Wednesday, 11 December 2013
The Argumentative Reader might question Hughesy's use of the term sleeping in when you're talking a 6:40 rise. By that time, under normal circumstances at home, I'm halfway around the morning walk, after at least half an hour's computer time.
Being on the western side of the building helps, of course. Having emerged from a deep sleep, I raised the blinds to reveal distinctive snow on a distinctive shape veiled by a band of cloud halfway up.
The deities, it seemed, hadn't quite forgiven us.
So it was straight onto the Travelogue, followed by the regulation showers, then, once again, the Viking breakfast.
I wasn't looking for it, but when I noted tomato juice in the array on offer, I scanned the surroundings for vodka and Tabasco. Both were conspicuous by their absence.
Two nights of Japanese banquet had Madam expressing a lack of desire for Japanese food. That statement still didn't prevent a hearty breakfast that refused to go anywhere near the bacon and eggs end of the spectrum.
After breakfast, we piled the belongings back into The Red Suitcase, went down to check out, and once the luggage was consigned to the cloakroom, headed off to Kamakura.
The day's itinerary was centred around the Elvis Costello concert in the evening. However, we weren't going straight back to Tokyo. So we needed something to fill in the morning and early afternoon.
Back on the rails, it was one-stop back to Yokohama, and a change of lines. That took us to Kamakura, a coastal town an hour south of Tokyo that was the political centre of Japan after Minamoto Yoritomo chose it as the seat of his military government in 1192.
The Kamakura government went into decline in the 14th century as the focus shifted to Kyoto. Still, the city remained the political centre of Eastern Japan for some time.
Today, Kamakura is a popular tourist destination. It's sometimes labelled the Kyoto of Eastern Japan, with temples, shrines and other historical monuments as well as beaches that attract large crowds during the summer.
The historical significance stems, in part, from the fact that it sits in a natural fortress, surrounded to the north, east and west by hills with the open water of Sagami Bay to the south.
If you weren't coming by boat, in the days before modern engineering delivered tunnels and cuttings access over land was only possible through narrow passes.
The seven most important were tagged Kamakura's Seven Entrances or Kamakura's Seven Mouths.
Kamakura has some significant Buddhist temples and Shinto shrines, far too many to visit in a day, but much of the city was devastated by the Great Kantō Earthquake of 1923.
The epicentre was deep beneath Sagami Bay, close to Kamakura, and the tremors devastated Tokyo, Yokohama, and the Kantō region. The combination of the quake, tsunami, and fire destroyed many sites, and what's on view today is often a replica of what was formerly there.
We had two sightseeing options pencilled in, with the first involving a bus from Kamakura station to the vicinity of Hokokuji, where the signage on the main road was slightly misleading.
We've had the same problem before, but eventually we'll get these things sorted out.
We headed down the same road far enough to establish a total lack of temples, then went back to the signpost for another go.
This time we headed the other way, crossed at a set of traffic lights and found a sign that pointed us in the right direction.
When we reached Hokokuji, we found a quiet shrine with its own charm. The temple, which dates back to 1334, is best known for the bamboo grove behind the main hall.
The grove fills the space where founder Tengan Eko (posthumous name Butusjo Zenji) meditated and wrote poetry.
It was the family temple of the Ashikaga and Uesugi clans, but most structures were destroyed by the Great Kanto Earthquake. The main attractions are strolling gardens and a grove of two thousand moso bamboo, Phyllostachys edulis. It's the world's largest growing and hardiest bamboo, growing to a height of around 28 metres.
Maybe it was the time of year, but the temple lies slightly off the beaten track. That makes a visit a quieter and more enjoyable experience than you'll find in more easily accessible locations.
Visit in prime sakura season, or when the coloured leaves are at their best, and you'll probably find yourself being jostled.
But in early December there were still coloured leaves on the trees, and the red, yellow and brown carpet around the base of the trees prompted a meditation on the subjects of transience and regeneration.
We could have taken the bus back, but Madam preferred to walk. I guessed this was meant to defer Someone's inclination to do the circuit and then keep moving to Tokyo and concert time.
The walk itself was reasonably straightforward, and quite pleasant tramping, and the exercise was, in the light of recent indulgences, overdue.
On the way, we diverted into Kamakura's main Shinto shrine, Tsurugaoka Hachimangū. It sits at one end of the city's main street, a thoroughfare just under two kilometres in length that runs up from Sagami Bay.
