I got four amazing cookbooks as Christmas gifts this year, but the one I’d recommend to anyone with a nearby Japanese grocery store is Japanese Hot Pots, a book full of amazing nabe recipes. These nabe recipes aren’t just delicious, they’re also easy and functional – a one-pot meal that’s amazing right from the pot, then makes wonderful leftovers for the next few days.

With the sensible Japanese shortcut of dashi packets instead of an hour of boiling seaweed and fish flakes (as much a “cheat” as using canned chicken broth instead of boiling bones), you can toss together a “slow-cooked” Japanese stew in under 30 minutes. Perfect for these cold winter months!

(Flickr photo set: Tokyo)

My last day in Japan, I went shopping in Tokyo with Tomoko.

First, we made a stop on the Toyoko-sen in Jiyugaoka. It’s more-or-less the same as when I lived there; the Tsutaya has moved, and the station construction has finally finished, but nothing, really, has changed. There’s a Mickey Mouse on the railroad crossing, I suppose.

Lunch was at Dai Dai, my favorite ramen place in all the universe. Their tonkotsu broth is so thick and rich that it’s almost undrinkable. I always think, “This must be what vampires must feel like.”

Next up was Akihabara. I didn’t want to go, but Tomoko pressured me, claiming that Andrew coming to Japan and not visiting Akihabara “lacked meaning.” So we went.

While we were there, we visited maid cafe Pinafore. No photos of our maid Kurara were allowed, but pictures of the aijo wo komete cappuccinos were okay. Mine says “dream,” while Tomoko’s says “moe.”

I used to be proud to be a geek – I still am, to a degree. But I’ve come to realize that embracing what makes you different doesn’t mean you have to reject the rest of the world. Akihabara is horrifying and creepy, these days. It’s misogynist and disturbing and evil, but worst of all, it’s banal. Akihabara is telling the people who visit it that they’re right, the world is wrong, and here’s some gachapon and moe ero-ge to make the pain go away. An hour in Akihabara is more than enough to understand why the Japanese game industry is dying. You will want a shower.

The evening finished up with some shopping in Shibuya and Takeshita-dori in Harajuku. Tomoko, astoundingly, had never seen Hachiko. I know, right? Also: Pumpkin Crème Brûlée Crepes are delicious.

It was a wonderful trip to Japan, all told. Getting out of Tokyo was the best idea I’ve had in a while, and I’m already looking forward to the next trip. Okinawa, anyone?

(Flickr photo set: Design Festa, Teppanyaki)

Friday, I travelled from Beppu to Tokyo, which takes about seven hours by train. I met my friend Tomoko in Musashi-Kosugi for dinner and karaoke. I had not seen Tomoko for over five years, ever since I lived in Kiryu, and the tale of how we got back in touch is another story entirely.

Saturday, we woke up bright and late and schlepped over to Odaiba for Design Festa. This was my third time attending Design Festa, a biyearly “art jam,” held at Big Sight, with hundreds of artists hawking original art, prints, crafts, hopeful character goods, and performance
art.

The entire gallery is worth perusing, but here are a few highlights.

Tomoko and I found a white-canvas booth with a can of black paint and instructions to draw freely. We offered up this misshapen Cat/Octopus, and when we returned later that afternoon, we found our half-assed doodle had been expanded to surreal proportions.

Several artists encouraged visitors to dress up as something they normally wouldn’t, like a creepy baby or a panda luchadore.

Tomoko and I had our caricatures drawn. I look like a high school karate teacher.

Some artists were showing papercraft, woodcraft, even miniatures.

Upon seeing these space aliens, I declared my intention to visit outer space. Tomoko chastised me, declaring these aliens to be “only image girls” and nothing like the actual octopi awaiting me.

Dinner was upscale teppanyaki in Ginza. I ate Kobe beef for the first time. When our chef sliced off the fat I wanted to cry, but he was only setting it aside to grill later. Smart man. You don’t feed cows beer and massage them daily only to throw the juciest bits away.

(Flickr photo set: Beppu)

Beppu is known as the hot springs capital of Japan. It’s also known as the “Las Vegas of Japan.” I didn’t quite understand how both these things could be true. Hot springs are slow-paced and relaxing, while Las Vegas is fast and furious. How could one place be both?

Beppu, it turns out, is a rundown slice of inaka. There’s not much to the city except the hot springs. Which are glorious, really – much as Las Vegas isn’t anything outside of its strip, Beppu doesn’t have much to offer outside its hot springs. It’s a city that exists solely for tourists, and those parts are maintained to the detriment of all else.

