DAY 6

Monday 3rd May

Kagoshima

6:30 a.m.

Rustle.
Rustle rustle.

RUSTLE RUSTLE RUSTLE RUSTLE RUSTLE.

It would only be fair at this point to give a big shout out to a fellow dorm member, the fantastic 'Mr. Plastic Bag Man'. From 6:30 to 7:30 a.m., he spends the entire hour unpacking his bag, and then repacking each item back into a plastic bag. EVERY SINGLE ITEM. Every piece of equipment, every scrap of paper, every item of clothing goes into separate plastic bags, each of the Argos-style 'extra-crinkly' variety. He must have at least 7,000 of them.

RUSTLE RUSTLE RUSTLE (Shut up! Shut up!)

When someone begins to stir, he quietens down for a bit or leaves the room. But when he returns he begins the whole routine again but with added vigour and fervour.

RUSTLE RUSTLE
(I roll over in bed and sigh audibly)

.........

.....

rustle.

RUSTLE RUSTLE RUSTLE RUSTLE RUSTLE.

When he eventually sods off, Paul and myself have a chat.

'Did you hear that guy this morning?'
'What, you mean Mr. Plastic Bag Man?' 
'That's exactly what I was going to call him.'

Anyway, at lunchtime we roll onto another train from Aso back to Kumamoto, and then onto our first Shinkansen (Bullet Train). The Shinkansen is fantastic. More plane than train, they cruise along the track at a speed approaching (on the Nozomi express service) 261.8kph. The aisles are spacious, the legroom plenty, the environment calm, but the passengers dangerous. All pretence of politeness is chucked out of the window when it comes to getting a seat, and on more than one occasion we are physically barged out of the way by frantic salarymen. But even these tie-clad terrorists are small fish compared to the old women- know in some quarters as 'O-Batallions' (a combination of Japanese 'Oba-san', 'granny', and English 'Batallion'). And speaking of quarters, they definitely give none when it comes to boarding trains. Elbows everywhere. These are some mean grand- muthas.

Another memorable (but scary) event occurs on this journey. A red-faced Japanese guy, swaying gently while talking to his companions further down the aisle, approaches our group. Squatting down at the side of my seat, he starts gabbling at me in Japanese- and naturally, not being particularly well versed in the language, I can offer nothing but a puzzled smile in return. Not half as puzzled, however, as when he grabs my hand and kisses my fingers. There then begins the fun game 'Gaijin tug-of-war', as he tries to pull me across to his table of friends, while I remain paralysed with confusion in my seat. I look for help from Emma, who looks disapproving of my new choice of friends, and advises me to stay where I am. I take her advice without hesitation. Eventually the guy gives up and returns to his companions. They appear to be his wife and another lady who I couldn't quite see, as she was facing away from me. She briefly turns around and looks down the aisle, but the carriage is quite long and I couldn't make out whether she was particularly young or old. There's always the possibility that she could have been the guy's daughter, and a chance I may have ended up being, ahem, set up for marriage. I bury my face in my notebook and scribble furiously, avoiding all eye contact with anyone.

Just after lunch we arrive in the city of Kagoshima. The lady at Kagoshima station information desk kindly phones the owner of our hotel to have us picked up. He turns up in person and escorts us to our base for the next two days, the Nakazano Ryokan.

A ryokan is a Japanese-style B&B or guesthouse. The guest spends the night on a futon in a tatami-matted room, and enjoys the pleasures of Japanese hospitality in a fairly traditional environment. Facilities are shared, particularly the 'O- furo' (bath), though naturally being English I avoid this option and go for showers instead. Futons, being by their nature laid straight onto the floor, are comfortable as long as you know the correct way to sleep on them. On your face or on your back- no problem. For those unfortunate enough to prefer sleeping on their sides, as I do, the lack of give in the floor slowly pushes your pelvis out of alignment, and I spend many days walking around as though one leg has gone to sleep. A fantastic touch is the light cotton Yukata, which is basically a summer dressing gown designed to be lounged around in. I take much pleasure in sitting around pretending I'm a Samurai, relaxing after a hard day persecuting peasants.

A note must be made here about footwear etiquette. There are two main embarrassing mistakes a Gaijin can make: the first is to forget to take off your shoes before stepping up into the house (shoes are impure and should never contaminate the inner sanctum of the Japanese house, and so are left in the porch). The second is leaving your slippers on while walking on tatami mats. I make this second mistake a few times, and while the lesser crime of the two, I should still have avoided it. When stepping onto the tatami even the indoor slippers must be removed, as it's a socks-only environment. Still, each time I did this, the owner was elsewhere, so I got away with it! Another thing designed to confuse foreigners is remembering to change from indoor slippers into toilet slippers, and vice-versa when finished.