We paused for the inevitable photographic evidence that we'd been. On our way back to the station, we were accosted by a polite elderly gentleman on a bicycle. He asked whether I spoke English and proceeded to insist that I accept a couple of documents he'd prepared to practise his English composition skills.
We sighted him again at the station. He was obviously making his way around a regular circuit where he'd find opportunities to practice his foreign language skills. They were, in fact, quite impressive.
The primary purposes from here involved a visit to the monumental bronze statue of Amida Buddha at Kōtokuin. That required a switch to a local tram line and a bit of a hike once we'd alighted.
There was also the possibility of catching a view of Mount Fuji. As the tram made its way along, it wasn't easy to see how we were going to manage it.
The landscape on that side of the vehicle seemed to be dominated by hills.
While Madam was certain there were views she wasn't sure where you needed to alight and how far you had to walk to avail yourself of them.
Once we were on the ground, it was apparent the Daibutsu is a major crowd-puller. When we arrived, while the statue itself is impressive and represents one of the standard images of Japan, I preferred the tranquillity you get with a less accessible location.
The statue was initially housed in a temple that must have been an impressive structure, something along the lines of Nara's Todaiji, but probably not quite as large.
But the temple was destroyed by a fifteenth-century tsunami, and the Great Buddha has remained outdoors ever since.
Still, despite the crowd, I was glad we'd been, though I don't see any reason to call again.
Crowds, on the other hand, bring some benefits. The road leading up to the Daibutsu was lined with shops selling souvenirs and such and, more importantly, refreshments.
Madam stopped for a drink at one of them, which turned out to have an impressive array of local beers to go with the softer options. There was a pear juice for Madam, an impressive India Pale Ale for Yours Truly, and a range of other options I could have tried.
Maybe we need to call back, after all, possibly diverting off the roadway to the hilltop site that had been suggested as a possibility.
But the day was getting on, and Hughesy was experiencing a decided itchiness in the pedestrian equipment.
From there, it was a question of using the tram to deliver us to the rail connection that would get us back to Tokyo.
If there was a decent view of Fuji on offer along the way, so much the better.
We headed a few stops further along and alighted at Eni when it looked like we weren't going to be unsuccessful.
On the platform at the tram stop, however, it seemed that the next tram to the terminus at Fujisawa was a better and far closer option than heading all the way back to Kamakura. From Fujisawa, we'd be able to catch a train on the JR Tokaido line. The services on that one were probably more frequent than on the line out of Kamakura. In any case, once we'd made our way there, conditions were too hazy for Fuji viewing.
Riffing on the theme that the gods were teasing us, trying to get us to show our hands provided an item to fill in time while we waited for the train to leave.
We'd pulled the right rein as far as the back to Yokohama options were concerned, with the train pulling in within seconds of our arrival on the platform.
That got us to Yokohama, where we made the switch of lines that got us back to the hotel, followed by the trip back once we'd collected the baggage.
We switched lines again in Yokohama.
While we'd hit the right platform, we ended up on the wrong train, necessitating a further switch. That got us onto on the right line but created an issue with a falling red suitcase and someone's knee.
We got off at Ebisu, switching to the subway for the two-stop ride to Roppongi.
There, it was a case of taking the western exit, turning right, and before I knew it, we were walking past the Ex Theatre, the concert venue for the next three nights. Madam's immaculate research had us booked into Hotel S, just a few hundred metres further along the same road.
Checking in revealed a rather trendy establishment, and it was evident that we didn't sit anywhere near the target demographic.
Still, there was plenty of room in the room, and they'd provided most of the regular amenities.
Interestingly, that didn't include pyjamas, though there were bathrobes.
In any case, a relatively early arrival gave us the chance to take it easy for an hour or so before we headed out to find somewhere to eat before the concert. It was already dark at five, and a walk back along Roppongi Street towards the subway station didn't reveal much on the hotel side of the theatre.
There were undoubtedly plenty of exciting options in the back streets and side alleys, but at this stage of proceedings, lengthy exploration of the options was not the name of the game.
We continued beyond the Ex as far as the Oyster Bar, which I figured would do very nicely, thank you. It wasn't as if either of us needed a substantial meal.
An order went in for an oyster puttanesca, an oyster and Japanese basil risotto and a draught Yebisu, which looked to be the right combination to keep us going.
The puttanesca was delicious, but I'm not a fan of Japanese basil, which worked its evil way through the risotto, overpowering everything else.
Different strokes for different folks but the draught Yebisu was, predictably, just what the doctor ordered.
