...Where I dump all the dumb miscellaneous things I didn't know where else to slot in, but simply have to share anyhow.
The Old...
I remember the owners of the little provision shop downstairs used to make deliveries on such bicycles. I used to get on the tri-wheeled version while it was parked and made-believe I was out on adventures.
A little bookshop, seemingly being held together by not much else than the mesh commonly seen at construction sites.
The New...
Mounted on a pillar at the back of an opulent-looking Buddhist temple, for the benefit of those seated there during prayer sessions.
And The Rest...
Our South Asian cousins indulging in a bit of fortune-telling, Nippon-style. (From what I'd observed, instead of presenting your stick of bamboo, shaken out of a canister, to a reader/interpreter, you help yourself from a wall of drawers (see: picture below) according to the number on the bamboo. Then you read it - your fortune is available in a variety of languages - and tied it on the rack pictured above. Mum asks me how to differentiate between what you are inquiring about eg. wealth, health, love, and I she got me stumped. I didn't spend the requisite 100 Yen to find out. But still, I'm sure the Japanese thought up something as ingenious as the rest of this system to get past that little detail. Perhaps it's all on the one same slip of paper, telling your future.)
Neh Neh puddings, which were available at one of the many souvenir shops outside the temple with the novel fortune-telling system (imagine the calls of blasphemy that would invite if this were done anywhere else in the world). I almost bought one to bring home as a gift to Barry, but then came to the realisation that they weren't packaged with the kooky, and frankly, all-important, illustrations.
In Shibuya, I wandered into a street where all there was were shops with pachinko machines in them. Those playing were so engrossed I had no trouble snapping pictures, at all.
Japan has a fascination with machines and technology in more ways than one. First, the famed toilets:
This little contraption produces flushing noises to cover up whatever embarrassing ones you make on your own - I didn't have to operate it, though; it kinda worked on its own.
This one is quite self-explanatory: click to read.
Vending Machines
Language barrier? No problem. Just place your order on this machine, pay (it accepted my 10,000 bill when I slotted it in, thinking it was a 1,000 one), and hand the receipt over to the ladies over the counter. Easy, no need for pointing at pictures and making wild gesticulations trying to get them to understand you. The only shortcoming? It still eliminate the fact that I couldn't read/understand Japanese (read on to find out what woes this caused me).
Underaged? No need for any ID when you purchase your smokes at your friendly neighbourhood vending machine! Comes in a myriad of varieties except the one that you actually inhale.
Forgot it was your anniversary? All shops closed? Fret not, just sprint down to any "Flower Gift" vending machine, and buy a bouquet of roses with ease. Freshness not guaranteed.
Tikam machines!! This time, I managed to get Barry a 'lil something.
Language
In a little lingerie shop in Shibuya.
In a convenience store in Narita.
And finally, this takes the cake, Fear Factor-style. My colleague introduced us to this sushi shop. At 105 yen (about S$1.50), Sakae Sushi-style, we had to commit to eating at least 7 plates in order to be allowed a seat. Once seated, they time you: 20 minutes if you eat 7 plates, 30 if you eat 10 or more. The coolest thing was, our server was also the sushi chef, kneading the sushi at lightning speed right before your eyes.
Meet Sushi Man san.
Some way into our promised 20 minutes, my companions and myself found ourselves having stacked up only 3 to 4 plates, with nothing to eat, some of the sushi looking like it had been alive only seconds before. Sushi Man san, sensing our hesitation (and maybe trying to take advantage of the situation and get rid of some stock), pushed a few plates of sushi towards us, uttering forth a mouthful of Japanese, the only word of which we understood was "oiishi".
My companions gingerly take a few of the choicer offerings. Unsure, and not wanting to seem rude, I picked another one out. I almost fainted when I took a closer look:
The photo does it no justice. White, mushy-looking and very, very raw, the vile-looking concoction sat there, daring me not to eat it. I had no choice - I couldn't put it back on the conveyour belt because I'd stupidly used it as a dish for my excess soya sauce, and I felt Sushi Man san's eyes on me, waiting to scowl in scorn if I left my seat without touching it.
Bravely, one of my companions picked up her chopsticks and picked up a bit of the mushiness. She put it in her mouth. A few agonising seconds passed as she chewed thoughtfully.
"Okayyyy," she ventures finally. "It's tasteless and melts in your mouth. Totally gross."
I wanted to cry.
"Okay la, I help you eat one. We eat together, ok?"
Salvation! I'd only have to hurl once.
We commemorate my stupidity she so graciously decided to share with me with a snapshot.
I take the plunge.
Immediately, I gag. All the negative anticipation didn't help one bit. I gesticulate wildly, indicating that I wanted to spit the monster out, but no one came to my rescue with a waste-basket or barf bag. In my desperation not to regurgitate whatever it was I'd already downed earlier, I decided to block out all emotions and chew. And chew, and chew.
With my nose pinched.
Sushi Man san laughs and points at me.
My eyes are watering.
I chew for dear life.
And finally, I swallow. In goes a mouthful of green tea, a chopstick of wasabi, to drown out the rawness of the sea on my tongue. Ughhhhh.
