Sean had never been to Japan, so in a way I felt able to see it all for the first time again, vicariously recapturing some of the experiences and feelings I had back in 2008 when I first set foot there. I planned for us to go directly from Fukuoka to Nagasaki, from Nagasaki to Saga, and then return to Fukuoka for the last days of our trip. Though I had been to both Fukuoka and Nagasaki before, it sometimes felt like an entirely new experience and at other times was tinged with nostalgia and stark recollections.
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| Hypocentre |
After grabbing some of Nagasaki's specialty dish, Champon (ちゃんぽん), a hearty noodle dish made with seafood and vegetables in a rich broth, we departed for the city of Saga, where I had never been before.
I'd booked us a night in Saga essentially because I found a capsule hotel there with some spots left available. I figured that Sean, a technology buff with an eye on the future, would be interested in staying in such a place, where rather than a room each person is given their own pod, or capsule, just big enough to sleep comfortably in and complete with your own television, air conditioner, alarm clock, etc. Most capsule hotels cater only to men, and there's usually a sauna included in the building for guests, though I didn't guess at the time that our night in Saga would go in directions that would leave us with no time for relaxing at the hotel whatsoever.
That night was when Sean wanted to have his sushi dinner. I mean, really good sushi. He was ready to throw down a substantial sum of money to have his true Japanese sushi experience done right. I got directions from the hotel front desk and after some more inquiring on the streets we were at last pointed to the right place: a small sushi-ya, just the kind I was looking for, with the chef front and center and a counter with some seating around him for the diners. Here you can request what kind of sushi you want directly to the chef and he will bring it over to you himself once it's prepared.
So we had our excellent sushi dinner, including the best unagi (eel) I've had. During that time I got to talking to an older couple eating nearby. They were from Sapporo and travelling through Kyushu as well. Before they left, they ordered glasses of beer for Sean and I and then rose to leave. We thanked them very much and I bid them goodnight, to which the old man replied, somewhat cryptically, "Oh, I'm not going to sleep!" and went out the door.
That night was when Sean wanted to have his sushi dinner. I mean, really good sushi. He was ready to throw down a substantial sum of money to have his true Japanese sushi experience done right. I got directions from the hotel front desk and after some more inquiring on the streets we were at last pointed to the right place: a small sushi-ya, just the kind I was looking for, with the chef front and center and a counter with some seating around him for the diners. Here you can request what kind of sushi you want directly to the chef and he will bring it over to you himself once it's prepared.
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| Sean with his favorite, unagi. |
What was that about? I wondered. We were soon to find out. After we paid our bill (actually Sean footed the whole thing, being the gentleman he is), the staff chuckled to each other and told us that the old man wanted to meet us. One of the servers tried to give me instructions but I couldn't follow them, knowing nothing about the area and my ear having grown rusty. At last a kimono-clad waitress joined us and led us down the street. She brought us to the narrow entrance of a bar and bid us enter. Inside the moodily lit establishment waited the old couple, the man giving us a big smile when we arrived.
"Drink whatever you want," he told us. "Whisky, beer, shochu, it's all on me."
"What? Really?" I said. "Thank you so much, but it's so expensive, you don't need to do th--"
"Drink whatever you want," he told us. "Whisky, beer, shochu, it's all on me."
"What? Really?" I said. "Thank you so much, but it's so expensive, you don't need to do th--"
"No, no, no," he laughed. "Don't worry about it. Have whatever you want." He leaned in closer to me. "I have lots of money." Moments later Sean and I both had a whisky on the rocks in hand (the first of . . . well, who was keeping count?) and Sean had a karaoke mike in the other. There were several other patrons in the small bar, and we sipped whisky and sang the Beatles with them.
The old man seemed to have a grand time watching and listening. At length he held out two closed fists to both of us and told us each to pick one. We did, and in each, to our shock, was half of a 10,000 yen bill (about $100). "Present," he said, and insisted we pocket the halves, waving away our refusals.
Eventually the couple decided to go home. We walked them out to their taxi and saw them off, more than a little buzzed, then stood on the street wondering where to go next. Our wondering didn't last long, as a few seconds later we stopped a young man on his bike to ask if he knew of any good bars. "I'm on my way to a club," he said, "but . . . I'll take you to a place and come by later when I'm finished there."
