Round and round and round and round and round

I don't venture into Japanese DVD shops these days. When I first got here I was super-excited to see all the strange stuff I could never watch or understand, but then after a few trips the "could never watch or understand" part sinks in and you kind of give up. But when I used to pop in on my way back from work, the thing that I was drawn to the most was the horror section.

I'm not that interested in horror, generally. I've got nothing against it, but like photography or knitting, it's a whole realm of study that I'd like to get around to exploring if I had infinite time on my hands; knowing that I don't, I'd rather write it off entirely than try and force myself to dedicate time to it out of sheer bloody-mindedness. Having said that, I love the aesthetic of Japanese horror. Even the act of browsing DVD covers is like walking through a particularly pungent nightmare; something about the combination of colours, faces, and the bare strikingness of the written characters hits you around the head and pushes needles into the more primitive realms of your brain. If I had to compare it to something - and my knowledge of horror is hardly encyclopedic - I guess it's the gunginess of Cronenberg crossed with the "something feels horribly wrong but I can't explain why" sensibility of David Lynch. But it's something all of its own, really - gungy, grungy, vaguely crass and usually cheap-looking, yet at the same time subtle and artful in its terrifyingness.

Enough meandering. I recently watched Uzumaki, a film made in 2000 based on a popular manga series. The story follows a town which appears to be under some sort of curse, which causes people to become obsessed with spiral shapes (Uzumaki translates as 'spiral', 'vortex' or 'whirlpool'):

First of all, I want to clarify that I haven't read the manga which I am told is far better than the film. The film is certainly flawed; the ending is unsatisfying, and not the good kind of unsatisfying you get with, say, No Country for Old Men. (The film was actually made before the manga was finished.) The story doesn't really hang together nicely and it feels like there's unfulfilled potential. It's not a masterpiece by any means. However, it made my hungry for more Japanese horror and there were definitely things about it I really liked (though of course a lot of that's down to the source material, which I very much want to read now). I love the idea of the enemy being something as vague and unknowable as a type of shape. You'll never get a Paranormal Activity where the ghost turns out to be a triangle. The fact that there's no bodily villain makes the whole thing so creepy, because you don't actually know what it is you're supposed to be afraid of. There are references to a 'curse' and standard horror-trope moments where you see an investigative journalist looking up old newspaper clippings in a library, but unless I missed something there's never anything remotely approaching an explanation, or any hint by which we could identify the evil. We just know that people start being haunted by the idea of spirals, and later reach various horrible fates relating to the shapes of spirals. (Yeah, it's hard to explain.) The fragmentary nature of the story sometimes comes across as bad plotting; other times as a deliberate move to make the film more mystifying and unknowable. Like a lot of Japanese media, the film also looks a little cheap compared to Hollywood fare, but again, I quite like that. The special effects are squelchy and in-your-face; even the crappy CGI looks distinctive and interesting in its conspicuousness. And I like the general aura of wrongness. Even from the beginning, when everything should seemingly be fine, the world is darkly lit and sparse and people behave in ways they shouldn't. Overall it's very different from standard mainstream Western horror, which feels sterile by comparison. I'm sure there's better things out there, but I'm glad I watched it.

Now if you will excuse me, I'm off to look at some snails.

Top places to eat in Nagoya and my forbidden pizza love

People who know me well can tell you I'm a touch fussy about food. I'm quite a bit better now than I was in my childhood, when pretty much anything from oranges to non-alphabet-shaped potatoes could make me gag. I'm a proper grownup now and I've narrowed my major dislikes down to pretty much all seafood, red meat, and tequila. Nonetheless people tend to get smug if they know you dislike fish and then you tell them that you're moving to Japan.

"How are you going to get by if you won't eat sushi? They eat sushi every day there. They brush their hair with sushi. How are you going to brush your hair if you can't eat sushi and brush your hair with a sushi brush? HOW???"

