Fishing in the City

Fishing is a pass-time that requires time and equipment both. You would think, as well, that you'd have to travel a little distance out of town to have a chance to do it, but as it turns out, it's possible to go fishing in Tokyo with none of this limitations. And without being inside a restaurant.

While commuting by train, I looked out the window chanced upon a fishing hole right in the center of the city. It wasn't until a whole year later that I decided to take a closer peek, and discovered the Ichigaya Fish Center, which doubles as both a fishing area and a supply store for all things related to purchase and maintenance of fish within a home aquarium. Eager as always to go fishing, Ty came along and we tried our hands at it for an hour.


 First off, anglers are given the choice of either fishing in the hole, or mini-fishing, in which you're given a miniature fishing rod and given a chance to catch goldfish. We opted for the former, of course, and for around 900¥, were provided with both fishing rod and bait, and a net to help bring the fish up. It appeared as if no one actually brought their own equipment here - we didn't see anyone with different fishing rods than the ones provided.

When I had first seen the place in Autumn, it was crammed full of salary-men sitting shoulder to shoulder in their suits. I was little anxious that I'd accidentally get my line tangled in another person's if I were sitting that close, but my fears were unjustified, seeing as we went on a blazing Summer day, and not so many people seemed to enthused to bake under the sun while waiting for a catch. It's kind of worthwhile to note that there isn't any shelter from the heat while fishing. Still, we didn't let that stop us.

The fish swimming inside the water hole are actually koi fish, the Japanese carp. Just by that being said, you'd be right to guess that it's catch and release fishing, since you're likely to break your teeth if you tried biting into a koi. Though I wouldn't exactly say it was difficult, the bait provided on spot flakes off the hook quite easily, and the fish are more likely to nibble and peck at it rather than bite. All that considered, though, some people seemed to be faring pretty well, and even I was able to land a catch within my hour.

 Not unlike a batting cage, the Fish Center's a pretty good place to kill some time with friends while enjoying a sport, without all the hassle of preparation. And so the list of options for having a good time in Tokyo goes up by one!

The Samurai Archers of the Yabusame Tournament

 Today, I attended Asakusa's annual yabusame tournament!  As far as sport goes, Yabusame is pretty god damn difficult. Its practitioners are few, and it isn't quite what one could call a rising trend. But man, is it epic.

 For the uninitiated, Yabusame is traditional Japanese horseback archery. The practitioners must sit atop a horse, set the horse to a full gallop, and shoot at targets as they speed by. As you've probably guessed, it's a sport that requires extreme precision, not only because you're shooting while moving, but because holding a bow with two hands means you're letting go of the reins and sitting upright - and if you've ever ridden a horse, you might have a better idea of how incredibly difficult that is in and of itself.
  

Yabusame is rooted in centuries-old tradition, dating back to Japan's feudal era. It is considered to be a weapon-based martial art, meaning the philosophy behind the sport is just as important as technique. But contrary to most martial arts, where practitioners are often made to wear humble, loose-fitting clothes (which is even true of kyuudo, Japanese archery,) Yabusame practitioners are dressed in full traditional garm. The dress code reflects the fact that the original practitioners were noblemen. No detail is left out: asides from the fancy hat, some of the archers also ride with clothes of deer pelt, and all of them have a short sword attached to their hips. It's quite meticulous.
 Explanations aside, though, watching the tournament take place was quite gratifying.

Archers came in from different regions of Japan - even from the tiny Ogasawara islands, whose archers were reputed to be most accurate. Still pictures do no justice to the speed and precision of the archers, who load, aim, and shoot in the blink of an eye. The targets themselves were pretty close to the track which the horses ran along  - but whether this makes things easier or harder is questionable, too, and each archer had three shots to make on each run. All together, it was an impressive display. There was even an English-speaking commentator on spot, explaining the origins and rules of the sport.

 If anything, though, I regretted not having had access to a better spot. The annual tournament takes place alongside the Sumida River, and the places fill up quite rapidly. Had I known anything about how entertaining yabusame actually was, I might've gone through the trouble and paid the extra buck for reserving myself a spot. Standing along the fences, while costless, unfortunately makes it quite difficult to see the major part of the action, and I was glad I even managed to get the pictures I did.
 But my favorite thing about yabusame? The way the archers shout battle cries as they race by their targets. Talk about amazing.

Paragliding!

