Going home

Check out time is an early 10 AM, but that's about when we need to leave, anyway. I've arranged with the kids to rendezvous at 9:30.

Another ancient taxi driver takes us to Ueno station. But we're dropped at the JR one, not the Keisei one, which is in a separate building. It takes us a little while to orientate ourselves and walk to it.

By which time we're hotter 200 hot sticks. We're all getting a bit impatient as we try to buy train tickets.

"Which terminal is it, Dad?"

"I think it was terminal 1." I'm not completely sure. But that's the last stop and I remember us getting on where the train started.

The bastard machine won't accept my credit card and we have to pay with cash. Except we're a little short on that. It's 7600 yen altogether. I have a 5000 yen note and some shrapnel.

"Do you have any money left, kids?"

“Dad. Why didn’t you hang onto enough money for the train tickets?”

“It’s my fault now, is it? I gave you some yen for exactly this reason.”

“I thought it was in case we got lost?”

“No, in case I made some terrible miscalculation. Or an understandable, small human error. Which is the case here.”

“Dad. This isn’t helping.”

Andrew has two 500 yen coins, which is handy. And Alexei has a couple of 100 yen coins. Adding up all the change we have, we scrape together just about enough. By the time we're done, Andrew looks close to collapse. I don't feel much better.

Luckily the platform has good air conditioning. We perk up a little as we wait for the train. At least we’re in no rush.

It's about an hour to the airport and the train is fast. Most of it is through Tokyo's densely-packed suburbs, where the houses are almost piled on top of one another. No-one has much in the way of a garden. Eventually we pop out into paddy fields.

Bags dumped, we head to our gate. There's a big queue at immigration. Just as well we're in plenty of time. Unlike at Seoul airport. That really was stressing me out.

We pool our last few yens and have enough to get a couple of drinks and a sandwich from a vending machine. Alexei gets to eat the sandwich. Neither me nor Andrew is feeling hungry. I’m a bit stressed up again. Had this with the last couple of flights. Pretty annoying.

I watch some Taskmaster as we wait to help me chill out.

The flight is long and uneventful, other than a slightly rocky landing.

There's a big queue for passport control, but only at the manned booths. The machine ones are quite quiet.

"Just think, kids, I won't be able to use the machines in a few months."

I hate the morons in the UK so much at the moment. Bunch of deranged lunatics. Especially the politicians.

We have a bit of a wait for our bags, but a quick taxi ride has us home by 7 PM. Dolores looks relieved to see us all back intact.



Postscript
The trip must have gone quite well. Despite the frustrations of the heat and some uncomfortable bits of travelling, we returned all still talking to each other. No-one got a black eye, no-one was spat on. And no-one was arrested or deported. Or caught some horrible disease.

The kids are already talking about another trip next summer. Can’t have been that unpleasant an experience this time around. Let’s see if my bank account can stretch as far as another holiday.

Don’t be deceived by the bickering. I enjoy travelling with the kids. Though they are occasionally irritating.

They spot stuff. They carry their own luggage. They don’t get lost. They don’t get crazy drunk. They’re entertaining. Good company, too. They learn some of the language. They don’t whinge too much. They don’t mind hanging around in pubs. (Quite the opposite in Andrew’s case.)

And they keep me in check. A little. Which isn’t such a bad thing. Not going to tell the kinds that, though.

Singapore and Australia have been mentioned for next year. If I have any money left. Sponsors are welcome.

Last full day

Our last full day. The plan is to visit the Mikasa. Which is about an hour away by commuter train.

We walk to the station, which leaves us melting again. Andrew's T shirt is soaked through.

We have to change trains after a couple of stops. But we can't get the train we expected to, because it isn't a JR service. There is a JR train going the same way, but it stops at a different station. We'd expected to go to one much closer to the Mikasa.  Though there is a dirty great aircraft carrier just over the road.

“Look Andrew, ‘a helicopter carrier’.” I do the inverted commas with my hands.

“I know, Dad.”

“It’s quite big, isn’t it?”

“Can we save this for later when we’re somewhere cool?”

“Those Japanese ‘training ships’ we saw in Amsterdam weren’t exactly small, either.”

“Stop with that fucking quotation mark shit and get moving. I’m about to die.”

We're not sure of the direction to the Mikasa. Andrew is getting impatient. But he has a point: it is boiling hot. Luckily there's a little ticket restaurant just over the road. We head there to regroup. And for refreshment.

They’re quite fun, these ticket places. And dead easy. Even without the English version, as they have pictures of the food on the machines. You can see exactly what you’re getting. Just bung in enough coins and notes to pay for it, then hand the ticket it spits out to the waiter. In this case waiter and chef. As he’s the only person working here. It is pretty tiny. There are just a few seats at the counter and three small tables.

We all get a beer. I get some fried dumplings and Alexei fried chicken. Both are pretty good. It's weird to see how the dumplings are cooked. First they're deep fried, then the cook poured the fat away and sort of grilled them to finish off. Never seen anything cooked that way before.

On the TV they have the bizarre programme with the enormous transvestite bloke. I’ve never managed to work out what the hell it’s about. It has “brunch” in the title so I suppose it’s something like Sunday Brunch on Channel 4. Just with dollops of added weirdness.