I knew sushi was just one of many, many different things you could eat in Japan, but I couldn't help but get a bit worried all the same, to the point where it was one of the main things that scared me about going. I shouldn't have got so stressed about it; I cook most of my own food here, and when I go out to eat it tends to be either for noodles, Japanese-style bar food like tebasaki, or international cuisine. (The local Burger King is the only one in the whole region, which makes it exotic, see.)

By the way, tebasaki. Can we just...take a moment...

So, so good. 

Anyway, I've only gone out for sushi here about half a dozen times, and I manage perfectly well eating the aubergine sushi and one or two pieces of the milder fish. If that's not deserving of a pat on the back and a sweetie I don't know what is.

My tastes are my tastes, and I know I shouldn't really feel guilty about them. I'm still up for trying new things, and on the whole my eating habits are relatively healthy when I'm cooking meals myself (lots of things with leaves on them). But I confess I start to squirm, just a bit, when I think about the fact that of my top five restaurants in Nagoya, only one is actually Japanese. Still, if going to lots of Japanese restaurants is cosmopolitan and sophisticated, I suppose going to lots of different kinds of restaurants makes me even better, possibly some kind of world-class travelling raconteur. Doing lots of racontating.

Anyway, here's my top five:

Solo Pizza - an authentic Italian restaurant in Nagoya's trendy marketplace-type area, Osu, where girls walk around in elaborate Victorian-inspired goth dresses and Westerners hunt for retro games never released in their home countries. The (Japanese) chef here won some contest declaring him the best pizza-maker in the world, and while I'm not sure I have the experience to corroborate that claim, I'm not going to dispute it either. There's a proper big oven and everything.

The pizzas are just a touch too small for my liking, but then that just gives you an excuse to fill yourself up by buying some of their deli offerings, such as risotto balls, rosemary chicken, perfect-looking lemon cakes and massive sausages. I always feel happy when I'm here.

Osso Brasil - about fifteen seconds' walk from Solo Pizza, this Brazilian place offers a bit of a contrast. There's much more of a rough-and-ready feel, with metal furniture plonked out front by a number of ever-spinning rotisserie chickens. Meals are purchased by putting money into a vending machine and buying tickets that you hand over the counter, a common method of payment here, which I love for its simplicity and reduction in post-dinner bill-splitting niminy-piminy. Chicken is the specialty but I love the coxinhas - pear-shaped fried drops of potato filled with spicy chicken. They're supposed to be a little extra something to have with your meal but I like to just buy about four with a side of chips.

Furaibo - hey, Japanese food! Furaibo is a Nagoya institution (well, something had to be). Its tebasaki (spicy chicken wings) is famous; there's even a branch in LA. I usually go to the one in the magnificent labyrinth that is Nagoya Station. When my parents came to visit I mistakenly took them to a different branch instead, which turned out to be run by an extremely angry old woman who would say "how much chicken?" to us and nothing else, but the one in the station is small, cosy and not at all terrifying. I'm not usually one for wings, but Furaibo's are sweet, savoury, tangy and incredibly moreish.

Momo - A new discovery, this. Walking through Osu with Nick, we somehow got on the subject of falafel and how much we wished we could have some. By chance we were walking down a seemingly empty side-street and - ta-da! - a falafel place. Momo isn't really a restaurant, since it basically consists of a storefront and two chairs, but I would happily stand to eat here, and I hate standing. Bonus points for the sweet mint tea and the honey-sugar crepes.

Taxim - I've only been to this Turkish place once, and I have no idea how it stays in business. Not because of the food, you understand, but because like a lot of Japanese businesses it seems to operate on some tiny street far from anything else of interest and could probably only be stumbled upon if you were an extreme eccentric who had decided to walk down every single street in Nagoya. Still, there's probably at least one guy like that, and I guess his recommendation was enthusiastic enough that word spread. I had the lunch set, which involved flatbread baked directly in front of you - in one of those big proper ovens with an actual proper fire in it - baked aubergine, couscous, olive oil, chicken, Turkish ice-cream and coffee. I will be returning as soon as I can so I can get my hands on their pide.