It was a long time coming. I think the first time I had even mentioned paragliding in Japan might have been last Summer. On the 6th of April, I left Tokyo on a bus towards Mt Fuji, heart in my hands. It was lucky enough that I had even managed to find this place on the internet - paragliding, as you may or may not have guessed, isn't a very popular thing to do amongst the foreign community here. Or even the locals that much. But the plan was to take the Tokyo - Mt Fuji bus for 9:40, get there at 11:30, take a connecting bus at 11:40, and get to the paragliding base by 1:00.
 Except my bus arrived late, I didn't make the connecting bus, and the next one was at 3:00. The paragliding trip I had planned and reserved for was dead on arrival. A little upset, but mostly annoyed at the wasted trip, I called Sky Asagiri, the paragliding company, and explained my situation. "Alright," the lady on the other end of the line answered.
"Well, we'll still do the jump when you get here."

 Now, hold on, hold on. I know this all sounds like boring anecdote. But I couldn't believe what came next. Ten minutes later, I receive a call from them back. "Actually, we'll come pick you up. Just stay at the station. The drive's a half hour, so just don't go too far." Man, that made my day. Plus, I got to save 1400¥ on the bus fare.
 The instructor they sent to pick me up was Yamazaki-san, a man in his early 40's most likely, and extremely friendly. We chatted it up all the way to the base of a mountain and picked up the paragliding equipment before making our way to the top.

The jump site!

And the spot itself could hardly have been more scenic - forested hills with great pines, an open space at the base of the mountain for landing, and, looming ahead in the horizon, Mt Fuji itself, it's head crowned by clouds. I got strapped in.
 "Run, don't jump." I was told. "Just run off the cliff side nice and straight." I did as told.  Before I even reached the edge of the precipice, my feet left the ground, and I was flying. Paragliding didn't have the same effect on me as bungee jumping, contrary to what I expected. Whereas the bungee jump pumped my brain full of natural chemicals as the ground rushed to meet my face, paragliding was almost dream like. I felt weightlessness, like nothing I was strapped to was even there. I couldn't feel the parachute or the weight of the harness or Yamazaki-san behind me. It was just trees some three dozen meters under my feet, and Mount Fuji straight ahead. I couldn't help but laugh. The whole thing was surreal. "This wind feels amazing," I said.


 "Actually, we're traveling at 30 km/h. It's really just our speed. Here, take the reins!" And he gave me the reins. And I piloted us for a while, under Yamazaki's advice. "You probably like roller coasters, huh?" he said, as I handed him back the controls. "Here, then!" And then we started spiraling down in a mad downwards corkscrew. But at this point, there was nothing that could be done to make me fall out of love with paragliding. I loved that too.

 Our whole descent was around ten to twelve minutes long. Some unlucky bastards only get three minutes or so, but apparently the wind was good. And though the landing was a little rough, we made it down in one piece.
 After that, I had 30 minutes to kill. It turned out Yamazaki and I really got along well, and he didn't mind walking around the area with me until my bus arrived. We took it really easy and went around looking for fallen deer antlers. I was amazed at how friendly he was, even though I don't make for very interesting conversation in my basic Japanese.
 All in all, my paragliding experience really couldn't have been much better. Sure, there weren't any cherry blossoms in the area as I had first hoped,  but the folks at Sky Asagiri were remarkably friendly people, and I feel like I came out of all this having experienced something very few people get to do in their lives.

Zauo - Fishing Made Easier

I can't say I'm much of an angler, or that I ever tried to be. Though I can't pride myself on having catch the biggest fish of my group of friends, I could probably say that I once caught the smallest? It doesn't make for a boast-worthy statement, whatever the case. Never the less, I do enjoy fishing! And, the good news is, if you suck at it like I do, and want to experience the triumph of eating what you catch, well then there's Zauo.

It's actually a lot like apple bobbing.

 The idea is as simple as it is brilliant - an indoor fishing spot combined with a restaurant. And it's doing so good that they've recently opened a third branch. Entering Zauo is a little enchanting, really, and the mere act of walking through the different fishing spots as you're lead to your seat is oddly exciting. As soon as you're seated, you're given the option of what you want to fish for (if you want to fish at all.) You pick, you're given a fishing rod, and lead to the appropriate part of the restaurant. And you fish until you catch what it is you wanted. The Meguro branch Ty and Bryan (who's back for a visit) and I visited had horse mackerel, sea bream, flounder, lobster, and shellfish.

Since you can very easily see your fish swimming around the bottom of the tank, and since there's like 10 of them per square meter, it's not all that much of a challenge to pull one out, so much as it is about finding one that's hungry enough to take the bait.

 After catching our own two sea bream, which I was no help in at all, we were even given the choice as to how it would be cooked for us. The choices are numerous - sushi, sashimi, fried, steamed, in a soup, and the list goes on and on. The sashimi option, I'd say, isn't really for the squeamish, since it's given back to you still alive and struggling, but with the rest of the meat laid out on the plate for you. Between two sea breams and a serving of rice each, we were quite full though, and they even served us the remaining bones in a tasty miso soup.