The old man seemed to have a grand time watching and listening. At length he held out two closed fists to both of us and told us each to pick one. We did, and in each, to our shock, was half of a 10,000 yen bill (about $100). "Present," he said, and insisted we pocket the halves, waving away our refusals.
Eventually the couple decided to go home. We walked them out to their taxi and saw them off, more than a little buzzed, then stood on the street wondering where to go next. Our wondering didn't last long, as a few seconds later we stopped a young man on his bike to ask if he knew of any good bars. "I'm on my way to a club," he said, "but . . . I'll take you to a place and come by later when I'm finished there."
True to his word he took us to a hip looking bar where a young man and woman were working behind the counter, serving a few other patrons. We ordered some drinks, and soon the man on the bike came back from the club with a friend and we ordered some more. And then more. Then at some point Sean was allowed to come behind the counter and run the music. Then at another point the bartender told me he was giving us a nomihodai, or "drinking party," for 3000 yen, which meant that no matter what we drank we wouldn't have to pay more than that. I think we'd already topped that amount long before. There's some fuzzy, gray time in there, but eventually we stumbled back to our capsule hotel, where I lay down and passed out into a dark and dreamless sleep.
Something woke me up, though I don't know what. I crawled forward, mouth dry, and raised the curtain at the front of my capsule. What time had we gotten back that night, or better yet, that morning? The halls were empty and quiet, and as I scanned I saw that all the capsules were now vacant. I kneeled down next to Sean's and raised the curtain. He wasn't there.
There were voices around the corner and a few cleaning staff ladies came into view. "Uh, excuse me," I said, bleary eyed, flushed, and hair an utter mess. "When is check out time?"
"Oh, um, ten o'clock," one lady answered.
We all looked at our watches at the same time. 10 o'clock on the dime. Where the hell is Sean??
"Er, thanks," I said, and dove back into my capsule, hurriedly gathered up the things I had scattered about in there, then beelined for the lockers where we kept our bags. As I opened my locker, Sean suddenly came around the corner, wide eyed and frazzled looking. "Where were you?" I asked.
"I . . . I don't know. I woke up over there." He pointed toward the opposite end of the dorm area. "I was in the wrong capsule."
"How did that happen? You went to sleep in the right one."
He had no idea.
We retrieved our bags and left the hotel. We went straight to the station and boarded the first train to Hakata (Fukuoka). Sean still doesn't know how he wound up in a different capsule than where he went to sleep and I don't think we ever will for sure.
Back in Fukuoka we made it to Khaosan Backpackers, dropped off our things, and went out to explore. We went to the massive and eternally difficult-to-navigate Canal City Mall, which I remember wandering through years ago (it never gets easier to find what you're looking for there). We caught part of a live show by the Fukuoka-based indi group Velvet Peach Seven at the free outdoor entertainment area in the center of the mall, headed by its extremely talented songwriter, Pantene Nakajima, on drums and vocals.
One of my favorite moments of the trip came that evening when we were able to meet up with my old friend and co-worker, Chihiro, together with her boyfriend. Chihiro and I worked together in Shizuoka during my years there. Fukuoka is her hometown, however, and after finishing with the company she moved back to become a public school teacher. I hadn't seen her since I left Japan nearly two and a half years ago so we had a great reunion that evening and got caught up on each other's lives. Her boyfriend is a great guy and the four of us went out to an Izakaya for motsunabe (もつ鍋), a type of organ meat stew that originated in Fukuoka, followed by some secondary dinner in the form of spicy ramen. Hopefully those two will be coming over to Korea for a visit in the near future.
The following day we went out to the town of Dazaifu by train to visit Dazaifu Tenmangu shrine. The shrine is built over the grave of the scholar Sugawara Michizane, to whose spirit all Tenmangu shrines are dedicated, making it the most famous Tenmangu shrine in Japan. Michizane's deified form is Tenjin, the kami of education in the Shinto faith, so parents and students flock to the shrine each year to pray for assistance in getting good grades. When I originally visited Fukuoka it was early in the new year and there'd been an enormous line of students waiting to pray in front of the shrine's main hall.
