I faced in myself a passionate and tenacious longing – to put away thought forever, and all the trouble it brings, all but the nearest desire, direct and searching. To take the trail and not look back.

John Haines, “The Stars, the Snow, the Fire: Twenty-Fives Years in the Northern Wilderness”

27 April 2023

• Rikugien Garden (1h)
• Ikebukuro’s Sunshine City
• Dinner at Hozenji Yokocho
• Bar in Golden Gai (Kabukicho)

Rikugi-en Garden

Another slow morning. So sluggish and weary. Errands on my laptop, until heading out at noon.

It was time to make some progress with my list for Tokyo. Not out of necessity, but rather to see what the city had to offer.

I started with Rikugien Gardens, a circuit-style daimyo garden with artificial hills and a pond representative of the Edo period. Considered of the finest gardens in Tokyo, despite its small scale.

It was exactly what I needed. Greenery and tranquility. An escape from the busy life.

My left arm was hurting since morning, in addition to my left foot. No idea why. I was exhausted from two and a half months of fast travel, and the increasing anxiety that had immobilised me in the last few days.

Last night, I’d made up my mind regarding my next step. My intuition had instructed me. Yet it brought me no comfort or relief.

I knew anything I did, post-Japan, would be just another band-aid – an escape from my problems, a step rife with immaturity and denial. Before Japan, I was hopeful that this trip would open new doors for me, enable me to make progress with building a platform and publishing my writing. Now, I knew this would never happen, no matter how much I continued to travel.

It was the nature in the garden that almost managed to heal me. Wandering around the pond and various trees, I understood the meaning of “forest therapy”. If I lived in Tokyo, I’d come here every week.

Ultimately, not even the color of life could raise my spirits, or spread energy through my veins. I was tired of constantly worrying about my future. I was tired of denying myself food. I was tired of hoping against hope, and ending up disappointed.

I sat on a stone bridge and watched the sun reflect on the water. A sentence I’d written for a story a few years ago popped up in my head.

“Someday, I will die, too. But until then, I will live.”

I broke into tears, yet again this week. A tiny lizard crawled up my pants. I recalled the train ride in Matsumoto to the wasabi farm on February 27, when I cried and no one noticed.

“Back to being invisible,” I thought, and wished I was born in a different world.

Birds were tweeting. A soft breeze was blowing. Elderly locals paced past me on the bridge. I felt like them, in a sense. Their best days were behind them.

I got up and lifted my pants. The belt I’d had adjusted to my waist before this trip was already two or three sizes too big. But I wasn’t hungry, at that moment. I just wanted to sleep.

Ikebukuro

After an hour, I exited the garden and took the train to Ikebukuro. It was a nice hub for business and entertainment. By no means the leading hub in Tokyo for either, but still a cool place to visit near the garden.

I walked around until I arrived at Sunshine City, an enormous skyscraper doubling as a shopping complex. Almost a whole floor was dedicated to Pokémon. There was also an amazing Ghibli shop with a lit Calcifer from Howl’s Moving Castle and a giant Totoro. The British girl from Okayama had told me to come here. I stood in front of the chopstick section for ten minutes, calculating if I could afford a simple Totoro chopstick. I bought it in the end, since I hadn’t gotten anything at Ghibli Museum.

After that, I returned to my hotel early and asked the Dutch girl if she wanted to have dinner. I had a place in mind, called Hozenji Yokocho. Before I could bring it up, she replied:

“Want to meet at Omoide Yokocho?”

Omoide Yokocho and Kabukicho

It was a traditional izakaya alley near Shinjuku station. Nicknamed “Memory Lane” for its nostalgic atmosphere, and “Piss Alley” for a reason that was later made clear to me by a friend who’d experienced it firsthand.

It was very narrow, very famous, and very expensive. No izakaya seemed to have more than 5-7 seats at the counter.

We sat next to an American girl traveling solo and had dinner appetizers that cost as much as dinner with her. She was one of the brightest people I’d met: the most radiant smile, infectious laughter, bubbly personality, and sunny disposition. A bit odd, since she was from Florida. But she was the complete opposite of the average Floridian.

She was so easy to talk to: almost as though we’d been friends forever. I should’ve asked for her contact details.

After dinner a light meal, the Dutch girl and I left the Yokocho. A full meal here was out of budget for us both. We walked to Kabukicho, a place on my list I’d crossed off, after deciding not to visit it alone. Once I set foot there with her, I realised it was okay.