Our choices!

 Zauo, in the end, was lots of fun, and worth every bit of hype I had heard about it! Though not exactly cheap, I'd think it would be kind of difficult not to have a good time here. I sure as hell did!

The Jump

I was invited to the Tokyo Game Show as a VIP by the CoFesta Ambassadors program, with the privilege of being able to enter free of charge on the press day. And I couldn't find a work cover. What a disappointment that was. So I opted for the next best thing and decided to throw myself off a bridge.
Let me take you to the scene. Minakami is a sleepy town in Gunma prefecture. Though it originally was an onsen town like any other, it eventually became known as the ideal spot for outdoor adventures such as rafting, hiking, skiing, canyoning, and all the rest. Walking through the town, it's hard to miss all the sports clubs as they undergo their ritual of driving high school students and young adults from one hot spot to another in their minibuses. The town found some kind of new life.
Fitting then, that Japan's first bungee-jumping bridge would be here.
Suspended 42 meters over a jagged river is the Suwakyo bridge, where people line up for their turns to jump. It's poignant even to watch, but by the time it was my turn, I could hardly wait. I fell in love with bungee jumping from the moment my feet left the platform.

 

It's an odd feeling I think I can't really give justice to by describing, but it was a good feeling, and over too quickly. And there was this weird sense of serenity I had when my rope stopped bouncing me up and down and I was just hanging there, looking at the mountains while upside down. It just made me happy. Will I do it again? Not necessarily, but I feel like it's a stepping stone of some sort.

Kayaking in Okutama

I recently made the discovery of an outdoor activity club that makes frequent excursions to places around Tokyo. With hiking aside, I guess it's been a while since I've done any outdoor type of sport, and so I took the chance the moment I saw it, made a bank transfer, and showed up to one of the group's meetings in a remote corner of Tokyo prefecture named Okutama, which is pretty much the farthest place you can go from the heart of the city while still being considered in Tokyo.
 Okutama is untouched by the sprawl of the metropolis, though, and is a little bit more than an hour from Shinjuku by train. It's a pocket, or rather, a chain of pockets of civilization nestled between green mountains, with valleys and rivers and waterfalls crisscrossing every which way. Like so many places outside of the cities of Japan, people here live off the land.

 As it turned out, the day was wet and miserable. After five full scorching sunny days, a typhoon swept through Japan and pissed rain down on me on the very day of my outing. I wasn't too thrilled at first, but it turned out to be quite alright in the end - because kayaking, as the organizer said, gets you wet all the same.

 I hadn't kayaked in 6 years! The last time I went was in the Laurentides, in the open sea surrounded by whales, penguins and seals and a sky full of boobies (the bird species named booby, to be sure, though the other type would've been interesting too.) Kayaking brought back good memories, but I wondered if I remembered anything about how to row at all.
 Turns out I did! Fun fun fun.
Our group rowed up the misty canals of Okutama, against quite a bit of current brought on, no doubt, by the rain. Though many of my fellow rowers were spiraling uncontrollably, I managed quite alright, if I were to be my own judge!
 With the mist sitting right on top of the river, the whole setting had some magic to it. We were, in fact, down in a valley, with high cliff sides on either side and the one eventual wood bridge looming high overhead. It felt like the set of an Indiana Jones adventure. Even though a river in the countryside hardly compares to the Atlantic Ocean, kayaking in Okutama was very fulfilling in its own right, and I probably could've spent the day exploring the misty green valley if I were given the choice.

 Eventually I was even allowed to jump off one of the cliffs and into the water, which was actually quite deep. I did a front flip right in, forgetting I was wearing a life vest. I can tell you with certainty the life vests work, now.
 After a few hours, we made our way back and pulled the kayaks out of the water, and that was pretty much that. But since I made the discovery of the group, there's great opportunity to go at it as often as I care to spend the money for, and try lots of new outdoorsy things!

Tokyo 2020

My Facebook feed caught fire the other day when it was announced that Tokyo won the bid for the 2020 Olympic Games host city. Damn, I thought, I'll be 30 by then. But apparently people here are pretty serious about it and have been cheering up and down across the country.

 I've been having some fun with it at work, making babies do gymnastics and telling them it's to prepare for the Olympics.
 "Wow, nice forward roll! I'll see you in the 2020 Olympics!"
To which the mother says; "He'll only be 8 years old..."
And to which I reply, "I have such high hopes for your son."

