those times where I need the China advantage) my travel comrade and I managed to get to Pudong Airport just in time to check in, quickly pilfer the business class lounge, and board the plane.

Somehow, the harpy at check in put us at the very back of a plane that was only half full. This would pay dividends for us when we were the last people off the plane, and eventually the last people going through customs on arrival in Fukuoka. It must have been a slow day there, and the cops hadn’t met their quota, because they decided to give me the raw deal.

Thankfully I wasn’t smuggling any roofies or PCP, and I made it through to a very gorgeous Fukoka. It was sunny with amazing clouds, 25 degrees and little humidity. Perfect for spending the rest of the day wandering around Tenjin (Fukuoka’s downtown), scoping the scene, and drinking convenience store beers.

After seeing all kinds of freakish fashion, determining that most major Japanese clothing brands are in fact cheaper in China, grocery prices here put Shanghai expat shops to shame, it was time for eats. My comrade and I killed off the day with some awesome Yakitori (aka. BBQ’d kebabs) and couple of glasses of barley liquor that went down a lot better than it sounds. My knowledge of Chinese gives me understanding of about 15% of what’s written, so it’s surprising that out of such a small portion of the menu, we hit bull’s eye. Let’s see if we can keep nailing it.

And now dear readers, allow me if you will, to take you on a pleasant journey through yet another 2nd tier Chinese city. This week, we shall examine Ningbo, or as it was formerly known during the British colonial period, Ningpo. First let’s start off with what I had for breakfast, which I can easily say was the finest breakfast in all the prefecture, in fact you could even say it was a breakfast of champions. Taking advantage of such nutrition is advisable when available during ventures into second tier cities, as subsistence on dried goose necks and duck feet is questionable.

During my time in Ningpo I had the opportunity to stay in a villa. In my case, the locals have basically taken the concept of the suburbs and applied their shoddy construction and architecture techniques while neglecting any form of property maintenance. The result being what you see below.

My first destination was a park in downtown. Unlike most urban parks in China, it was not named People’s Park, Zhongshan Park, or even Olympic Park. This one was named Moon Park, to compliment the Sun Park which also existed somewhere in the city. It was pleasant, and relatively serene for a Chinese park on a weekend. It had the usual things, a man made lake, restored old buildings, and flocks of people getting their wedding pictures done in horrible outfits.

I much prefer chaos and destruction, so on I went to the part of the old city that had a thing for balls…of the wrecking variety. It was here where I found a number of Qing and Republican era structures in various states of defiance, decay and demolition. Speaking with a few of the remaining residents, I gleaned that what was still standing would probably be renovated into a gauche “lifestyle area” for global franchises and consumer drones. A pity, but that’s the way the cookie crumbles for heritage architecture in China.

Wandering further through the ruins, I came upon a Buddhist temple that seemed photogenic enough, so I forked over the ¥5 to get in and sneak around. I came across a monk who was quite surprised to find me in his study hall, which was clearly a place I wasn’t supposed to be in, but instead of kicking me out quite literally, as monks are wont to do, he was excited to have someone to practice his English with. I complied with his wishes for fear of his wrath, and confirmed my suspicions that the monks did not eat meat, drink alcohol, or listen to Fucked Up.

After parting ways with my karmic yet musically unenlightened friend, I negotiated my way through some twisty old alleys to find myself at the Tianyi Pavilion, perhaps Ningpo’s most famous historical landmark. The pavilion dates back to 1992, when the local government was devising a method to trap more tourists into a bleak and rather featureless city they had no reason to visit the 16th century, when a gentleman by the name of Fan Qin was devising a method to store his vast collection of erotic fiction novels. It is said that this is the oldest surviving library in China. Unfortunately it seems the Toronto Public Library card does not enjoy reciprocal privileges here, as my attempt to borrow some of the aforementioned novels did not go over well with the security guards and their hounds. Thankfully my gym membership card does have reciprocal benefits here in China, and I’ve got my mile times down to five minutes. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some reading to do.