If you live in Nagoya and have any other recommendations please let me know so I can eat food

On the hitting of snow with sticks

Winter! 'Tis the season to curl up in a ball and hope no-one bothers you ever again.

Nonetheless, I had ten days of holiday over Christmas and New Year and I knew I should do something with it. Some friends of mine very kindly took on the burden of organising a ski trip to Hakuba in Nagano Prefecture, one of the best places for snow sports in the world, which I happily agreed to join before remembering that I hate skiing and the one day I went skiing was one of the worst I've ever experienced in my life. But who doesn't love snow? I don't not love snow, that's for sure.

The trip from Nagoya to Hakuba took about three hours by coach and two by train. I haven't been on a long coach trip in years so it felt like a really exotic school trip. Exchanging notes and singing Ten Green Bottles would have felt a bit weird, so I stuck to trying to take pictures of amazing snow-capped mountains whilst moving at sixty miles per hour.

Which went exactly as well as you'd expect.

The train journey went surprisingly well considering there was about two feet of snow all around the tracks. Puts in perspective the nationwide pant-shitting we go through back in the U.K. if we get enough snowfall to hide the gum on the pavements.

Outside Hakuba station we got dinner in the first establishment we saw, which was an Aussie-run bar offering snacks and proper beer (fun fact: in Japan, beer is usually served with a head of at least five centimetres, compared to the U.K. where pouring a beer with a head of that length will usually get you a well-deserved glassing). The bartender was Australian and the customers at the bar were all Australians too. When we got to the cluster of hotels by the ski slopes, most of the people we saw were Westerners. What with living in a city that has precisely nothing to offer tourists, this was all a bit weird for me. I am no longer used to hearing English all around me. My brain has entirely forgotten how to tune out background conversations which have meaning to me. Sitting next to an Anglophone family in a restaurant, I found it impossible to concentrate on my own speaking whilst simultaneously being able to hear them. I was also oddly self-conscious of the fact that they could understand my own conversation, even though I was talking about the weather and not how weird their mouths were. Something I'll definitely have to adjust to when I move back.

Yes, that's a selfie stick; no, we didn't buy it; yes, it's a perfectly legitimate thing to own and use.

The chalet was cosy, inviting, and a massive relief after a taxi ride through the most terrifying roads ever. Everything was wood-paneling and blankets, and our room had a big platform you had to climb up to on a skinny little ladder to get to the extra futon; the child in me was super-excited, even as the adult in me feared breaking her legs. There was a rec room, too, with beers you could purchase on the honour system (something you can actually rely on in Japan), board games, and a wonderful chess set:

There were also Japanese-style bathing facilities where different rooms were opened to different genders depending on the day, which is excellent if you like accidentally walking in on nude men.

The next day, my friends went off to ski and I stayed back with Nick (who had injured his foot) to hang out and play in the snow like the children we are. We tried to walk down to the nearest village but found the path too long and troublesome, so stuck to making angels and throwing snowballs. Nick found a new hobby, which is to pick up a stick and hit big outcrops of snow with it so some of the snow falls down. I've never seen him in a mountainous setting before and it's quite clearly his element.

The final day of our trip was mostly spent travelling, but we stopped in Matsumoto for a few hours while we waited for our coach. Matsumoto is a laid-back little city with a very nice castle:

We took a castle tour just before sunset, which involved climbing a lot of very difficult ladders whilst wearing slippers that were too big, and looking out of tiny windows built specifically for the firing of arrows whilst pointing at people outside and talking about how easy it would be to shoot them. One of the seven floors was devoted entirely to some guy who had donated all his guns to the city. Not a guy related to the castle in any way. Just a guy. I guess if a guy with a massive gun collection wants his stuff displayed in the local castle you don't argue.