Has anyone seen the Presentation Showreel yet? It's enough to even get me hyped for it. And I don't even follow the Olympics that much at all. Loving the thump-thump heartbeat thing. Congrats, Tokyo. Here it is for those who haven't.

To the Top of Mount Fuji

Mount Fuji from a lift in Hakone

Mount Fuji's kind of the natural icon of Japan, figuring in all manner of historic paintings and drawing admiration for its almost perfect conical shape. Not only is Mount Fuji the tallest mountain in the country, towering at over 3700 meters, but it can also be seen from Tokyo, more than 100 kilometers away, on a clear day, given a proper vantage point and a little luck. The damn thing's huge, and it's therefore no wonder that people from inside and outside Japan set off to climb it every year, during Summer when the frost melts and the coast is clear for a good ascent.
 

My headband says Kamikaze.

Alas! Mount Fuji has finally been declared a World Heritage Site by UNESCO (something most people have been wondering as to why it hadn't been done earlier.) And although the Japanese can take great pride in this, it also means that tourism will undoubtedly increase and that measures must be taken to keep the mountain clean. Therefore the price of the hike will be going from free this year to 7000¥ (say it with me, seven thousand yen) starting next year. So what the fuck, let's climb it now.
Taking after Aala, who did the same thing last year, Ken and I have endeavored to climb the mountain overnight to reach the sunrise in the morning.

Truth be told, the climb really isn't terrible. It can be done with minimal (if any) equipment, barring the necessary warm clothes for the summit. We started from the halfway point at Station 5 (one of many station 5s, that is) and took just around four and a half hours to make the top, taking ample breaks here and there - although most hikers do take more time. Numerous stations, providing shelter for those staying overnight and food for resting hikers, line the path to the summit, but prices do get steep the higher one climbs.
A mere bottle of coke at the summit costs 500¥, but even more ridiculous still is that you have to pay to use bathrooms, for a price going up to 200¥. Oxygen, slightly scarcer in the air near the top of the mountain, is also sold through inhalers. Despite the price, though, the availability of these commodities makes the climb a little more comfortable for inexperienced hikers.
 Ken and I arrived at the top at 2:30 in the morning, arriving far earlier than expected, having rushed for fear that we would encounter a single-file line near the top.

We were rewarded with a cloud!

Unfortunately, we had rolled poor luck: despite having had to sit in the cold (an estimated 2 to 3 degrees centigrade) for quite a while, we were not given the epic sunrise we had hoped for, as the morning was cloudy...for us only. We literally were stuck inside a massive cloud swirling around the top of the volcano. Hundreds of fellow climbers, Japanese and foreigners alike, shared our disappointment. We had taken the gamble and failed.
However, all was not bad! The spirit of kinship once sitting at the top of the mountain amongst so many other hikers having shared the same effort was abundant, overflowing. Strangers at the top greeted each other and engaged in friendly conversation, and Ken and I made a few friends at the top as well. We met Raymond and Ricky, two Asian-Americans from Los Angeles and Montreal respectively (my first time meeting another Montrealer!)

Ricky, Raymond, myself and Ken.

After a few hours rest, our newly-formed group of four decided to take the trail down the mountain. Once under the clouds, the view was much more rewarding, and it truly felt like we were on top of the whole nation. All in all, it was a good experience. A decent-level physical challenge, an opportunity to establish new friendships and a great panorama (you'll get one sooner or later) definitely make of Mount Fuji a memorable experience.

Sumo Wrestling!

Top of the morning!
 After getting up so damnably early here we are at Ryogoku's hall of sumo to get our tickets for the grand tournament. A taiko drummer sits perched on top of his watch, drumming for the beginning of a new day in the tournament, and the cheapest tickets run for roughly 25 bucks. The price is right and we're ready to watch some fat men wrestle in dirt, so let's get right to it, then!

The elite sumo of the East division during the entry ceremony.

Hakuho staring down Myogiryu.

And man, what a sport it is. Totally engrossing. Tension gets high as the sumos start every fight by staring each other down after they are called into the ring. And when it's off, it's off, and the matches are often as intense as they are short - lasting an average of 7 to 8 seconds.
 To me, the highlight was Harumafuji's match against Kitataiki, where the former, considerably shorter and lighter, threw the latter over his shoulder just as it looked like he was going to be pushed over the edge of the ring. The crowd went wild. It's no wonder Harumafuji's one of the two current Yokozuna - the elite of the elite.

 Fun fact! Many of the league's elite are actually foreigners! The two current champions are both Mongolian, but there are spatters of Europeans here and there and even a Brazilian. I'd definitely go again.