Thursday night in Kabukicho was like the weekend in full force. Neon lights everywhere. Commercials and colors. A Middle-Eastern guy offering passersby a hookah. Police officers. Clubs that seemed to hide questionable services. Japanese guys standing in the middle of the street, approaching girls in a manner that struck us both as somewhat dubious.

We quenched our hunger at Family Mart and walked to Golden Gai, the famous bar area. Lots and lots of cool, tiny bars. Her pick for us was Death Match in Hell, a horror-themed place where every drink cost 666 yen.

On our way there, a Dutch guy overheard us talking and joined our conversation. We invited him to join us. There was room inside the bar for maybe ten people. With us, the crowd was around twenty.

So it was cramped to say the least, but wow, what a blast. The extreme proximity made it impossible for people to ignore each other. Hence, easy-to-make conversations.

Everyone was in good spirits. The bartender was a chill rocker type. The vibe was grungy. I decided to shuffle things up and try umeshu (plum wine) instead of sake, which was a revelation. The Dutch guy, a computer scientist five years younger than me, offered to buy me the drink, even though we’d met less than ten minutes ago. I was taken aback by his generosity, and found myself turning it down.

We spent around 2-2.5h hours inside the bar, having come early enough to avoid the line that was forming outside. An Israeli girl from Tel-Aviv with rocker-chick makeup and a black leather jacket was complaining loudly to me about her inability to sit down at the chairs occupied by stubborn patrons, who’d been there since opening time. I decided to make way for other people and wait for the Dutch girl outside, where I talked to a group of American guys who, judging by their professional shooting equipment and the way people recognized them, were famous YouTubers. (Well, one of them told me this at some point.)

Finally, near midnight, the Dutch girl got on the last train, while I walked around ten minutes back to my hotel, in Shinjuku san-chome.

I no longer felt lonely all the time. But I still felt helpless. Now, more than ever.

Today’s highlights: forest therapy at Rikugien Garden; Ghibli and Pokémon at Sunshine City; dinner at Piss Alley; and the vibe inside the horror bar.

28 April 2023

• Shinjuku station to Saitama train
• Omiya bonsai village (2h) including Saitama bonsai museum (40m) and strolling around the private gardens (~1h)
• Train back to Shinjuku, then to Shimokitazawa
• Lunch: three-cheese and omelet rice @ Rainbow bar and café
• Vintage shopping (~1h)
• Clubbing at night

Omiya Bonsai Village

Last night, after the brief reprieve from the city at Rikugien Garden, I decided another trip outside Tokyo was in order.

Saitama would be it. A half-day visit to Japan’s bonsai capital: a small village with less people, and more miniature trees.

The oldest known artwork of bonsai in history was a mural on the inside wall of the tomb of Prince Zhanghuai, of China’s Tang Dynasty, in 706 AD. In the 14^th century, bonsai had been brought to the Japanese nobility. Since then, the practice of keeping bonsai had grown less exclusive. Omiya Bonsai Village in Saitama was established in 1925, when Tokyo gardeners sought greener pastures as an escape from the urbanizing city.

I started off with the museum of bonsai, which included bonsai (shocker), bonsai pots, and ukiyo-e prints.

Bonsai as an art form combined the superficial beauty of nature with the human touch of drawing out its full potential. Minimalistic and restrained, simple and harmonious, small yet self-sufficient: the bonsai master tailored a miniaturized arrangement of nature. They balanced the branches into harmony by pruning unnecessary or faulty ones. This was a gamble, since the branches would never grow back.

The master also wired small branches to reform the tree; checked the dryness of the soil on a daily basis and watered it by just the right amount; and depot the bonsai every now and then, prune the roots, and replant everything in fresh soil.

bonsai, I learned, featured a face and a back, determined by the most attractive side of the branches, which showed the rise of the trunk. The correct way to view bonsai was to look at it upwards from below. It seemed grander this way.

First, one should admire the spreading of the roots. Then, follow the bark up the trunk, until reaching the branches. Each tree sported different foliage, and some a different trunk, too: the trunks of old bonsai had trunks were white with decay, which was beautiful on its own. A sharp contrast to the rest of the tree.

Bonsai were separated into two groups: shohaku (pine trees) and zoki (deciduous trees, which changed throughout the seasons). They varied in styles, such as single upright trunk; curved trunk; windswept or cascading branches; and even a group of bonsai grown together, like a mini forest.

After reading about all this in the museum’s galleries, I headed outside to the bonsai garden. Some were perfect, which was obviously impressive. But the decaying ones, with half-white trunks and branches half falling apart, commanded my undivided attention.

Like Rikugien Garden, the place felt like forest therapy. I never understood the solace one could find in nature, because I’d never been this anxious.

After the small museum, I walked around the village. Private houses with bonsai gardens were open to the public. Mansei-en was the oldest, established 170 years ago.

In fuyu-en house, I saw a young man lounging on a balcony overlooking the garden. He was tending to a young plant. Slowly and delicately, as if he had all the time in the world. No cares or pressing errands. He reminded me of the sunbathing monk from Koya-San. I wanted to be like them.

Kaede-dori road’s southern section was the most beautiful street I’d seen in Japan. Green everywhere. Silence. Attractive, modern houses. It was love at first sight, and an instant addition to my “places to live in Japan” list.

I popped by the cartoon museum, because it was free and literally right there. But it wasn’t worth in my opinion more than a glance.

Overall, I spent two hours in Saitama. A short trip that was worth every second.

Shimokitazawa

Rejuvenated, I returned to Shinjuku station. As I was deliberating what to do next, I checked my phone, and noticed that the Dutch girl was in Shimokitazawa – an area of Tokyo I’d intended to check out tomorrow.

I texted her and hopped on a train. Half an hour later, we were sat in Rainbow, a trendy café and bar.

Japanese residents of Tokyo referred to Shimokitazawa as Wakaimono-no-Machi (“town of young things”). It was the coolest little district, with vintage shops and a youthful vibe. Basically, the opposite of Saitama.

What great variety for today! I reveled in both places and what they offered. For lunch, I ate a three-cheese and omelet rice. Then, we scoured the vintage shops. She got a bunch of stuff, while I bought crazy cheap shorts for the summer.

At some point, I found out we’d both got off at the wrong station on our way here. Google Maps had misled us. Again, a wonderful app that was disappointingly unreliable in Japan. The best station would’ve been Shimokitazawa Station.

In the evening, we parted ways again. I hadn’t expected to hang out with her so many times on this trip, let alone two days in a row. But I couldn’t have been happier about it.

Shinjuku Ni-chome… Again

Back in Shinjuku, I hung out with a local guy, and then went out to ni-chome again. This being Friday night, the area was finally lively again.

My fourth night of clubbing this week went similarly to the first two. The same cycle of overcoming my shyness and losing myself in a dance. I tried to make conversation with strangers; it didn’t work. None of them wanted to be around me. Only a mixed-gender group, which I crashed into and danced with.

They complimented my moves, as a matter of fact. And we had a great time dancing together and taking videos. But I couldn’t shake off the feeling of rejection.

I watched a gogo-boy show for the first time, which was, um, interesting to say the least. A Japanese girl next to me couldn’t stop laughing with embarrassment. We chatted throughout the deafening songs and ran jokes. At least some people enjoyed my company.

Finally, I retreated back to my hotel. As I ambled alone in the quiet alleys of ni-chome in the dead of night, a poem came to me, quite long, which I wrote under the streetlights in a manner of minutes.

“Is this real life?” I wondered. “Can it really feel this high and low?”

Dancing in the club, I’d felt on top of the world. Facing multiple rejections in one night, my self-esteem had hit rock bottom.

It was uplifting and crushing, fantastic and nightmarish, all at the same time. I couldn’t believe I was experiencing all this. Nor was I sure whether to laugh or cry.

Life could be a rollercoaster, when you put yourself out there. At least it wasn’t dull.

Today’s highlights: miniature forest therapy in Omiya bonsai village (particularly the decaying trunks); the man on the balcony; Kaede-dori street; vintage shopping in a hip district; and going clubbing again, for all the good and bad it brought.

29 April – 1 May 2023

Things I haven’t documented yet include:

• Getting blocked by another local, like in Osaka
• Clubbing for another two nights in a row and feeling like a toy, like in Osaka
• The mummy from the picture and the boy who stared at it next to me
• My first couchsurfing experience, and my host-turned-new-friend almost having the same personality as me
• Discovering what my host described as the “dark side of Japan”