On The Road - Day Two - Kobe The "Meh" City

It was 4am and somebody was standing over my head. The first inclination is to spring upwards and hurl whatever possible violator into the closest wall where closer inspection could yield to pummeling or apologies. An Andre without coffee is a tame adversary, however, and I just sleepily opened one eye, made out the form of a child in the sleep haze and told Luke’s son to either make me a cup of Maxwell House of find another room in which to play. He chose option #2 and I went back to pleasant unconsciousness for another three hours. There was no breakfast this morning awaiting us as Luke’s wife had to work early that morning. There was a cup of coffee ready and another day of travel after we dropped Luke’s son off at school. Today, for most kids, is the first day of school and whereas in Canada the last day is a big deal (and, really, not even when you consider graduation ceremonies are held a month or so later) in Japan the first of a new term or school year day, for the higher grades, is a pretty festive occasion…well, for the parents anyway. The kids are decked out in their best uniform, pins on the lapel and the younger lot in matching hats (usually blue and yellow for the boys and pink for the girls). The parents dress up as if they were going to a wedding and at the gate of the schoolyard there are wreaths of flowers or banners where parents and cheerless kids pose for ample amounts of photos. The kids are unimpressed by all the pomp and circumstance but the parents really get into the moment with bright smiles and colorful gowns and neatly pressed suits. Even the grandparents, aunts and uncles make the trip to school with the kids who, I’m sure, are anxiously awaiting, for a chance, actually entering the classroom where the can escape the flashbulbs and ogling family members. It is one thing to have your mom walk you to school when you are fifteen years of age and it is another to have your father, grandma, Aunt Yukima, Uncle Ryota, their dog Tiyomi, the mail man and that strange bearded man from the shadows of the train station escorting you. Those younger kids like Luke’s son get off lightly as they are just dragged and drop like files on a computer into the schoolyard. The older kids look upon there colored hat wearing days with fondness as they are asked to smile for the 17th shot, I’m sure.

Okay, so here is my proclamation to be made throughout the land of the blog…err…online journal. It is in print. Concrete because the internet never lies and here for all of you to hold me accountable to. Ready, because it is a big one: From this day forward not a single McDonald’s product shall enter my body on foreign soil and, willpower don’t fail me now, a earnest attempt shall be made to carry this vow back home next year. There I was again in the clutches of those gloved hands of Ronald (Donald over here due to the Japanese having issues with the pronunciation of the letter R. Don’t think that’ll stop the big M from using the redheaded pimp to push out the buggers and nuggets. Remove R and supplement D and the advertising continues without a hitch) drinking down bad coffee and actually enjoying a McGriddle, one of the most vile “food”, and I use the term because I am really trying to make this journal “daughter-friendly” and I don’t think the term “soft sugary ass meat” would be appropriate under that criteria. When was the last time I’d had one of those things, anyway? Man, it would have to be back in Vancouver when they first rolled them out. Sausage and egg between two pancakes dipped in syrup and fried to perfection, logo branded and ready to clog the arteries. I thought I had given this shit, ummm, daughter friendly, I thought I had given this poo-poo up for a healthier diet. Okay, so my flirtations with vegetarianism nearly landed me in emergency what with not replacing the meat with proper nutrient supplements but for a good time there it was all organics and even when the meat and I made up I was cooking tasty and healthy poultry dishes. I had seen Super Size Me, read Fast Food Nation and heard about the McLible case. Where did things go astray? I suppose the starting point would be a move to the apartment in such closeness to a McDonalds that I smelled the tempting garbage each day the moment I stepped out the lobby door. Somewhere deep down in my core is a place that yearns for such fast food diets…the kid who grew up on weekly visits and birthday parties and collecting toy promotions along with an addiction. The smell from the place just grabs you, forces itself inside you and penetrates that place where the inner child still resides and then proceeds to rape that child with inaccurate representations. When I moved into the new place back in Ottawa I’d often, and by often I mean once or twice a month, find myself carting home a greasy bag of fecal matter (that’s kid friendly, right?) home with me after work being too shagged out to want to cook anything, or so I’d tell myself, when really I was just following the whims of the arches hold on me. I’d always loath myself after the final fry was consumed and say that it was the last time but sure enough I’d be back there sometimes the next night ordering a double Big Mac and removing another few days from the duration of my existence. Coming here it was just easier to forego all the theatrics of ordering food from normal restaurants and just make a direct line for the arches where a Cheeseburger is always a Cheeseburger. But now more. That is it. The End. Fin. Adios! McDonalds Japan and I are no more. We are Splitsville! In this separation the restaurant gets to keep all the burgers, fries and McNuggets and I get to keep my health. I feel this is an adequate settlement. (As a side note ice cream had just been introduced to Japanese McDonald’s chains and with it comes the extreme temptation of Oreo cookie McFlurry. If they break out the Caramilk Oreo McFlurry I may have to chain myself to the gas stove)

