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Banjo, Bonne and Friday at the Royal Palace, Tokyo
More: Best of 'What Do You Do On A Friday?' Holiday Reading 2004
Banjo Bandolas is a Eugene-based writer for Realbeer.com who takes his Bike Friday all over the world. The Ginza is the mother-of-all-shopping districts in Tokyo.
WHEN YOU THINK about a journey to Japan all kinds of images come to mind. The majesty of Mt. Fuji, the screaming energy of Tokyo's Ginza District, Godzilla. Godzilla energetically stomping his way through Tokyo's screaming Ginza on his way to Mt. Fuji for drinks with Rodan and Mothra.
My destination was the busy little community of Kawasaki. An eleven million person gap between city giants, Tokyo and Yokohama, and where my wife's family lives. It wasn't my first time to the land of the rising sun, but this stay would be different. Unlike my previous visits, which focused on trips to Japan's many volcanoes, famous onsens, and "what the hell did I just eat"? this trip would be a working trip. (Really Boss, it's a working trip!)
I work for the E-zine Realbeer.com, and I had timed my trip to coincide with the Japan Great Beer Festival in Tokyo. As an employee of Realbeer.com, it was my job to attend the Beer Festival, talk to the brewers, and sample as many different styles and brands of beer as possible. In the days following the festival I visited the Sapporo, Kirin, and Asahi Breweries and do pretty much the same thing. It's a tough job, but someone's got to do it. (Really Boss, it's a working trip!)
It took 4 days to complete the circuit. By the time my work was finished, my body was in dire need of a major calorie burn. Malt and hops oozed from every pore. I smelled like a human distillery. It was time to cleanse my system and implement my master plan. The real purpose, unknown to my employer, behind my trip to Tokyo.
I planned to follow in Godzilla's footsteps, metaphorically speaking (At 6" and 200lbs, a lot of the locals seemed to think the resemblance went much further than my feet) and cruise Tokyo's Ginza. Only I'd do it by bike and with a minimum of people squishing.
I brought along my favorite traveling companion. No, not my wife-my Bike Friday.The bike is an Air Friday, the trusty machine that had carried me safely through my recent adventures in San Francisco, and my favorite model in the Friday line.
Ride Day 1-I popped open the case and, with the assistance of Kenechiro, the 8 year-old neighbor-boy, assembled the Air. He copped a squat next to me, and commenced chattering and pointing at everything. I couldn't understand his rapid-fire Japanese any better than he could understand my English, but we both had fun assembling the bike anyway. Assembly time 15 minutes.
Five of us, Bonne and her two sisters, Mayumi, Reimi, and my brother in-law, Shinya, went for a group-ride to the Tama River. We stopped at McDonalds on the way and got a little McPicnick to eat at the park. High, grass covered levees bordered the river on each side. Containing the tidal surges of the tsunamis, typhoons, and monsoons that batter Honshu's eastern shore annually. A wide asphalt bike path followed the top of the levee. It was my first opportunity to open up and crank. The rest of the group fell far behind as I raced down river towards the ocean. Green rippling waves of reeds edged the riverbank, stretching out of sight. The familiar sweet-rotten stench of tidal mud filled my nose.
The day was warm and sunny, without the oppressive heat I'd endured on previous August and July visits. I flipped a U-turn three or four miles down and raced back to meet the others. I found them comfortably sprawled in the grass near where I'd left them, munching contentedly on their McMeals. There was plenty of activity to entertain us as we ate. Small helicopters and airplanes buzzed back and forth from a large group of R.C. enthusiasts massed just up river. Between flybys and barrel rolls, we watched a group of kids below us, catching small crabs in the mud, and flinging them at one another.
As the sun touched the horizon we reentered the maze of back streets, headed for home. It truly was a maze in almost every sense of the word. Two and three story buildings lined the entire winding route home. There was barely enough room between each structure for a ray of sunlight to wiggle through. It's no wonder people who come to visit me from Tokyo are always awed by the openness of Oregon. In Japanese cities, unless you live in a high-rise, you only really notice the sky when you look straight up.
Ride Day 2- I left the apartment and rode towards Kawasaki's main train station memorizing landmark buildings, billboards, and street-sign kanji as I went. Several even blocks and turn left at the Cabin cigarette sign, two more blocks and turn right at three bent lines...a backwards Kind of golden gate bridge.... You get the picture.
A young girl rode past me, talking on her cellphone as she deftly wove her way one handed through the crowd on the sidewalk. I almost flattened three Obachans and kid on a unicycle staring at her over my shoulder. I'd never seen anyone ride a bike and talk on the phone before.