We made sure to grab some umegae-mochi before we left, a warm, baked rice cake filled with the sweet red bean paste called anko. This is a specialty sweet of Dazaifu, and according to one of the women where we purchased it, that particular shop had stood there for about one hundred and fifty years.
When we returned to the city and our hostel we noticed an announcement for a Korean food party taking place in the common area that night, and later we would go to it, and meet many of the other travellers, but we wouldn't eat much. You see, before settling in for our last evening we had one more plan in mind: we both wanted sushi once more, and this time it would be a blowout. We each still had a half of the 10,000 yen bill in our pockets from the old man in Saga, who Sean had taken to referring to as his Japanese Grandpa when he came up in conversation.
With the assistance of one of Khaosan hostel's staff, we taped the bill back together as best possible and and found a kaiten-zushi place, in which sushi goes round in front of the seated customers on a conveyer belt, with a chef or chefs in the middle of the floor to make particular sushi on request. The color of the plate the sushi is sitting on denotes the prices. These places usually have a nice balance of quality and affordability (and certainly quantity). We decided that money was no object for this last meal and went at it.
Most people will go to a kaiten-zushi and eat a moderate amount of sushi, not stuffing themselves, and the same rule goes for any other meal as well. In fact, there's an expression in Japanese, hara hachi bu, which means "eat (only) until 80% full." We, however, were there to show no such good judgment.
"What's that thing you say before eating?" Sean asked before we dug in. "I receive . . . ?"
"Itadakimasu."
"Right. Itadakimasu. Thanks, Grandpa."
By the time we left the waitstaff could no longer keep from grinning at the towering stack of plates we'd accumulated, and when we got outside we glanced back in through the windows to see that the chef had burst into laughter.
Back in Fukuoka we made it to Khaosan Backpackers, dropped off our things, and went out to explore. We went to the massive and eternally difficult-to-navigate Canal City Mall, which I remember wandering through years ago (it never gets easier to find what you're looking for there). We caught part of a live show by the Fukuoka-based indi group Velvet Peach Seven at the free outdoor entertainment area in the center of the mall, headed by its extremely talented songwriter, Pantene Nakajima, on drums and vocals.
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| Velvet Peach Seven |
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| Sake casks in front of the Honden (main shrine), built in 905 |
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| Dazaifu |
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| Dazaifu |
We made sure to grab some umegae-mochi before we left, a warm, baked rice cake filled with the sweet red bean paste called anko. This is a specialty sweet of Dazaifu, and according to one of the women where we purchased it, that particular shop had stood there for about one hundred and fifty years.
When we returned to the city and our hostel we noticed an announcement for a Korean food party taking place in the common area that night, and later we would go to it, and meet many of the other travellers, but we wouldn't eat much. You see, before settling in for our last evening we had one more plan in mind: we both wanted sushi once more, and this time it would be a blowout. We each still had a half of the 10,000 yen bill in our pockets from the old man in Saga, who Sean had taken to referring to as his Japanese Grandpa when he came up in conversation.
With the assistance of one of Khaosan hostel's staff, we taped the bill back together as best possible and and found a kaiten-zushi place, in which sushi goes round in front of the seated customers on a conveyer belt, with a chef or chefs in the middle of the floor to make particular sushi on request. The color of the plate the sushi is sitting on denotes the prices. These places usually have a nice balance of quality and affordability (and certainly quantity). We decided that money was no object for this last meal and went at it.
Most people will go to a kaiten-zushi and eat a moderate amount of sushi, not stuffing themselves, and the same rule goes for any other meal as well. In fact, there's an expression in Japanese, hara hachi bu, which means "eat (only) until 80% full." We, however, were there to show no such good judgment.
"What's that thing you say before eating?" Sean asked before we dug in. "I receive . . . ?"
"Itadakimasu."
"Right. Itadakimasu. Thanks, Grandpa."
By the time we left the waitstaff could no longer keep from grinning at the towering stack of plates we'd accumulated, and when we got outside we glanced back in through the windows to see that the chef had burst into laughter.
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| Nagasaki Peace Park |
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| Fascination |
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