Friday 27th September [No games, only trains] 

We all arise bright and early – both to prove that it can, in fact be done, and also to tidy Stacey of Arimathea’s flat, wash Stacey of Arimathea’s sheets etc. – before braving the city’s vast subway system one final time, across to Tokyo Station to pick up our all-conquering JR passes.

Our first act, once these invaluable documents were locked and loaded, was to grab a swift bullet train, with an accompanying Peregrine Took, south by west-west to lovely, sylvan Hakone.

The much-vaunted Shinkansen took a moment or two to get properly motoring, but it certainly moved along at a fair clip once it did. ‘Tis only the third fastest train I’ve ever been on, mind: the Chinese, as is their totalitarian wont, have grabbed the top two spots in the Mansfield list of locomotive sprinters.

Once off the bullet, it was a bit of a puzzle re. how one actually gets to bloody Hakone from Odawara Station, where our Shinkansen had gently deposited us. I ended up muddling along with Peregrine Took via a mixture of local trains and surprisingly ruinous tourist buses, while Soshiteumi-san and Beteran-chan, being fancier folks, opted to wait for the shuttle-bus to their distant Hakone hotel, where they would be onsen-ing it up that evening.

Once (finally) at Hakone proper, Peregrine and I were presented with a damn fine tree-ringed lake (Lake Ashi, for those interested) and a gentle breeze. Going for the #1 local attraction first up, we climbed along to Hakone-Jinga Shrine, skipping up stair after stair and avoiding the lengthy line for the classic ‘Lake Gate’ photograph, as only the loved-up or the foolish would even consider it worth the wait. We then indulged in a decent and well-deserved bit of lunch in the lakeside Box Kitchen, mocking those fools no doubt still queuing for their one ‘perfect shot’.

*

Luncheon completed, we bumped straight into the comely pair of Soshiteumi and Beteran, who had indeed waited for the aforementioned, gated photo and who were feeling pretty chuffed with themselves for so doing. This reunion, while sweet, was fated to be but temporary: they were hopping aboard a round-trip sightseeing boat across the lake and back, while we (Peregrine and I) were off to take a gander at the grand cedar trees of the old Hakone Road.

Our own, slightly later ferry (NB – not one of the mightily kitsch fake golden pirate ships you might’ve seen in the tourist brochures, you understand, just a standard, run-of-the mill, working man’s sightseeing ferry) motored us, post-cedars, one way up the lake. Past the shrine gateway and fancy hotels, we went, all the way to the portion of the Hakone Ropeway which volcanic gases haven’t cruelly suspended.

Apparently, so they say, the views from this cable-car approximation were not to be missed – and if one is very lucky distant Mount Fuji can be glimpsed above the hills. However…

The motherless bastards lied to us! The last cable car of the day left at 15:15, not 17:00 as had been fraudulently claimed by all and bastard sundry! Rage overwhelmed me. I know not what I did in those subsequent minutes, but I can only assume it rhymed with ‘urd-degree urder’.

Instead of the vertiginous and splendid ‘Ropeway’, it would be, for us, of course, another lengthy, winding and overpriced bus back to Odawara Station – a bus on which I cursed and muttered almost without pause, turning the air blue, blue electric blue.

It was only at Odawara, however, that I discovered I was just, just in time for the final express train of the evening to Kyoto – a Shinkansen I would have almost certainly missed had I been allowed on said vertiginous and splendid Ropeway.

Well played, intransigent cable car oafs, well played indeed…

*

After a swift farewell with Peregrine Took then, I enjoyed a smooth ride all the way across to Kyoto, sped up even further by a good book, and then survived an easy enough bus journey to the Marutamatchi Crystal Hotel, where I’d be spending the next four nights.

Decent air-con, decent WiFi and a decent miniature Japanese bathtub meant the room got a decent thumbs up from me – and, despite it being a Friday night, I opted to make the most of it with a lazy, relaxing evening – a mini onsen of my own, if you will – after a long and sweaty day.

Besides – there was to be serious drinking in my near future, and I needed to be at my best…

 

Saturday 28th September [Argentina 28 – 12 Tonga; Japan 19 – 12 Ireland; South Africa 57 – 3 Namibia] 

Having slept particularly well and rising only slightly late, my first stop was the sprawling Nijo-jo Castle, just a couple of hundred yards away from my Kyoto HQ. This gaff proved well worth a visit, with high stone walls and beautiful painted partitions, as well as a singsong nightingale floor. More than most of these ‘heritage’ spots out in the Orient, it told a decent story too, despite the necessity of a reproduction here and a modern facsimile there.

And then, castle done and dusted, it was time for the meat (and drink, so much drink) of the day: Culture be damned, damn it, it was time for The Hub (yep, another one) and rugbyrugbyrugby!

Being the first to arrive, I secured a prime spot near the telly and watched the Argies best the Tongans in the day’s opening content, before in came the masses, including Soshiteumi-san and Beteran-chan, straight off the train from Hakone, as well as Googlers aplenty, all pooling together in a tight corner of the heaving pub for the main event: Ireland vs Japan. Always likely to be sensational clash, washed down with towers, yes towers, of beer.