Something that vaguely resembled music filled the air as Luke and I walked through the station. I will make the point here of mentioning that Japan is a loud country. I’ve mentioned the singing garbage trucks, talking vending machines and chimes at train platforms but I have left out two of the most irritating audio traits found here in this noisy land: a) It is election time here which would mean signs on lawns, on street corners and, well, any damn (darn…darn) place you can find to place a sign advertising your campaign. There would be commercial spots on the television, radio and ads in papers and a televised debate or two. Here you get trucks and megaphones. These micro-Japanese-Matchbox-Trucks wheel around the streets with representatives from political parties trumpeting promises and other related information needed to secure votes and they do this over loud megaphones attached to the trucks. This would be an annoyance at any hour but when it takes place at 8am I am about ready to chuck the nearest thing at the truck as it passes my invaded apartment. The nearest thing would be my heater, however, so it is probably best that I have some control over my outbursts. Christ, I already deal with the crosswalk and garbage trucks…this is too much; and b) you have these walkways and arcades that play musak renditions of popular western songs…popular in the 1940s and the 1980s as three decades in between seem to be extremely underutilized. Calling this stuff musak is a compliment to musak as really this stuff is about the same as a twelve year old playing Cyndi Lauper’s Time After Time on a $50 Casio Keyboard. Actually, it is worse. It is like a 5 year old playing Cyndi Lauper’s Time After Time on a $10 dollar Smurf Keyboard. If this appeals to anybody here I’d like to know because I got no indication that the Japanese are ga-ga for this stuff and I think the general consensus is that they hate it just as much as I do. Let us individuals provide the soundtracks to our lives or at least attempt to acquire the musak rights to something from Depeche Mode. I hear Nodisco is going really, really cheap.

On the way to the station Luke and I had our first sighting of Creepy Mormon Guy. Creepy Mormon Guy was spotted walking about an empty playground in a Mr. Rogers red sweater and paisley tie. His hair was cropped military short and I get the feeling he had perfect cuticles. Luke said that people like this are recruited to preach to the English foreigners in areas where they are mostly situated. The Mormon community is a small one in Japan but present. You probably don’t want to call this tall, lanky blonde dude in the sweater and slacks lecherously slithering about a swing set the best foot you could possibly put forward to tout the Mormon religion. Thankfully he was far too engrossed by the craftsmanship of the playground jungle gym to notice Luke and I passing by as surly we’d be sporting giant bulls-eyes on our back for his crazy Joseph Smith golden plated propaganda. I wonder if the Japanese have to endure the Church of Latter Day Saints commercials in the middle of their cartoons like I did on Saturday Mornings. Listen, Mr. Smith, I hear you but please take your Moroni, your plates, your Book of Mormon: An account written by the hand of Mormon, upon plates taken from the Plates of Nephi (man, at least The Bible cut to the easier to advertise chase!) out of my face so I can get back to seeing if Leonardo can escape the trap set by the Rat King. We’d see crazy Mormon guy again the next day strolling merrily by, his spiffy outfit now complimented…no, wait, no insulted bya dark sunglasses. He looked like he was auditioning for a part in the Mormon Matrix. Again he’d miss his opportunity at a conversion attempt and he simply passed us by. If he makes commission on foreigners as I suspect those Tenrikyo dudes do he is missing out on prime acquisitions in this Aussi and Canuck. We left the musak and Mormons behind us when we boarded the train and headed off to meet Mog and his new expensive camera in the city of Kobe.






The port city of Kobe with it’s population of 1.5 million is the capital of the Hyogo Prefecture. Kobe is kind of bland when compared to the historical beauty of nearing Kyoto and the metropolis of Osaka. The city once had the distinction of being the capital of Japan but that accolade seems to get passed around quite a bit as the centuries roll on. In the early 13th century trade routes opened up with China. Such inter-country trade relations would shut down when Japan entered into the country’s period of Sakoku. This was a time (1641-1853) when the country was locked off from any foreign relations and no outside influences were permitted within Japan except for one Dutch factory in Nagasaki. Although brief exchanges were still permitted between Japan and China these no longer took place at the port of Kobe and would also have to go through Nagasaki. When this era ended and Japan once again opened up it’s borders the port of Kobe became the first major trade route and continues to be so today. There is a strong western influence here as one just need to look at the harbor skyline and surrounding architecture that take you out of the small Japanese towns. There are very few Japanese style buildings, no tourists seeking out major temples and very little of those small Japanese dining hubs I so enjoy. Here, in there place, you find a city trying to become a New York or Toronto with towering glass constructs, cement parks and varied world cuisine. Kobe is more a city for Japanese tourism as people from surrounding areas come here to taste the world in the cafes, shop in the trendy malls and arcades and tour Western neighborhoods like Kitano. The city is still quite young having only been given a government ordinance in 1956. 8,841 people were killed in March, 1945 when American B-29 bombers bombarded Kobe turning the city into a mass of fires and destruction. Over 650,000 homes were lost to the bombs in the first raid and another 4.4 square miles of the city was taken out by another bombing that took place later that summer. This tumultuous time period for Kobe is portrayed in the animated film Grave of Fireflies and is required viewing for anybody wanting to see an accurate account of what Kobe went through during the war. Kobe, much like the rest of Japan, would rebuild and transform into the modern city lining the waterside with such landmarks as the Port Tower and the Kobe Maritime Museum. The tower, is the centerpiece of the skyline and stands 108 meters highs in Meriken Park. Adjacent the Maritime Museum houses exhibits about ships and the history of the port. In 1975 the citizens of Kobe pressured the city to ban the import of nuclear weapons into the harbor which served to prevent any U.S. war vessels from docking thus creating the term “Kobe Formula”. The port had been a much used docking point for such warships and the passing of the law effectively removed the American presence. This gave places like Okinawa hope that such community efforts could remove the multitude of American bases still on the island although, thus far, all attempts to lobby congress have failed. Two man-made islands , Port and Rokko, expanded the port area and Kobe continues to grow and persevere through recent tragedy.





All around the city you find the various brick-a-brack that give cities like this one a uniqueness and individuality.



On January 17, 1995 at 5:46 a.m., while most were just arising to begin their day, the Great Hanshin Earthquake struck. Although lasting only 20 seconds the quake, registering at 7.3 on the Richter scale, caused unprecedented damage and took the lives of over 6,400 people. The damage costs would be astronomically high, somewhere in the area of ten trillion yen, and it is called the “costliest natural disaster to befall any one country" by the Guinness Book of Records. The collapse of the Hanshin Expressway was something that struck fear in many of the Japanese as they believed their highways and rail networks (also severely damaged) were quite safe as they were designed to withstand such events. The quake had also struck without warning, undedected by the systems implemented to track and predict quakes like this one. As a result many of the Japanese became very critical of these systems and on the way their built roads and buildings to hold up. Fingers were pointed at a slow acting government that refused aid from other countries that were offering it. Over a million volunteers helped with local stores using stock to help serve the areas hardest hit and local phone services providing free services to those affected. In the wake of the city has seen a decline in port usage and although it is still an import hub for international relations Kobe has not returned to it’s glory days.
Remnants of the damage have been left in tact as a reminder of just how powerful the quake was. Here by the harbor you find pieces of the expressway that plummeted into the water and earth below. These pieces of cement were torn in halves as though they were Kit-Kat bars. Other cracks can be seen in pillars.



In a small park under near the expressway you can find two small monuments dedicated to those who lost their lives in the tragedy. One is a wall of children’s hands and the other is a fountain which you can walk under through hallways lined with the names of those who died. Room has been left for those still in comas or paralyzed in some form of fashion by the quake.


The monuments sit in the shadows of this large building that seems out of place in the surrounding parkland and sort of resembles an extended middle finger.


After some quite contemplation on the fury of nature and Mog trying out is new camera on the architectural surroundings we made our way under now graying skies to the Ikuta Shrine, a Shinto site built in the third century by Empress Jingu. It served as a gathering point for soldiers returning back from invasion attempts of Korea. The shrine now serves as a stage of sorts for Ebira and Ikuta Atsumori, two Noh plays which recount the war.

On a street corner near the shrine we found an import store which is, well, a store that imports various Western goods and it was quite a site to see things like Dr. Pepper, Skippy Peanut Butter and Ego Waffles lining a shelf in a Japanese store. So far, this place was the highlight of Kobe as we spent around ten minutes looking over the merchandise and thinking of home. Mog snagged himself some taco kits and I drunk down a Dr. Pepper before we walked into the Western designed neighborhood of Kitano.



My Lonely Planet guide says that this area holds more appeal to the Japanese then to us tourist types as the very European architecture takes you out of the Japanese setting and into pleasant walks through the streets of London or France. There really wasn’t much here to look at outside of a few Victorian lodgings that were not as interesting as the pamphlets at the tour office tried to make them out to be. To give the place some extra flavor it looked like the Kitano cafes and restaurants hired tourists and foreigners. A French man, or a guy really laying on a Parisian accent, was handing out menus in front of a French restaurant. He was shocked by my reply of thanks in his native tongue and it is a good thing our conversation only lasted 45 seconds who he might have witnessed what Ms. Manson couldn’t drill into me.





The statues of jazz musicians around this area were nice if not a bit unnecessary.




The weather swings modes here as if it were bi-Polar and the sun turned to rain so we hurried to the sanctuary of Tunnel Town, an area in Kobe of shops of all sorts located in the winding tunnels under the roadways. We didn’t stop for any shopping but if we did I am sure one of these places would have a Mogwai in a basket singing in a corner. I almost lost my city wandering companions who were less inclined to take photographs of everything around them but I saw a few signs that I just had to photograph for Megs. Mother Moon Café and across from this Pot Tea…man, it is like you and Teo designed this walkway! The Engwish sign was also good for a snicker before racing off to find Luke and Mog standing in front of the most colorful building I’d seen since arriving here.




Mog wanted to test the hi-def capabilities of his camera on it. The yellow and the blue and the red all melded nicely together in my own frame and the place had a nice French feel to it. Next door we had lunch and I was able to retaste some of that grilled pancake dish I’d had in training only this time I had it topped with bacon. It made for a filling meal to end our day in what, over all, was a middle ground kind of city. Not spectacular but not a total disappointment just a “meh” if I were to give a one syllable review.





Luke and I parted ways with Mog and I dozed on the train back to Kakogawa. We stopped at the local shrine on the way to pick up his son from school and I found myself officially tiring of photographing these very similar sites and I think from now on, unless they are something really historical or spectacular in another way I am just going to pass them by as I would a church back home. I did enjoy the contrast of the playground next door though which gave me this wonderful images of shrine and swings.

Luke’s wife had asked him to pick up some rice for supper and while we were at the grocery store I was reunited with a lover I thought I’d never see again. CHOCOLATE PILLOWS! I had to quell my aisle orgasm. I’d not had this treat since the hotel and believe me I have been searching. I purchased two bags but it was hard to resist clearing this place out. I informed Luke of my joy and hired him instantly as my Chocolate Pillow dealer offering to send him money, booze, women…whatever it takes to get him to ship me off bags of this goodness monthly. That night before bed the sound of munching could be heard under the cover and I turned towards slumber with chocolate stained lips.