I rode the old-fashioned Trans-Kyushu Express from Kumamoto to Beppu. The train stewardesses offer to take your picture while you hold a commemorative plate. You don’t have to ask twice! You know how much I love commemorating things!

Upon arrival in the city, visitors are assaulted by a statue of “the man called Shiny Uncle who loved children.” No further details are provided.

I went to Takegawara Onsen to get a sand bath. They bury you in hot sand up to your neck for about fifteen minutes, at which point you can shower and relax in a traditional onsen.

Steam is everywhere in Beppu, coming out of grates and towers and pipes. The steam is warm and always moving and the city feels alive.

I stayed at an inexpensive minshuku with only nine rooms. It was nice enough, but as expected, somewhat old and thin, thin walls. My choices were that or overbuilt “ryokan” of 300+ rooms. I think I chose the lesser of two evils; certainly, the less expensive.

The minshuku delivered where it counts, though: the onsen and the food. There were separate baths for both men and women, as well as an rotenburo, or open-air bath.

Dinner was traditional kaiseki, along with seki saba, a special form of mackerel indigenous to the Beppu region. Despite, or perhaps because of, its fishy taste, saba is my favorite sashimi. I really wanted to try it, and the minshuku generously offered to prepare it for me. In any case, well, er…

When special ordering food, you shouldn’t just ask, “How much does it cost?” You should also ask, “How many servings is it?”

This could turn out to be important.

(Flickr photo sets: Kumamoto, Takachiho-kyo, Suizenji Kouen)

The staging ground for all my driving was Kumamoto, Japan. For some reason, I was expecting a sleepy rural town of a few hundred thousand – maybe it’s because the city has “bear” in the name, suggesting overgrown forests and salmon-filled mountain streams. Turns out, the Kumamoto area actually has about 1.4 million people, making it the second-largest city in Kyushu after Fukuoka.

While in Kumamoto, I was sure to try the regional specialty: basashi, or raw horse sashimi. Kumamoto is famous for its basashi; during the Satsuma Rebellion, Kumamoto Castle was under siege for 53 days. Their storerooms destroyed, the citizens turned to the horses – reluctantly at first, I’m sure, but soon with increased relish (garlic and onions, presumably).

Much to my surprise, basashi is extremely tender and delicious. The pink pieces are well-marbled meat, while the white pieces are fat cut from the neck. Kyushu is known for its delicious food, and Kumamoto in particular seemed to have a strong foodie culture. Tourism advertising focuses on how great all the restaurants are, and the “Food Walker” magazine helps visitors (and residents) find that perfect meal.

I visited Takachiho-kyo, a gorge near Ama-no-Iwato with an extremely picturesque view.

I finished the Kumamoto-based portion of my trip with a journey to Suizenji Kouen, one of Japan’s three most beautiful parks. The park is laid out according to the 53 stops of the ancient Tokaido road, and even includes a miniature Mt. Fuji.

(Flickr photo set: Takachiho-no-mine)

Tuesday is when my vacation really went off-grid. Before leaving the U.S., I had procured an international drivers’ license, so I rented a car and set off in search of where the trains don’t go. First up: Takachiho-no-mine.

Takachiho-no-mine is a mountain located in Kirishima National Park, a volcanic mountain range on the southern tip of Kyushu. It’s about a two-and-a-half hour scenic drive from Kumamoto. The Kyushu Expressway itself is winding and scenic, and the route includes a series of 22 tunnels connected end-to-end.

Japanese mythology holds that the summit of Takachiho-no-mine is where Ninigi-no-Mikoto, grandson of the sun goddess Amaterasu, descended to Earth to found the line of Japanese emperors. The spot is marked by a spear – the same spear that was dipped into the ocean to create the islands of Japan.

The first thing I noticed about Takachiho-no-mine was how quiet it is. It’s the quietest place I’ve ever been on Earth, outside of an anechoic chamber. I could hear conversations from 300 feet away, and if I removed my in-ear earbuds, the music was clear and easily distinguishable, even held at arms’ length. After the first fifteen minutes, I decided to climb in silence.

Eventually, however, the woods abruptly stop, and you find yourself climbing on loose volcanic rock.

The climb itself is empty and beautiful, though steep and precarious. I fell a few times. I was smart enough to buy a walking stick, but not enough to wear gloves. Always wear gloves! Otherwise, you’ll find yourself having to choose between falling off a mountain and scraping your hands with raw pumice. And nobody wants to fall off a mountain.

The skies were brilliantly clear the day I climbed. I could easily see Sakurajima, an active volcano. They say on a really clear day, you can see Korea, but I’m not so sure.

There really is a spear at the top.

Plus an amazing view.

I had to hurry back to get down dark. Another lesson learned – no matter what time you set out, bring a headlamp!

I hadn’t eaten since breakfast; I had thought I’d eat lunch at Takachiho-no-mine, but there was no food there, not even omiyage. I’d climbed a mountain and back on two cups of MisuDo Café au Lait and a bitter choco angel. (“Delicious snack?” asks Joe, “Or Evangelion character?”) It was an hour drive from Takachiho-no-mine to the nearest “convenience store” – a nameless mom-and-pop operation at in the middle of Nowhere-At-All. Still, the best karaage I will ever eat in my life.

(Flickr photo sets: Nagasaki)

Nagasaki was the secondary target.

The primary target was Kokura, now the city of Kitakyushu, but excessive cloud cover and smoke from conventional firebombing meant no visual confirmation of the target. So, Nagasaki. I had heard that before, but had forgotten it almost immediately. The bomb was dropped on Nagasaki, so there didn’t seem much point in playing “what if?” Having visited Nagasaki, the point seems rather less academic.

I’ve been to Hiroshima and Nagasaki both, now. Hiroshima is one of the most beautiful cities in Japan. They said that nothing would grow where the bomb had been dropped for hundreds of years, but 60 years later, both cities are verdant and lovely as can be. Nagasaki in particular is a city of broad thoroughfares and omnipresent street cars. And when it comes to the bomb, I think it’s Nagasaki that has the better iconography.

This is Nagasaki Peace Park. The center of the park is a huge fountain meant to evoke the wings of a dove. The plaque in front of the fountain is heartbreaking:

I was so, so thirsty.
There was something like oil floating on top of the water.
I still wanted water, and I drank it like that, with the oil floating on top.
- From a girl who was there that day

Visitors can make an offering of water to flowers nearby.

The central statue is packed with resonant iconography. There are cranes, of course. Thousands and thousands of cranes.

The park itself is host to over two dozen statues, gifts of peace from countries around the world.

No less impressive is the hypocenter itself – the place where the bomb fell. The foreboding black monolith, the radial concrete steps, the trees and grass and flowers – it’s impossible not to know what happened here.

(Flickr photo set: Fukuoka)

Jet lag can be tough. It’s hard to wake up while the stores are still closed and the sun is still low in the sky. But it’s not all bad. You get to laugh at the hosts saying their farewells after a hard night’s work, and first pick at Mister Donut.

Saturday was for shopping. I headed over to Fukuoka’s Tenjin district and proceeded to tear my way through a half-dozen department stores. My first target was a pair of frames for prescription sunglasses (Christian has an excellent post on why you should buy all your glasses in Japan). Next, clothes; after losing a severe amount of weight this year, I can wear a Japanese XL – half the time, at least, and if the store even carries a size that large. Still.

Lunch was at Ichiran, Kyushu’s premiere stop for Hakata ramen. Hakata ramen is made from a base of pork bone, not miso or soy sauce, giving it a rich and thicker taste. Ichiran elevates the eating of Hakata ramen to a quasi-religious rite, seating customers in a secluded booth, partitioned on both sides and with a curtain in front. Nothing, it seems, should be allowed to interfere with a good bowl of ramen. The empty bowl reads, “This Ichiran is the greatest happiness.”

After lunch, more shopping; Fukuoka’s famed Canal City is a store of stores; a river runs through the various buildings.

I was slightly apprehensive about doing my shopping in Fukuoka, but – as Christian predicted – Fukuoka has everything Tokyo does, only all in one place. What Tokyo spreads out over hill and concrete dale, Fukuoka stuffs into a few capitalist Kyushu blocks.

(Flickr photo set: Tokyo and Fukuoka)

I love Japan. I really do! I lived there for almost five years and it was a pretty good time. But my last trip to Japan was somewhat discouraging. I went to Tokyo, I went to Osaka, I went to Kyoto. Outisde of catching up with friends, it felt like I was re-enacting blog posts from 2004. I went to the same shops, the same restaurants, the same tourist spots. I’ve been to Kiyomizu-dera five times. I’ve never lived in Osaka but I somehow have a regular coffee shop. It felt like I was falling out of love with Japan, and that was scary.