The food is pretty good. Just fills a hole nicely.

“That beer was just what I needed, boys.”

“Something alcoholic is always what you ‘need’, Dad” Andrew replies cynically, complete with air quotes. The bastard.

Cooled down, we make our plans. It's a bit far to walk.

“Taxi, kids?”

“Too right.”

We quickly grab a taxi that takes us directly to the museum. Luckily, cabs are neither rare nor expensive here.

I notice loads of places obviously geared to American servicemen. Like a gun shop, tattoo parlours and military tailors. There's a big US naval base here as well as a Japanese one.

The Mikasa is dead interesting. Though it's odd to think that, despite being one of the most powerful battleships in the world when built, it was obsolete just a couple of years later after the first dreadnought was launched.

The displays inside are excellent. Though some of the historical stuff is a bit dodgy. And a lot is only explained in Japanese. Odd that at the rear there's a little admiral's suite, as in wooden sailing warships.

They have quite a few interactive displays to recreate Tsushima and even virtual reality. It's mostly pretty well air-conditioned, too.

We get another taxi back to the station. Where I quickly nip into the shop to get myself a can of beer.

"Dad, do you really need that?"

"It's hot and I wouldn't want to get dehydrated."

"Not much chance of getting dehydrated the way you knock back beer."

"Better safe than sorry."

Considering it's the weekend, the train is pretty crowded. But the airco is good, making it pleasant enough.

Is that young woman over on the other side of the carriage looking my way? Surely not? She’s sitting right next to the door. The one I get off through. I throw her a smile as I depart. Which she returns. Nice people, the Japanese.

A little ramen place with Alexei - another ticket place. It seems to have a samurai theme. The door handles are samurai swords.

"Do you want a large or a small one?" the waiter asks. We both go for large. Which may have been a mistake. I feel totally stuffed. So much so, I can't even sip on my can of Highball for an hour.

We finish the evening in the kids’ room finishing off the booze and snacks.

It’s been a really fun holiday. Despite the heat. The kids definitely seem to have enjoyed themselves.

Back to Tokyo

The typhoon has spared us. A few kilometres to the right and we’d have been royally fucked.

The trains are running a normal service today. At least from Kyoto to Tokyo. We were pretty lucky with the typhoon. It was a bit windy, but I've seen much worse in Amsterdam.

The Japanese railways are reacting impressively well. Coping with pretty extreme weather conditions with only minimal interruption to services.

I’m sure Japan would ultimately drive me insane, but in the short term there are so many things I love about the country.

Or maybe I wouldn’t go crazy. Everyone is friendly, polite and well-ordered. When we saw some rubbish on the street in Kyoto, it shocked me. Reminding me that I’d seen no shit on the streets since, well, I’d been in Japan.

Joe to the station, as usual. We have another ancient taxi driver - are any under 60? It's still boiling hot so we go in search of an air-conditioned waiting room. We find one and soon get seats as other travellers leave.

I got dead jealous watching other passengers eat from bento boxes on our early journeys. I'm determined to share the experience.

“Bento box for me, dear boys.”

“What are you talking about, Dad.”

“The ace food I’m about to get.”

“Don’t take too long.”

“You know me, Andrew.”

“That’s why I said that, Dad. I know you.” The cheeky little bugger..

I leave the kids in the airco waiting room and head off in search of one. There are several places selling them. I select a random one and get a random box. Plus a couple of cans of Suntory Highball.

"What took you so long, Dad?"

"I've only been 10 minutes. What are you complaining about? You have seats and there's airco." They’re so panicky, sometimes. “We’ve ages until our train, anyway.”

As we have reserved seats, the train journey is a pleasure. One of alternating tightly-packed villages, even more tightly-packed cities and bright green rice fields. It's all very exotic. And I’ve a bento box. What could be more Japanese than this? Tucking into a bento box on a shinkansen.

My bento box contains sliced beer, rice and an omelette. It’s rather tasty. Before I’ve even lifted the first mouthful to my lips, Andrew is already pestering me.

“Be careful how you eat. Don’t make a mess.”

I’ve been putting up with this crap the whole trip. Don’t do this, don’t do that, do do this. Nag, nag, nag. It’s almost as if they think they’re the parents.

“Fuck off, Andrew.” At least I have a good comeback.

The trip continues with near non-stop nagging. I take solace in my Suntory Highball. Beer, but with an added something.

“It’s called alcohol, Dad.”

“Was I speaking out loud again?”

“Yes, Dad, you do it all the time. Mum’s right to suspect that you’re going senile.”

“Fuck off, Andrew.” I think. “Did I say that out loud?”

“Yes, Dad, and can you keep it down with the swearing. People can understand the F-word.”

“But not in all its subtleties: fucked, fucked off, fucked up, can’t be fucked, fuckwit, fucking, fucking, fuckity fuck.” I reply. “It’s such a versatile word.”

“And one that everyone understands. Keep your voice down.”

This isn’t how I imagined parenthood. Adoring kids, at my feet, saying: “Oh Dad, you’re so cool.” That’s what I expected. My kids, really annoyingly, seem to have their own minds and ideas. Who could have expected that? I blame their Mum.

Alexei points out the brail on the top of cans.

“I suppose that’s so you don’t accidentally drink a can of cola instead of beer by mistake.” I quip.