Tokyo is awash in cellphones, you think they've taken over here in America-uh uh-everyone, EVERYONE has a cellphone in Japan, even small children and certain breeds of dogs. I expect in the near future, each newborn Japanese child will be presented to its smiling parents with little pink or blue cellphone and 500 anytime minutes.
A few blocks before reaching Kawasaki Station I crossed highway 15. Highway 15 runs from Yokahama North to Shinagawa and Tokyo. The road sign said it was 5 kilometers to Katama, 7 more to Omera, and 20 to Shinagawa. My map indicated a left turn in Shinagawa and a dozen more kilometers would take me into downtown Tokyo. An easy ride by Oregon standards.
As usual, Oregon experience left me totally unprepared for what was to come. Even by San Francisco or New York City standards the going was tough. In Japan you ride on the sidewalk in high traffic areas, you'd have to be crazier than I've ever been to enter Japanese traffic on a bicycle. (Note to Pennsylvania's draft board, No, I'm not that Banjo Bandolas. The sidewalks were crowded and the intersections frequent. Even though I rang my little bell insistently (can't get around Japan without your little bell) progress was frustratingly slow.
Leaving Kawasaki prefecture, I crossed the Tama River and entered Tokyo prefecture The greenway along the North side of the river was a beautiful park and nicely laid out for riding, even better than the south side had been. The only blemish was a cluster of Homeless shanties next to the river.
Homelessness has become a huge problem throughout Japans major cities. Neighborhood parks and the areas beneath bridges become shanty-towns. The police often try to clear squatters out of public areas, only to find them back or replaced by another group the next morning.
After struggling with sidewalk hazards for over an hour, the open paved paths looked incredibly inviting. What the heck,I thought, The Ginza's only twenty or so Kilometers away, I have time to play. The off ramp dropped down to a group of ball fields. I stopped to watch some local companies playing hardball wearing complete, professional looking uniforms. A middle-aged Japanese man kicked his leg high in a major league windup and delivered a fastball to a small thin man with glasses. The second pitch resulted in a bouncing base-hit that put runners on first and second.
Waves of joyful screams drew my attention up river. A cloud of yellow dots flowed over the slope up river. As I closed the gap between us the dots turned into a huge group of children. Each child wore an identical yellow hat. Swarming the levee, each child held a square of cardboard. They stormed the hill, turned at the top, mounted their trusty cardboard sled, and slid, screaming, to the bottom.
An emaciated old man rode past me as I watched the children. Heading back towards the homeless shacks. He balanced huge bags of cans on his bike. I followed him back as far as the bridge and resumed my journey. In Kamata, I stopped and bought a drink at one of the AM/PM markets that have spread through Japan like cancer. Across the street, I found a little park filling the gap between the Redline tracks and the Shinagawa Highway. It was a typical neighborhood park, pounded earth and scorched plants. I found a shady spot under a tree and studied the map.
Riding the sidewalk, dodging pedestrians and having to pause at virtually every intersection was having taking a toll on me. My shoulders, back, and neck were getting tight. My progress was frustratingly glacial.
After cooling off a bit, I decided to push on to the next town, Omera. The ride to Omera was even worse. Entering Omera's city limits, I paused an sighed dejectedly at the road ahead and the solid wall of two and three story buildings stretching out of site. There was no way I'd make it to Tokyo's Ginza and back in one day. The sun was dropping low on the horizon and I decided to head back to Kawasaki.
As I retraced my route, watching the trains fly by every few minutes, I got an idea. Carry the bike into Tokyo on the commuter train.
I asked my sister in law, Reimi, if they have a way to take a bike on the train.
"Huh?" She stammered, the idea of taking a bike on a train never seemed to have occurred to her. "No, I don't think so." "Have you ever seen anyone bring a bike onto the train?" I pressed.
"No",she smiled, shaking her head at the ridiculous idea, "Never." That's okay,I thought, and prepared for this situation. Bike Friday had thoughtfully provided a soft-bag I could use to pack the Air into the heart of Tokyo.
Ride Day 3- Commuter trains are the main arteries of transportation in the city. The areas surrounding train stations are always clogged with thousands of locked bikes. I'd seen the glut of bikes many times in the past, but this visit I noticed a new business, bicycle parking garages. I don't know if this is a new trend in Japan or what, but they were all over the place, and I like the idea.
Kawasaki station was a beehive. The bags strap gauged a divot in my shoulder as I shifted the weight and studied the board above the ticket machine for the proper amount. 580 yen would do it. Bonne, her Mom and sisters joined me on the trip. I would tool around the Ginza while they shopped and catch up with them later.