After dropping off our bags, we traipse out onto the streets of Kagoshima and head towards the docks for a nosey around. The sea front is packed with some kind of market or jumble sale, and we wander around it for a while. Directly opposite the harbour lies the brooding, volcanic Mount Sakurajima- unfortunately flattened into a plateau by swathes of low-lying cloud. It's frustrating to see something so obviously impressive as a volcano being obscured by something so insubstantial as cloud. We cross our fingers and hope the situation improves.

Heading away from the docks, we decide that we may as well use a grey day to explore locally, rather than heading straight for the island. So first of all we visit the statue of one of Kagoshima's most famous sons, Saigo Takamori, a major player in the Satsuma Rebellion- when the dwindling Samurai took on the Government in an effort to keep their status intact. (Have you seen 'The Last Samurai', starring professional short-arse Tom Cruise? It was a bit like that, I suppose.) In front of the statue is a designated photo area, which is designed to give the best angles for taking photos of Saigo (as well as the occupants of passing cars). The Japanese desire for organization even stretches as far as composing your photo for you.

Next, it's the ruins of an old castle, the Loyal Retainer's Monument, and in the words of the local street signs, 'The Cave Where Saigo Hid'. What was left of the original cave (where Saigo avoided the government forces attempting to kill him) was smothered with plaster and over-lit with spotlights. The overall effect was more rubbish funfair ghost-ride than historical relic.

A walk through the nearby Sengan-en gardens takes us up through the hills, until we reach a viewing platform high above Kagoshima. Sakurajima is framed by the overhanging branches of the trees- another example of pre-prepared photo arrangement. Thick grey cloud rolls relentlessly across the sky. Nearby, groups of Chinese tourists arrange themselves into every possible permutation of photo- taker and photo-subject, whilst nearby 'Photo-me' arcade machines babble merrily in helium-assisted Japanese. The ambience was somewhat compromised. Walking back down from the gardens, we find a church set up by the Portuguese Jesuit, Francis Xavier. He had arrived in Japan in 1549 and spent 10 months working in Kagoshima, converting many locals to Christianity during his stay. The Japanese lords of the area, the Shimazu clan, originally welcomed foreigners in their desire to expand trade and learn new technology, until the Japanese government put an end to their fiefdom in 1871.

I stop for a drink at a nearby vending machine. One of the first things you notice in Japan is the proliferation of these machines- they are absolutely everywhere, from the busiest city road to the smallest rural back alley. They sell an impressive variety of products, mainly soft drinks, sweets, cigarettes and even booze (wonder how long a booze-stocked vending machine would last in England?). Stocking them must be a logistical nightmare, but they're a godsend when travelling around in the midday heat. I go for a beverage with the curious name 'Fruity Vegetable'- a combination of apple and carrot juice! It really sounds like it shouldn't work but somehow it does. My only concern is its disturbing fluorescent orange hue, as it looks like Sunny Delight. Another favourite drink that I discover on my travels is the strangely monickered 'Pocari Sweat', which is billed as an 'Ion-supply drink', and has a slight lemon-limey flavour. Folk legend has it that the Pocaris are hairless mammals bred in Hokkaido, forced to run on mini treadmills for 2 hours before being wrung over a bucket to collect the precious perspiration. Actually I made that up, but it's what I choose to believe.

Ions replenished, and the main bulk of Kagoshima's tourist attractions covered, we head into the main shopping district to get some food. Japanese restaurants are renowned worldwide for their user-friendly shop displays. All the main meals are replicated in plastic with meticulous attention to detail. It's like someone has taken a plate of real food and sprayed it with lacquer until solid. However, we decide to try our hand with the Japanese version of McDonalds; the fast food joint known as 'Freshness Burger'. The food was actually pretty good, and the sweet potato wedges instead of corn fries was a nice touch. I go for a 'Teriyaki Burger', which is barbequed chicken in a bun; Paul goes for a 'Menchi Burger', which to this day remains a mystery.

Portions are definitely Japanese-size. I see a plastic replica of one of the burgers at the till- it's about the size of the palm of your hand. 'Tell me that's not actual size!' I say to the others. Sadly it is, and I end up holding what looks like a Happy Meal burger. I felt like Gulliver in Lilliput.

Still, on the way out, I see a fantastic sign proudly advertising a new product:

'Spam Sandwich! Boing!'

Monty Python would be proud.

Back at the Ryokan, we are entertained by the delights of Japanese telly, which make the ads on 'Tarrant On TV' look like an exercise in seriously conservative broadcasting. Sprawled out on the tatami mats, we allow the multi-coloured madness and unintelligible shrieking to wash over us, without even attempting to comprehend what's going on. That is, until an advert for cockroach killer appears on screen. Without pre-amble, and when we least expected it, the advert makes the bold proclamation:

'ARSE!'

We snap out of our daydreaming.
'Did it just say...?'

'ARSE!'

Naturally I was rolling on the floor by this point. It would be pointless to mention that the product was actually called 'Asu'- that would spoil the fun...