I’ve miscalculated with the Highball cans. I’ve just finished the last one and we’re still an hour away from Tokyo. Where’s the refreshment trolley when you need it?

At Tokyo station we get another taxi to our hotel. We’ve two nights here before we head back to Amsterdam. It’s still stiflingly hot.

Our hotel rooms are tiny. But that seems to be the way in Tokyo. The room isn’t much bigger than the bed. There's barely half a metre between the desk and bed. So close that even though there's a little chair, I sit on the bed to fiddle with my laptop.

There’s a little shop on the ground floor, which is handy. We stock up on drinks and snacks there. I get myself some more squid jerky. I’ve got quite a taste for the stuff. Inevitably, Andrew is drawn to the Strong Zero.

The kids have been dead helpful in finding places to go. They’ve noticed that there’s a brewpub within walking distance. So that’s where we head for the evening.

Ottotto Brewery is one of the largest place we’ve been in so far. Perhaps being in the basement helps them get more space. Along one wall is all the brewing kit behind a glass wall. It definitely looks like they really brew here. It’s looking good. But the proof of the pudding is in drinking five pints of it.

That’s good timing: it’s Happy Hour. Which means for 850 yen you get 435ml of beer plus a little snack.

“Look – more Japanese tapas, kids.”

“Can you hurry up and get us some beer.” They’re so impatient, sometimes.

I get myself a Red IPA. Which is both red and IPA-flavoured. SO it’s already one up on that dire brewpub in Hiroshima. The kids both go for the wheat beer.

“How’s your beer.”

“Fine, Dad.”

Some of the little bits of food are slightly odd, but edible enough. Most of the larger dishes are very American. But I suppose what this place is trying to be – and American-style brewpub. At least the beer is decent enough. Though, take away the customers and it could be just about anywhere in the world.

We don’t stay all that long. Just 90 minutes or so. I don’t want to burn through all my remaining yen quite yet.

On the walk back to the hotel, the lights sparkle and gleam. It does look very impressive at night, Tokyo.



Ottotto Brewery Hamamatsucho
105-0013 Tōkyō-to,
Minato City,
Hamamatsuchō,
2-chōme−1−5
https://ottotto-hamamatsucho.owst.jp/

Train to Hiroshima

It looks like being a stressful day. What with us having no seat reservations for the train. And the weather forecast is – scorchio.

We start off with a taxi to Tokyo station, where we’ll be picking up our first shinkansen. It’s hotter than hell again. Don’t know why I mention that. It’s been dead hot 100% of the time.

It’s not immediately clear which shinkansen we need to take. They’re all named and colour-coded, but that doesn’t tell you where they’re going. So I go to the JR travel centre for confirmation. We need platform 14.

Luckily there’s an air-conditioned waiting room on the platform to save Andrew’s life. He’s looking very pale, sweaty and close to collapse again. The nice man at the JR desk also told me that the first five carriages have the unreserved seats.

Alexie’s head almost knocks into some of the signs above the platform. The kids have to be so careful not to bash their heads into things. This country isn’t designed for people over 2 metres tall. I have to be careful, too and I’m under 2 metres.

I head off for some provisions. Drinks, really.

“Don’t take too long, Dad. Our train will be here soon.”

“I need beer.”

“Don’t you always.” Andrew, beer-slurper extraordinaire, can talk.

I love the Japanese. Even in a dead busy station kiosk they're friendly and patient with a foreign idiot fiddling with change. Which is what I’m doing. For a good reason.

In our first couple of days here before flying to Seoul, I accumulated a scary amount of Japanese change. I must have had 40 euros or more in coins. I’ve made it my mission to work my way through it. Hence fiddling with the coins at the checkout. I’m getting better at spotting the higher value coins in my wallet. Which is helping.

We see our train come in – it starts here – and shuffle out onto the platform. It’s already pretty crowded.

This being Japan, they have queues for the train doors. Properly arranged, with a staff member holding up a sign saying "end of line". When I can’t be arsed to squeeze along the platform any more,  we join the back of a queue.

Our choice of queue is a good one. We get on pretty quickly and all find seats, though not next to each other. The aisles are full of people standing.

I’m sitting next to a 50-something Japanese bloke who spends the whole of the journey reading manga. At least he’s quiet enough.

Some people to my left are getting stuck into bento boxes. The food looks – and smells – dead good. Why didn’t I pick one of those up in the station? I know, I had two whinging kids dragging at my heels.

The train is gradually emptying out as we progress. After a couple of hours, no-one is standing. Much more relaxing without the aisle clogged with people. Me and the kids are also able to move closer together.

“This hasn’t been so bad after all.” I remark to the kids, “I’d feared much worse.”

“We were just lucky, Dad.” Go on. Kill my buzz again. Andrew is so cynical. I guess that’s what you get for studying politics and belonging to a club named Machiavelli.

The shinkansen service is incredible. We have 19 minutes between our trains. While we’re waiting four other shinkansen stop on our platform. The train service is in general is dead well organised, the stations well signed and the staff really helpful. And I can be a real negative twat. Just ask Dolores.

“That’s slightly worrying.” I say to the kids as we’re waiting, pointing at the staff in white gloves pushing people onto the train. “Not a good sign at all.”