The train was fairly empty during the trip into Tokyo. Fellow passengers eyed my large odd bag with open curiosity. We retraced the route I'd ridden the day before, changed trains in Shinagawa and emerged in the heart of Tokyo 45 minutes later. No wonder no one bothers to try and ride bikes anywhere far away. It would have taken me half the day easy, to reach the Ginza.
Hibiya Park, one of Tokyo's oldest and most beautiful, was my first stop. I planned to explore the park, then cruise over to the Royal palace a few blocks away. A bike messenger walked over and practiced his English on me as I assembled the Air at the park entrance. He was the first person I'd seen, other than myself, wearing a helmet. It was your typical pidgin English/Japanese conversation I'd grown accustomed to in my visits.
"Konichiwa." I said greeting him as he walked up.
"Konichiwa." He smiled, probably at my horrible accent.
"Bicycle?" his eyes rolled up in his head as he searched for unfamiliar words. "Interesting." "Hai! Bike Friday desu." I smiled pointing at the logo, "Have you heard of it? They sell them here in Tokyo." "Hmm." he said, nodding his head. "I know this bike, first time I see." We discussed the bike for a few minutes. He was very impressed with the Air's weight and engineering. Then it was time for him to go back to work, and I was ready to explore the park.
Hibiya was indeed a beautiful park and it was a nice change to find bikes had unrestricted access to all of the park's paths. Other than at the Beer Festival, I hadn't seen many other foreigners during my stay. Hibiya Park and Tokyo in general seemed to be crawling with them. Circling the parks huge fountain, I found myself constantly making eye contact and giving that special nod foreigners give one another in Japan, like spies in a bad cold war movie. I felt compelled to ride up to one of my fellow foreigners and utter the standard spy identification code. "Shave and a haircutď…”" To which they'd reply after sizing me up, "Two bits." Leaving Hibiya, I crossed the street and skirted the moat, yes I said moat, surrounding the Royal Palace and followed it around to the main gate. Two palace guards pulled onto the sidewalk ahead of me on their own bikes and I followed them onto the palace grounds towards the famous bridge that leads into the palace walls. Riding across the gravel parade grounds, the guards noticed me behind them and stopped.
"Bicycle. No." the guard on the right said, pointing at the ground in front of me. I understood immediately. Never in my lifetime has anyone been able to convey a thought to me and drive it home using so few words. The big giant sword at my throat helped too. I'm kidding it wasn't all that big.
A sword would have come in handy as I wound my way through the crush of humanity into the heart of the Ginza. I hooked back up with the family and we tried to get a few pictures of me riding in the crowd. Bonne took a position half way down the block and I rode up to the corner turned and worked my way back towards her, trying to smile and look photogenic without running anyone down.
Bonne waved me off again and again. The pedestrians kept screwing up the shot. There was a television crew on the corner, conducting man-on-the-street interviews. After I rode by on my strange little bicycle a second, then a third time, they began to mumble to one another each time I approached. I think they were unsure whether I was attempting to get discovered or perhaps was sizing them up for a good old-fashioned western mugging. The fifth time was a charm and Bonne finally felt happy with the picture.
Later, back at Ginza station, the only clear spot I could find to disassemble the bike was next to a couple street performers. The performers, a violinist and street kabuki actor, kept shooting irritated looks at me as I did the pull-fold-& pack. I looked up and realized the big white guy taking apart the weird little bike was sucking off all the audience attention. My face burned red and my hands flew as I tried to ignore several hundred pairs of eyes tracking my every movement. Disassembly time, the longest 7 minutes in my life.
The ride back on the train was fairly uneventful. We just beat the commuter crush. At Kawasaki Station 20 people got off, and 7465 people got on. I spent the rest of my riding time in Japan in and around Kawasaki, going to my nephew's sports day, visiting various shopping areas and temples. Then it was time to fly home.
At the Airport, the case went through x-ray and the operator stopped the case on the belt and studied it for what seemed like a long time.
"It's a bicycle." I said in answer to the puzzled look on her face.
"Yes" she said, as if she saw a hundred every day.
"Air?"
"Why yes it is, that's amazing! How did you know?"
"No..." her eyes rolled up as she searched for words.
"Um...tire...Air in tire?"
"No," I smiled, "I let the air out of the tires."
Contact Banjo: Banjo at Realbeer dot com
For more information, follow this link http://www.bikefriday.com/bf/holiday-reading2004.