Our holiday was over, and I was due back at work the next day. We still had hours to go before we got home (even more so than expected, due to our bus driver somehow getting lost on the motorway). But there was still a little bit of time to eke out, so just outside the castle we took a few minutes to watch the moon rise. It poked out just an eensy bit behind the distant mountains, and could be seen edging visibly upwards until it hung neat, full and white in the pink-blue sky.

Bambi Hates Paradise: On Miyajima

I hate this deer.

I may need to elaborate. I'm not an awful person, I promise, or at least not because of the deer thing.

***

In mid-October my family came to visit me, which was fun because I got to pretend like I spoke Japanese and knew things about Japan. On the last day of their trip they wanted to go to Miyajima, an island off Hiroshima Bay, famous for its iconic 'floating torii' - a coral-coloured holy gate which, at high tide, appears to float free and serene on glimmering waters. It's the most beautiful place I've ever been to.

The boat to the island takes a mere ten minutes. At this time of year, while all the chumps in Europe are putting out jack o' lanterns, dodging falling leaves and struggling into ugly jumpers, here in Japan it still feels like high summer. The midyear humidity has drawn away and left the kind of pleasant sun that coruscates in every corner. Getting close to the island we could see the famous torii, but it was still a few hours until the tide was high enough to create the 'floating' illusion, so alas the mystery was denuded.

It's actually standing on the ground! Still, though. The light on the sea danced in a million spots and the view was really something to behold. The weather was perfect too. Certainly something I like to look back on now it's almost January and oil turns solid in my saucepan if I leave it unwashed overnight.

On the island the first thing I noticed were some big weird dogs that a lot of tourists seemed to be very excited about for some reason. I got a little closer and realised they weren't actually dogs.

Awwwwww. Deer! Actual deer, walking around! How cute!

That's what you think. At first.

***

The island is wonderful to walk around. One thing I really like about Japan is that the gift/souvenir shops around touristy areas seem to sell actual things you might want in your house. Proper, reasonably-priced gifts of a nice quality - handmade daruma (egg-shaped dolls), delicate hair accessories, wooden figurines - instead of cheap plasticky tat. Look at all these nice shops selling non-tat.

After wandering round the paths and taking in the sun for a while, my parents realised they had to leave if they wanted to catch their train. Emotional goodbyes and blah blah blah. After waving my family off and having a bit of a melancholy sit-down, me and Nick decided the best way to cheer me up was the classic way: ice-cream.

Now. You would think a paradise like this would be the perfect place to have a lovely ice-cream cone, wouldn't you?

Don't count on it. Bambi hates Paradise.

Deer are a little aggressive, as it turns out. This one was de-horned - presumably there's a man whose job it is to go round the whole island and do all the de-horning - but once it became clear I wasn't going to let him have a go at the ice-cream he started becoming more insistent and began to butt me. Which still hurts, by the way, even without horns. Eventually, after a few minutes of struggle, I realised it wasn't worth the hassle and took my treat inside, leaving him to brood. I decided to chalk it up as a draw and buy myself coffee, too, out of self-pity.
There were a couple of hours still left until high tide, which were taken up with wandering and deer avoidance. There's an amazing pagoda, and the shrine, and the views of the island and the sea. Pictures will do better than words, for now:

The whole experience was incredible, like walking through an illustration of a book; a slice of almost-perfect beauty (the camera really doesn't do it justice). I found a spot by the sea, watching it lap each time a little higher, and sat down to read the book my mum had given me as a parting gift. Who on earth would disturb a happy visitor like me, enjoying a fleeting supramundane moment of tranquility?

A deer ate my book. The foreword, at least. Just came wandering up, and with solemn determination started chewing on the acknowledgements before I had even had a chance to understand what was happening. I had to tear the rest of the book out of its mouth to save it, and flee. Bloody criminals. Never let your guard down.

I won't be ending on a negative note though. The day was worth any number of encounters with omnivorous pestilences. Just look at this gate: