26
August Yokohama, a gourmet lunch, an all-comers record, and
a trip round the bay
Stephen
had to go to work this Sunday morning, one of the penalties of
being a teacher in a private school when prospective parents have
to be wooed. Val and I (OK, mainly Val) took the
opportunity to pack as much as possible for our return tomorrow.
The reality sank in: this was to be our last full day in Japan.
How the days had flown by!
Stephen
returned around mid-day, and the four of us took the train to
Yokohama. Stepping out of the train, we walked the short
distance to Minato Mirai 21 (Future world). This is a
colossal shopping, office and leisure complex, opened in the last
couple of years. Alongside the Landmark Tower, Japan’s
tallest building, is a historic sailing ship, a reminder that
Yokohama historically has made its living as Japan’s major
port.
We
entered the Landmark Tower at ground-floor level, taking the
stairs to the basement level. We were feeling hungry, and
after a brief flirtation with an American hamburger joint
(discovering it would be over half an hour before a table was
available) we found a sushi restaurant.
Surprisingly, we had not so far been in a specialist sushi
restaurant. The restaurant turned out to be owned by Mr
Watanabe. He is a Japanese celebrity chef, a winner of the
prestigious televised “Iron Chef” competition. As
luck would have it, the great man was present and personally made
up some of the wonderfully delicious nigiri and other
delicacies we ordered.
Val
had her photo taken with him, and his autograph was secured.
The manager/chef of the restaurant was meanwhile busy with spines
he had taken from some fish or other. With deft strokes, he
feathered them to make very delicate and fine-looking toothpicks,
elegant enough to double as a brooch. He shyly presented a
sheaf of five of them to Val, who was quite charmed.
Having
feasted on these fine foods (I am a devotee of raw tuna –
maguro - now), we bought tickets for the fastest lift in the
world to the “sky garden” on the 69th floor
of the Landmark Tower.
There were fine panoramic views, looking down on the sailing
vessel, and watching the sightseeing boats cruising in the
harbour. Everything seemed tiny, reminiscent of
“Madurodam”, the model town we had visited in Holland
some years ago. Stephen hired some binoculars, which were
useful. But even without their aid, we could see across to
the stadium that will host the World Cup Final in June 2002.
For
the benefit of any Americans who have persevered thus far, the
World Cup - the international Association Football
(“Soccer”) Championship - is arguably the biggest
sporting event on the planet, at least in terms of television
spectators. The Summer Olympics is in the same league.
It is the cause of some derision in the world outside the USA
that they call their domestic Baseball championship the
“World Series”, when it is only commercially-franchised
American clubs that can take part. Of course, other than
Japan, no other country (correct me if I am wrong) plays or
follows baseball at the professional level, so a true World
championship is an impossibility. But then, baseball is
only rounders writ large.....
Apart
from the bars and cafés ringing the 69th floor, there
was an area where a crowd, with evident enjoyment, were watching
a lone performing chimpanzee jumping over hurdles on stilts.
It was - I hope - his handler’s commentary that caused the
merriment, for I thought the sight rather pathetic.
Val
saw none of this. Acting as Her Britannic Majesty’s
unofficial Champion, she had limbered up and taken herself off to
the ladies’ loo at the top of this Landmark Tower, the
tallest building in Japan. She is thus joint holder of the
“All-comer’s highest use of a toilet in Japan”
title. [Pause for fanfare.]
Eventually,
after a second circuit of the observation platform, we descended
via the fastest downward lift in the world, to ground level.
Everything was back to normal size.
We
walked through wide pedestrian boulevards flanked by fountains
and water features
,
passing the “Yokohama Street Musician of the Year 2002”
contest, where a succession of earnest Bob Dylan sound-a-likes
performed earnest Japanese songs for an earnest, sparse, though
appreciative, audience. We eventually arrived at a large
store called the “Sports Authority”. Here we
bought Japanese national football shirts as presents for Adrian
and Christopher, our two younger sons, back in Blighty.
Later, Stephen demonstrated
the Japanese footballers’ “Gut Pose” wearing
Nakayama's No 11 shirt. (Nakayama is the, er, Beckham or
Ronaldo of Japan.)
Entering
another shopping mall (Japan is full of ‘em) we
stopped for a while to hear a school band play - to a high
standard - selections from “The Sound of Music”. We
took a taxi down towards the seafront, and found a café where we
sat on the patio overlooking the bay and supped long refreshing
drinks while fending off a hopeful cat on the scrounge.
We
walked down through a small park, and joined the many couples
walking romantically along the promenade. Night was falling
fast, and we could hear the occasional romantic splash of those
jumping fish. We walked romantically along and on the spur
of the moment, bought tickets for a romantic round the bay
evening cruise.
We sat on the upper deck of the
boat, while below us, there were several fully-booked restaurants
serving delicious-smelling food to their customers who had had
the forethought to book a meal in advance. At least we
could buy drinks.
The
boat stopped a couple of times, and other passengers embarked.
A party of jolly middle-aged women boarded at one point and
immediately got stuck into the booze. There was great
hilarity and banter between them. Yasuko was eventually
able to decipher their peculiar accent, and discovered that they
were former pupils at an elementary school in the remote north of
Hokkaido, who had met for a girls’ weekend reunion in
Yokohama. The cruise showed us the skyline at night, and was good
value.
Eventually
disembarking, we walked inland into Yokohama’s Chinatown.
This is a very Chinese Chinatown, and has been such for
over 150 years. Quite a number of the restaurants were
closed or closing, but we eventually found one still open and
ordered a meal, complete with Chinese rice wine. The meal
was exceedingly good, but the wine was something else. It
had an aroma of - sorry about this, folks - ancient, sweaty
socks, with an overtone of over-ripe Brie cheese. It
actually tasted better than it smelt, rather whisky-ish. Wisely,
Val stuck to Coca-Cola.
We took the very last
train home, and walked from Myoden station towards Stephen and
Yasuko’s apartment. This took us past the
“Gusto” family restaurant. For symmetry, since
Stephen and I had eaten there on our first day, we went in for a
nightcap. 22 days had just flown by. In a sad, though
celebratory, mood, we went home.