Though  it is cool to see train pushers in action. So many people work on the railways here, each group with its own uniform. A bit like the 19th-century in Britain. Then in other ways the railways are hyper-modern.

Our new train is mobbed. We can barely push our way in. We’re probably lucky to get on at all. Even the passenger-pushers couldn’t cram everyone onto some of the earlier trains.

I’m still quite close to the door. With all my luggage around me, it’s not exactly a comfortable standing position. And one of the wheels on my trolley bag seems to have collapsed. Great. I’m also trying not to rub my sweaty body up against the woman jammed in next to me.

Luckily after a couple of stops someone next to where I’m standing gets off and I grab their seat. The kids have to stand all the way. It’s OK for them. They still have strong, young legs. Unlike me. But it is only 80 minutes and air conditioned.

A walk through Hiroshima station and Andrew is looking like shit again. He recovers in the air-conditioned waiting room while we work out how to get to the hotel. Which turns out to be just 500 metres from the station. It says much about Japanese taxi drivers that one was happy to drive us somewhere he could point out from where we were standing.

Our hotel is right on the river. And wonderfully air conditioned, which is a big plus. The rooms are pretty big, too, compared to Tokyo. They have a wonderful view of the river and the skyline. Hard to imagine the terrible history of the city.

In the distance a suburb tumbles down a gorge like a glacier. A magical view. I’m warming to the city already.

“There’s a convenience store just around the corner.” Alexei remarks, helpfully.

“Let’s go on down. And hope they have whisky.”

“Dad, you know they always have whisky in those shops. That cheap Suntory stuff you drink.”

“That’s not cheap whisky. It’s competitively-priced whisky. Big difference.”

“Cheapest and strongest. That’s you, Dad.”

“I suppose you’ll be wanting some Strong Zero, Andrew?”

“Four cans, please.” He can’t be feeling that bad.

We don’t stray in the evening. We watch the sun set, the sky darken and the buildings prickle up with lights.

“It’s lovely, isn’t it, kids?”

“You always say that after a few whiskies. No matter how shit anything is.”

“I guess it’s time for bed, then, Zebedee?”

Flying back to Tokyo

We really should have left earlier than 7 AM. Our flight is at 10:10. And the airport is more than an hour away by train. But we have to get to Seoul station first. And there are only two fast trains an hour.

A taxi stops almost as soon as we leave out hotel. It’s dropping off. That was lucky. No waiting around. Could have been much worse.

We get tickets from a machine. The next fast train leaves in 10 minutes. Perfect, really. If we’d got here 10 minutes later, we’d have been buggered. I’m still feeling quite stressed, as we’re cutting things pretty fine. Obviously, it’s still hotter than Hades.

We can't get seats together on the Skyliner train to the airport as it's so full. No biggie. I’m sat next to a random middle-aged bloke. At least he doesn’t keep complaining, as the kids do.

I feel better when we’re in the terminal. Everything looks like it will be fine.

We check in incredibly quickly, thanks to my pushing in boarding. Security and passport control are thankfully also a breeze. Things are looking good. We’ve still 15 minutes before boarding when we’ve jumped through all the airport hoops.

“Wait a second, kids.”

“What is it now, dad? We haven’t got much time, remember.”

“I’ve still got all these won. I may as well use some in the duty free.”

“Hurry up then. Why do you always do this stuff, Dad?”

“I’m just being economical.”

“Total drunk, more like.”

The whisky is all stupid prices. So I just get a litre of the cheapest vodka I can find.

We get to the gate about 3 minutes before boarding begins. Which stresses me out a treat. But at least I have a litre of vodka.

I’m dead impressed by Korean Air. The service is very good. And my KLM pushing in boarding counts. Even on a flight of just 1.5 hours they serve a full meal, with an alcoholic drink. Feeling stressed up, I go fo orange juice again.

“What’s wrong with you, Dad?” Alexei asks, getting stuck into his beer. “Why aren’t you drinking a wine?”

“I thought you wanted me to drink less?”

We’re picking up our JR passes at the airport. It involves a fair bit of pissing around, along with some Andrew sweating and getting angry. He does sort out the passes for us, mind, while me and Alexei wait.

"Did you see the Weebo on the plane, Dad?"

"Who was that?"

"The Dutch girl sat a few seats in front of us."

“How do you know she was a Weebo?”

“It was obvious from how she looked.”

She did have hair dyed pink.

It's fucking hot in Tokyo.

We also pick up tickets to Tokyo. This time we’re headed for Ueno rather than Nippori station. It’s one stop further. We need to book seats on the shinkansen to Hiroshima for tomorrow. But the airport train comes into the wrong Ueno station. The airport line is run by Keisei, not JR. And at Ueno the two companies have completely separate stations.

We have to walk out into the blazing heat. Andrew is coping as well as ever.

“Just hurry the fuck up, Dad.”

After some sweaty stumbling, we find the JR ticket office. At the start of the queue there’s a sign in English warning that it’s the busy season and on many trains all the reserved seats have already been sold.

“All the reserved seats have been sold. You’ll need to go in one of the carriages with unreserved seats.”

Great. That sounds like being fun.

“At least it isn’t hot.” I quip.

“Really, shut the fuck up with that shit, Dad.” The heat makes Andrew a right grumpy trousers.