From there, we headed back to the hotel, with Madam wanting to take her time.
For my part, I was only interested in one thing, namely getting to the venue and finding my way inside. Once I was there I was happy to wait, but you (or, I guess, I) want to be there and ready.
With the doors open at 6:30 (the Lounge, whatever that was, opened at five) we headed off just before half-past and got there to encounter decidedly odd entry arrangements.
For a start, where you'd expect to make your way into the venue, there was a sign advising this was not the point of entry for the general public. The sign directed us towards a staircase.
That took us up to a space on the rooftop, where we were ushered towards another staircase. That one led back down to a point less than ten metres from the sign that sent us on the cross country ramble.
It didn't stop there.
Once we'd descended, there was a reasonably brusque demand for an extra ¥500 for what seemed to be a compulsory drink. Madam was not impressed. While I wasn't totally pissed off by the request, I prefer to exercise my discretion when it comes to buying things.
And neither of us impressed by marshals barking highly amplified instructions over bull horns.
It seems the conventional wisdom when dealing with crowds in Japan is that you can't organise large groups of people in an orderly manner without the high volume instructions. That is fine in open spaces like the Luminarie in Kōbe, where the same organising principle applied.
There had, after all, been around 180 000 people the night we were there.
Here, in a confined space, with a crowd that wouldn't reach two thousand, things were definitely over the top. You almost got a sense of an attempt to make the punter suffer for turning up since he or she was obviously incapable of making his or her way inside without specific instructions.
Having taken the tokens, we collected beer and white wine. We headed inside, one grumbling and t'other looking forward to two and a half hours of prime Costello and The Imposters.
There had been concern about the system used in the pre-sale, which seems to have resembled a lottery.
Suggestions we'd get better seats if we waited until they were released to the general public were countered with a definite I don't care. I wanted to get to all four shows, thank you very much.
A glance at the seating arrangements as published online suggested there probably weren't any bad seats.
When we made our way into the auditorium, our seats were on the balcony, more or less dead centre, three rows back.
From where we were, it looked like I'd been right, and there were no bad seats, but things may have been different on the floor if you're not inclined to stand up.
The front section was standing from the start.
When I checked the following night, there was a slight camber towards the back. But you'd probably have ended up on your feet once those in front of you were on theirs.
As predicted, the show was excellent.
One can find all the gory details, along with another exposition of gripes about bullhorns and compulsory drinks, here. If you're not into the arcane aspects of Costello fandom, here's a brief explanation that semi-justifies Hughesy's four-concert agenda.
For a start, with the proverbial extensive back catalogue to draw on, Costello tends to vary the setlist quite a bit. So you're not going to get the same show night after night.
He'll prepare a setlist before a regular show, mainly for the benefit of the guitar technician. He needs to know which particular instruments will be required, when they're likely to be required and what key they need to be tuned to.
But that's Elvis operating in regular mode. While there's no guarantee he'll stick to what he's listed, it isn't exactly random either.
Which is where the Spectacular Spinning Songbook comes in.
Take what amounts to a gigantic chocolate wheel. Replace the numbers used to decide who wins the prize with the names of songs from the old extensive back catalogue, and you've got a way of randomising what gets played.
Fill some of the slots with jackpots and bonuses (Time, I Can Sing a Rainbow or Imperial Chocolate), and you've added a further randomiser.
Time would produce two or three songs that include Time in the title, or, possibly, songs about the passage of time if you feel like going that way.
I Can Sing A Rainbow gives a little bracket of songs about colours (Red Shoes, Green Shirt, Blue Chair or even, I guess, Yellow Submarine). An enigmatic combination like Imperial Chocolate would yield a song from the Imperial Bedroom album and another from Blood and Chocolate.
And, just to spice things up a little further, throw in a leggy blonde assistant in a gold lame mini dress (The Mysterious Josephine).
Bring up a selection of punters from the audience to spin the wheel, and a performer with unfulfilled ambitions in the realm of stand-up comedy, and you've got an exciting package.
So, in a nutshell, that explains Hughesy's all four shows scenario.
Some two and a half hours after Elvis and The Imposters took the stage the house lights came up, and that was that.
We headed more or less straight out through a side exit that delivered us into the path of the exodus towards the subway station.
We skirted around that and wended our way back to Hotel S, where the first task was translating scrawled notes into a typed up setlist to go to the Facebook Costello-L group.
That, with a preliminary draft of a review, took things up to eleven-thirty, when I turned in, expecting an earlyish start in the morning.