Which is why this time I decided to ignore the Japan I know and to go to somewhere new: Kyushu. Six hours south of Tokyo by shinkansen, Kyushu is known for its verdant nature and delicious food. Okay, sure.

I arrived in Tokyo the afternoon of Friday, October 16. I had a nice yakiniku dinner in Shibuya with the gang from 8-4, then crashed at Super Hotel for a few hours before waking up bright and early and jet-lagged Saturday morning.

The foreigner-friendly JR Rail Pass precludes a direct train, so my shinkansen required a transfer in Osaka. Not a problem, though; an extended layover in Shin-Osaka station meant a chance for lunch and dessert with my friend Brian. Brian is the coolest foreigner in the entire Kansai region.

After arriving in Fukuoka, I hacked the key-slot to keep the A/C running and set out in search of yatai. Yatai are small street stalls known for their hot and delicious food, like Hakata ramen. The river was all done up in lights. As near as I can tell, it’s like that every night.

Fukuoka is one of Japan’s fastest growing cities, and certainly one of its most liveable. It has a port, an airport, good train connectivity, crisp sea air and mountains of real greenery. It’s also small enough that the city center makes sense and can be navigated on foot. I think I’m too old these days to move back to Tokyo, but I could certainly see myself enjoying life in Fukuoka.

I love time loops and I hate The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya. Correction: I’m indifferent towards the Haruhi anime; it’s the fans I hate. So this summer’s Endless Eight arc has been like Christmas every day. Some background:

The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya is about a high school girl, Haruhi Suzumiya, and her high school club, the S.O.S. Brigade. Except not really; Haruhi, unbeknownst to her, is a Godlike-being with the power to recreate the universe on a whim, and the other club members are actually robots/time travelers/Espers/dimension shifters sent to this point in time to study and/or placate her. If this sounds like an interesting set-up, you’re mistaken; what should be It’s a Good Life: The High School Years just turns into so much unflavored moe. The anime is based on a series of light novels, giving fans a convenient list of things to complain got left out.

Endless Eight is a 30-page short story about a two-week time loop at the end of August, right before school starts. Haruhi, you see, doesn’t want summer vacation to end – she’d rather enjoy the Obon festival, go to the beach, visit hot spring, etc. – anything with a costume change, basically. And because Haruhi gets what she wants, the S.O.S. Brigade has endured these two weeks over 15,000 times – almost 600 years. The key to breaking this loop turns out to be one of the characters finally doing his homework. But until he learns to hit the books? (Bell)

The first episode of the Endless Eight arc was a straightforward adaptation of the short story. Everyone has fun in the sun, a few characters are suspicious this might have happened before, nothing is resolved, and Kyon fails to do his homework. It’s not until the next episode that things start to go awry.

It’s the exact same episode as last week. The same script, the same characters, the same scenes, the same ending. Nobody learns anything new. No one is any closer to uncovering the secret of how to break out of this time loop. It’s just last week … this week.

Except – and this is the greatest “except” in the history of both anime and time loop fiction – it’s not. The script has been re-envisioned by a new director. The characters have been redesigned with new outfits. The show has been reanimated from scratch. Even the voice actors have rerecorded all their lines. By another way of thinking, it’s a completely new episode — albeit, one with absolutely no new content.

Episode three does the same thing. So does episode four. Fans, amused at first, have turned sour. They were looking forward to seeing the The Disappearance of Haruhi Suzumiya arc animated, and at the rate KyoAni is burning through episodes, that’s never going to happen.

Five, six, seven, eight.

After two months, it ends. A once-thriving fanbase has been reduced to ashes and tears. Most have long since declared the series anathema; the few that toughed it out are filled with self-loathing at their capacity for abuse. Nobody knows why Endless Eight continued as long as it did. Intentional sabotage from within? An producer with an unchecked artistic bent? A misjudged thought experiment? Tens of millions of yen and thousands of man hours were spent … on what, exactly? It’s over, now, but nobody knows for sure.

Endless Eight is beautiful.

My first curry review went up at Americurry. Comments are welcome; preferably over there. I’ll be at Go! Go! tomorrow in New York City and will try to get a glamour shot of the staff with the site logo.

Oh, also, uh, if anyone lives in New York City: HI! Can I crash at your place.