We find our way to the taxi rank, sweating like pigs in hell. This is so unpleasant. Alexei sits in the front, as usual.

"Did you see how old our taxi driver was, Dad? He was born in 1933."

We check straight into our hotel. It’s not the greatest in the world. Check out is at 10 AM. And the rooms are tiny. But we're only here one night.

Alexei just dropped by to tell me there's a dead famous temple nearby. And that Andrew wants to eat sushi tonight. Alexei has found somewhere close with good reviews. Not the racist one that only allows Japanese people to sit at the counter.

The temple is impressively close as well as impressive. And has a fire station right next to it. No coincidence, as at the temple entrance there's a sign saying no open flames. I suppose these wooden structures are susceptible to fire.

There’s a row of little shops welling weird trinkets. And quite a few people praying. It’s quite serene as dusk falls and the sky slowly darkens and envelops the surrounding buildings.

The sushi place isn’t far, either. Down a little back street. I’d never have spotted it if we didn’t have Alexei’s phone. Though I am starting to recognise the cloths hung over the entrance as being the sign of a restaurant.

It’s tiny. All the seats at the bar are taken, but there’s one free table. A minute table. About big enough to seat four 6-year olds. The kids barely fit into the space. Andrew is half off the table.

The food is amazing. One of the two chefs spends 30-40 minutes preparing it. Very impressive to watch his knife skills. There doesn’t appear to be any waiting staff, just the two chefs. Who also serve the food.

A woman sitting at the bar turns around and chats with us a little, which is nice.

When the sushi is all gone, we’re brought bowls of miso soup. Odd finishing a meal with soup.

Bit of a shock when the bill comes. Also brought over by our chef.

When I was shown the menu and the prices, I was still thinking in wons. It hasn't come to 30 euros, as I had thought, but 300.

One of the most expensive meals I've ever bought. But worth it for the quality of the food and the experience. I'm not going to let money spoil it for me. Though I only have just about enough to pay. The kids will be on bread and water tomorrow to compensate.

Luckily I have that litre of vodka to console me back at the hotel.

Lazy day

I 'm in a negative arsing situation. Can't bother my bottom to write up more of my Asian hols with the kids.

Instead, just an image of some radom receipts. And some other shit.

Included in there is the bill for the most expensive meal I've ever paid for. Not had, I've had more expensive ones that were someomne else's shout.

Here's the most expensive spam I've ever seen:

 I never tire of hi-tech Japanese toilets:

And who doesn't like an aircraft carrier?

 Or lots of pretty lights?

More night-time ptrettiness, this time from Seoul:

Food and soju:

Interestingly-sized loaves:

Finally my favourite pub of the trip:

Seoul day one

Our flight to Seoul isn’t until 13:55. We’re not in a huge rush.

Just as well. Andrew isn't a morning person. A right grumpy trousers, actually. He perks up around 6 PM, usually. Or the fifth beer. Whichever comes sooner.

Outside it’s still boiling hot. Thankfully we flag down a cab almost immediately and escape into its air-conditioned loveliness.

We’re headed for Nippori station, from which we’ll get a fast train to the airport. It’s hot and crowded in the station.

“Hurry up and get the tickets, Dad.” The heat is making Andrew impatient again.

“I’m going as fast as I can.” I’m not feeling that great, either. I want to get into the airconditioned part of the station as quickly as possible.

The train is wonderfully cool as it whizzes us through the tangled and confused suburbs of Tokyo, then the emerald-green paddy fields beyond. As with most new airports in the world, it’s miles out of town. The journey from the centre takes around an hour. With hardly any stops and rattling along like crazy.

A lot of escalators need to be overcome to get to departures at Nerita.

“We should have taken the lift, kids.”

“It’s a bit late for that now.” Andrew says as we crest the final one of the set. Bit like taking a narrow boat up a set of locks. Except with much less water. Other than the sweat that’s still streaming down Andrew’s back.

Our bags are soon whizzing away down the belt and we’re queueing up at security. Which we’re through in a jiffy.

“Hurry up and get in the queue, Dad.” Says Andrew when we get to immigration.

“Pay attention, Dad. Do you have our passports?” Alexei says with an amount of concern in his voice.

“Course I do. And the boarding passes.”

“Well don’t lose them.”

I feel pretty shit and mostly doze on the plane. Picking a little at the meal provided, not even having an alcoholic drink, just orange juice.

Once through immigration, we look to see where we get the train.

“I think it’s over there, Dad.” And so it is. Great having two extra pairs of eyes for spotting stuff.

“You’re so dozy, sometimes, Dad.” Despite the nasty things the attached mouths say.

The train is much like the one between Tokyo and Nerita: fast, modern and extremely well air conditioned. Thankfully.

The airport is out on an island and the early part of the journey is on a causeway crossing a river estuary. Goats graze on an embankment, ignoring the train hurtling past just a few metres away. The journey takes even linger than in Tokyo, it takes around an hour. The airport is a long way out.

We get off at Seoul station. Another stunningly simple name for a station in a megapolis. The platforms seem about a kilometre down. We take several massive escalators before we emerge at ground level.

“Looks like the station was built to double up as a nuclear shelter. Like in Washington DC.”

“Shut up, Dad and get on with finding a taxi. It’s boiling hot and I don’t feel like chatting.” What a miserable git Andrew can be at times.

It's boiling hot outside. Just as we exit an old woman gives Alexei a paper fan. That’s nice of her. 

There’s a taxi rank right outside the station. But it’s hard to work out which is the start, and which the end, of the queue. There are a couple of minutes of confusion, while Andrew gets hotter, sweatier and more irritated. Finally we work it out and get in a cab.

We've just been showing the taxi driver the printed out names and addresses for our hotels. This one doesn't seem to be able to read Latin script, something I hadn’t anticipated. He rings up his office and has Alexei read out the address for a woman to interpret. It takes a few minutes. A few worrying minutes.

But eventually the driver understands and off we speed. Well speed, as much as the traffic will allow. We roll up to our hotel just before dusk. It’s still crazily hot. The walk from kerb to hotel door is enough to get Andrew sweating like a tap turned full on.

“Look, dad. There’s a shop on the ground floor.” Andrew observes as we approach the lift to go up a floor to check in. “That’s dead handy.”

The hotel is pretty nice, with decent-sized rooms. My room has a really good view of the city. Just opposite there's a tangled web of tiny streets. We’ll be investigating those tomorrow. Most importantly the air-conditioning is dead good.

After taking 20 minutes to catch their breath and fill buckets with their wiped off sweat, the kids rat-a-tat-tat on my door.

“Your view is much better than ours.”

“That’s because they knew I was the father and you two the kids. Of course they’d give me the room with the better view.”

“Fuck off, Dad.” Alexei has such a way with words. His Dutch swearing is pretty impressive, too. "You know that’s bullshit. Why do you say that crap?”

“Let’s go to the shop.” Andrew proposes sensibly.

“Fair enough by me. I could do with some more booze.”

“Dad, I meant to get food.”

“Of course. Though I’m putting money on you picking up some beer. Especially as they don’t have Strong Zero here.”

The downstairs shop is quite small, but has  all the essentials, beer, crisps, sandwiches, soju and sausages on sticks.

“It looks like a corn dog.” Andrew opines.

“I want one, whatever it is.” Typical of Alexei. Always up for something new.

I’m drawn to one particular section at the back.

“Do you think this is soju, Andrew?”

“Looks like it to me, based on the type of bottle.”

“How strong is it, though? I can’t see the ABV on the label.”

“It’s on the cap. Looking for the strongest one again?” Andrew is such a cynic.

“No, just trying to be responsible by being aware of the strength of what I’m drinking.”

“Pff!”

“That’s exactly the noise your Mum often makes in reply to me. I think it means, ‘yes, that’s exactly right, Ronald.’”

“Yeah, right.”

“Do you think I should get three or four bottles of soju?”

“Dad, don’t go crazy.” Alexei is such a worrier.

Back upstairs we chill awhile in the kids’ room.

“What’s your sausage on a stick like?"

"Good. Not a corn dog, though. Just like a bockworst. Except on a stick."

What is this thing about German-style sausages in Japan and South Korea?

We watch some Korean TV.  We stumble on an incomprehensible programme that just seems to be a middle-aged bloke eating in a fast food restaurant. That really is pretty much the whole plot. Eating in great detail and with great relish. Though it’s not a Korean: it’s in Japanese and on a Japanese channel.

“What the fuck is this? Can you look it up on your phone, Lexxie?”

“OK. What should I search for?

"How about ‘Man eating food in Tokyo?’”

"Found it." That was quick.
 
"It’s called The Lonely Gourmet and is based on a manga."

A weirdly hypnotising programme, once you get past the oddness of the concept.

At the end of each episode someone, whom I assume is the writer of the manga, goes to the same restaurant and eats. Genius.

Which gets me thinking. Maybe I could do a series called "Lonely Pisshead" where I wander around aimlessly in the same way, but instead of stuffing my face, I knock back a few. I could easily show as much joy in consumption. Possibly even more. I'm that good an actor.

The soju is going down nicely. Just as well I went for five bottles. I assumed the kids would nick at least one.

Predicting things like that is one of the reasons I’m such a good father.

Tokyo day two

I didn’t sleep that great. Getting a traditional hotel room seemed a good idea at the time. But sleeping on just a thin mattress isn’t good for my old bones. My hips were aching like crazy by the morning.

We nip over to the 7 11 opposite for some bits and bobs. There really are a lot of little shops. That stay open all hours. And sell beer and whisky and all that good stuff.

Andrew is on Strong Zero, mind. He’d heard about it and was keen to try it. I think because of the price to strength ratio.

“What’s it like?” I ask.

“An alcopop. Not really like it’s alcoholic at all.”

“Not like you then.”

“Very funny, Dad. And you can talk."

He already seems hooked on the stuff.

I deliberately booked hotels close to stations. There’s one not more than 50 metres from our hotel. Meaning despite the heat, we can walk there and survive. It’s really effing hot today.

“Hurry up dad. We don’t want to stand around in this heat any longer than we need to.” Andrew is uncomfortable.

“Stop with the stupid photos, Dad.”  Alexei just aggressive.

Plan is to take a train to Tokyo station, have a look at the Imperial Palace, then go to Craft Beer Bar iBrew. Which you can probably guess is a craft beer pub. The kids found it for me, bless them. Though Andrew does seem to have got a taste for IPA on our US trip last year. He quite often orders one.

It’s hot. Did I mention that? The station is huge and full of people milling around. And this is Sunday afternoon.

“I’m feeling really hot, Dad. Can we go to the pub first?” Andrew asks.

“Ooh, I don’t know about that. We wouldn’t want to miss out on the cultural stuff.”

“Stop pissing around. You always want to go to the pub.”

“OK, you’ve twisted my arm.”

We’re using a map on Alexei’s phone to navigate. It isn’t far. Just a couple of hundred metres of what appear to be shopping streets. Should be a piece of piss to find.

We overshoot by several streets. Walking past fancy shops packed with eager consumers. None of that Sunday closing crap here. Though some of the small food places are closed.

“We have to go back that way.” Alexie suggests.

“Just get on with it. I’m burning up here.” Andrew really doesn’t look good.

We’re pretty sure that we’ve located the right street. But where the hell is the pub? We walk up and down the street a couple of times. No luck.

“You look terrible, Andrew. Let’s nip in that shop and get cold drinks.”

After loitering a while in the air-conditioned shop, we find a bench and drink our drinks in the shade. It helps a bit.

We stumble back down along the street one last time.

“Look, Dad! That’s it.” Alexei has always been good at spotting stuff.

The pub is remarkably well hidden. I wonder they get any trade at all. Or perhaps they just don’t like strangers.

It’s tiny inside, but we manage to find seats. You could, perhaps, if they all liked each other very much, squeeze in 20 customers. But they still do food.

The beer list is small, just 10 draught beers. I’d be suspicious if it were longer. No way you could manage any more in a place this small.

“What do you fancy, lads?”

“Leitungswassser Kölsch.” Andrew says, quick as a flash.

“Me, too.”

“I’m assuming big ones.”

“What do you think, Dad?”

A big one being 46ml, for 745 yen. Not that unreasonable for bag in the centre of town.

I have a 7HOP DIPA. Because I need some alcohol in me and that’s the strongest beer on the list.

“I see you’ve gone for the strongest beer, Dad.”

“That’s just a coincidence.” I lie. “Anyway, it’s weaker than your Strong Zero.”

“Can I have some food?” Alexei asks. He’s the only one of us who’s hungry. The heat really take away my appetite. And Andrew’s.

He orders a portion of sashimi. It looks very good, but I couldn’t face a bite. I do have room for some more beer, mind.

“I think I’ll have another DIPA. What about you, Andrew?”

“I’ll have a Hazy IPA.”

“A sludge beer, you mean?”

“Don’t be so negative, Dad.”

It’s dark and a little cooler when we leave. Trailing back to the station past brightly-lit exotic facades. Tokyo station is still mobbed. Odd that a city this size has a station simply called Tokyo.

We need to change trains at Ueno. It’s quite a large station and confusing as to which line we should take. We seem to go a long way without coming to our station.

“I don’t remember this from the way out, Andrew. I think we’ve taken the wrong train.”

“I think you’re right.”

We have to backtrack to Ueno, where we get the correct train. Still, it’s not as if it’s hot or anything.

We get back to the hotel a little sweaty, but still alive and in relatively good condition. Especially once back a room with some refreshments.

I finish the day with a little hotel whisky. Andrew and Alexei with more Strong Zero. Alexei seems to have got a taste for it as well. What has become of them?

We don’t stay up too late. We’re flying to Seoul tomorrow.




Craft Beer Bar iBrew
104-0028 Tōkyō-to,
Chuo City,
Yaesu,
2-chōme−11−7
Tel: +81 3-3281-6221
Open 13:00 - 23:00

Tokyo bound

“Daad, can you stop taking pictures?”

“But I need them for the blog, Lexxie. I always struggle with photos for the start of a trip.”

“We haven’t even got on the bus yet. Can’t you wait? And shut up about your stupid blog.”

“No, Alexei. I need to snap a little or the start of the post will be all text. And people are lazy bastards. Lots of text puts them off. Without photos my blog would be stupid.”

“We need to be ready for when the bus comes.”

The alternate bus route is the one we have to take again, kicking off with a number 62 rather than number 15, changing at Olympic Stadium rather than Haarlemmermeerstation.

I take a few more pictures at Olympic Stadium.

“Dad, can you really stop with all the photographing shit. We have a bus to catch.”

“We’ve a good eight minutes before it comes. Loads of time.”

This is starting well. Not even got to the airport and the kids are already whinging.

There’s no bus catching drama. I’ve taken enough snaps minutes before the bus arrives. I don’t why they’re getting all anxious. I’ve more luggage than they do.

The airport isn’t too mobbed. It is a Friday in the holiday season, after all. Though I’m pretty much insured against that now, what with having pushing in boarding. As long as I fly with KLM or one of their partners.

“Our flight leaves from pier E. Do you know what that means, lads?”

“Yes, dad. That we can go to the Irish pub. We were here just a couple of weeks ago, remember?”

First, though we make a quick detour to the duty free. Where I buy the cheapest malt whisky I can find.

We can’t get our usual seats close to the entrance and have to use one of the tables in the rather murky interior. One thing remains the same: our order. Pints of cider for the kids, a half of Murphy’s Stout and a double Jamesons, no ice, for me.

“Do you want another pint, boys?”

“Yes, dad. But I know you only ask because you want another whiskey. Don’t go crazy with that. We don’t want you getting drunk before we get on the plane.”

Lexxie is really like my Mum, sometimes. I only ever intended having the two, anyway. I’m not totally irresponsible. Though Dolores might argue with me on that point.

We don’t have three seats together, though that’s how the plane is configured. Dolores insisted that we got at least one emergency exit seat so the kids (or at least one of them) could have more legroom. Alexei is the lucky boy, with me and Andrew one row back. I’m consigned to the middle seat. Something I’d usually avoid. The sacrifices I make for my children.

A very quiet middle-aged Japanese bloke is sitting in the window seat. Which is a good thing, as he’s quite small. Not a big fat bastard like me. Two me-sized people next to each other would have been a tight fit.

I watch a film until the meal is served. As soon as that’s done – and I’ve downed a couple of red wines – it’s time to get my head down. Which works out remarkably well. Pretty soon I’m spark out, which was the idea.

At least for a while. I’m awoken by someone poking my arm. It’s Andrew. “Dad, you’re leaning on the man next to you.” That’s slightly embarrassing. I lean on Andrew instead. “Dad, just stick to your own seat.”

Soon I’m slumbering again. Only awaking when it’s time for the final meal of the flight. Perfect. The flight has gone dead quickly. The kids haven’t been quite as successful in their sleeping attempts.

For some reason, at immigration in Japan you have to be checked twice. Can’t see the point in that and it just slows things up. They do let all three of us in. Which is a good thing.

Immigration passed to pick up our bags – which arrive wonderfully quickly.

“I need to get some money, kids. Can you see a cash machine anywhere?”

“Over there day. Are you blind? You’re really getting worse.”

50,000 yen to the better, I distribute the money around the three of us.

“Best you kids have at least some local cash in case you get lost.”

“It’s more likely you’ll wander off and get separated, Dad.”

“Or lose us when you’re taking more stupid photographs.”

The fast train to the centre is expensive at more than 20 euros a pop, but it’s dead easy to buy the tickets. We’re headed for Nippori station rather than the main one as it’s closer to our hotel.

Emerging from the train, one thing is obvious: despite only being before 11 AM, it’s already hot. Effing hot. Andrew starts looking uncomfortable immediately. A waterfall of sweat cascades down his face. I’m not much better.

Outside we grab a cab. Lexxie gets in the front. The driver kindly moves the seat back for him. His knees had been poking his chin. Alexei shows the printed out name and address of the hotel and away we go.

It’s not far.  I deliberately chose reasonably central hotels. And reasonably cheap ones. I’m not made of money.

We’re too early to check in.

“Let’s see if we can find a pub, kids.”

“That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said all day.” Andrew says cheekily. He’s not one to ever turn down a beer-drinking opportunity.

We head off up the street. It’s even hotter. There are plenty of bars and restaurants around. Just none of them are open.

“Dad, can you hurry up and find something.” Andrew says after about 30 metres. He is looking hot, mind.

We walk a couple of hundred metres up the street. Nothing doing. Then back again. Still no luck. Third time up bingo! A little place has just opened. We rush in and joyously find that it’s air-conditioned and has beer.

“What would you like?”

“Beer.”

“Beer.”

“Three beers it is, then.”

They don’t have draught. Just big bottles of Asahi. That’ll do. For once I don’t mind that my beer is ice cold.

“Are you hungry?” I ask, as the food our fellow customers are tucking into looks interesting.

“No, my stomach doesn’t feel that good.” Andrew replies. I can equate with that. The heat has knocked all the appetite of me, too.

“I’ll have something.” Says Alexei, unsurprisingly.

What to order, though? The menu is only in Japanese.

“You should do what I used to before I could understand German. Just opt for something around the price you want to pay. Or in this case, how much I’m prepared to pay.”

“We know, Dad. You’ve told us this before.”

Alexei plumps for something in the 800 yen range. It turns out to be pretty substantial. A bowl of rice, miso soup, an omelette, two breaded chicken things and some pickles. Andrew and I get more beer as Alexei gets stuck into his food.

I’m surprised when I see someone light up a fag. Especially as they’re eating at the time.

Alexei can’t manage all his meal. I wish I were hungrier. It looks quite nice. But I couldn’t force down a thing. Well, nothing solid. I’ve room for beer.

When Check in time rolls around, we head back hotel-wards. Nipping into a supermarket we spotted earlier on the way. Where we pick up some drinks and sushi for later. That’s the sort of food I might be able to force down.

“Watch out, dad.” Andrew warns me as a bike approaches from behind. You have to really watch out. Everyone cycles on the pavement. Not used to that. In Amsterdam people mostly stick to the cycle paths.

We’re staying in traditional rooms, meaning there’s not really any furniture. Andrew wasn’t so keen when I suggested it. But I managed to convince him that it would be part of a total Japan experience.

We spend the evening chilling in our hotel, soaking up Japanese culture via the TV and drinking beer. TV is as bizarre as I’d hoped. Apart from the baseball.



Miyoshiya
Block 9.
Otakebashi-dori Ave
Arakawa City,
Tokyo.