*

When the dust at last settled and Japan (as you, of course, already know) had triumphed in a famous victory, Soshiteumi-san, Irish as the driven peat, must have registered between 4.0 and 4.5 out of 10 on his anger-meter, higher than I had ever thought possible. The rest of us were simply amazed. The crowd, it barely needs to be said, had ‘gone wild’ a long time beforehand, and were in no danger of returning to civilisation any time soon.

Pizza Salvatore Cuomo, directly below The Hub, was our next stop, and not a moment too soon, for quick and immediate sustenance. I, now quite merry, started things off with a very bold four cheese number and the people made mock of me. I won the people over shortly after though, through ordering impromptu, additional rounds of the round food for the table. Bread (pizzas) and circuses, my friends – that’s how you win the mob.

One must confess, it all gets a little hazy at this point…we may well have gone back Hubwards before jogging along to another sporty bar…there were definitely more drinks…that much we know for certain. Either way, and ironically enough, I, me, old Tommy M., am the one who ‘Irish exits’, so it seems. I remember a brief breather by the river before finding my way miraculously back to my hotel. The others may have found some club or another. They claim to have danced. Them, aye, but for me, who’s to say? Much like the Irish XV, Japan gave me a good and sustained beating that evening.

 

Sunday 29th September [Georgia 33 – 7 Uruguay; Australia 25 – 29 Wales] 

The day started at a nice enough joint called Kifukuan up in Northwest Kyoto for udon style noodles.

That the day started with a 3pm lunch is neither here nor there. Seek ye for it ‘there’ and seek ye for it ‘here’ – you shall not find it, sir. You shall not find it at all.

Following this forced but very necessary feed, it was just a few minutes round the corner for perhaps Kyoto’s most famous tourist attraction: Kinkaku-ji, the Golden Pavilion. This unforgettable spot proved just as beautiful (and just as crowded) as it was some eleven years before, when last I had walked its gardens. Chock-a-block it may well be, every day and every hour, but if you find yourself in Kyoto, friends, believe me when I say that it is simply indispensable.

After giving said temple a big, golden ‘tick’, it was back to (yes, you’ve guessed it) The Hub for more (much more sober and abstemious) ruggers – Wales vs Australia: perhaps the pick of the group stage clashes, and hangover or no hangover, not a game to be missed.

Pushing through the throng, we three, somehow, found a perfectly positioned table, ‘reserved’ but without occupants – that the place was perhaps even busier than the previous day, if possible, made this nothing short of miraculous. Wales, for their part, did their duty well, and edged another great game of rugby union – one which, I must say, left me a nervous, slightly nauseous wreck.

*

Beaten, battered, but still standing, we wandered gingerly around Kyoto’s various covered markets, taking in the sights and smells. While we very much failed to find presents – perhaps due to many of the stores shutting up shop, proprietors glaring at me with justified disdain – ideas were beginning to stir, my friends. Soon, very soon, I would purchase something Japanese for deserving folks back home. Aye, ’twasn’t that day, but the day was comin’, ladies and gentleman, it were rollin’ round the bend.

A place called Musashi had been suggested to us by one Googler or another for sushi – and one must say that it proved both good fun and great value; a proper old-school conveyor belt set-up, with different priced options from <£1 up to the highest quality of fishy dishes, all whirling around, veritably begging us to whip them off the belt and stack the empty plates high. Soshiteumi, of course, stacked the highest tower, but this was to be expected.

Post-binge, and now more fish than man, it was to be an early night with me book for me – one which would, Inshallah, see off the remnants of a sumo wrestler of a hangover.

 

Monday 30th September [Scotland 34 – 0 Samoa] 

Early to bed, early to rise, as they say – and a good job too, for this here day would prove to be a seriously ‘temple heavy’ day. Pre-prandial shrines visited included:

• Toji Temple: a genuine classic, with the largest Pagoda in all of Japan, a tidy, leafy little garden and buddhas aplenty;
• Yasaka-jinga Shrine & Pagoda (and geisha district): all very lovely, with plenty of domestic tourists sporting colourful, rented kimonos and yukatas adding to the general aesthetic of the area wonderfully; and
• Ginkaku-ji (the Silver Pavilion): an undeniably beautiful spot this, but, for some reason, wildly, crazily humid! Walking around its manicured gardens and myriad carefully raked pebbles, a fella soon became more sweat than man(sfield)…

Wandering around temples, especially Japanese ones, are a sure-fire way to whet one’s appetite, and we had it on good authority that Katsukura was the go-to place for a late lunch of tonkatsu. However, after climbing right to the very top of the impossibly humongous Kyoto Station only to find the flagship joint inexplicably closed, we were obliged to schlep all the way to its southern branch, many an inner-city metre away, wasting valuable temple time.

Once there, however, it was clear that this was the ‘real deal’ – a veritable feast of crispy, breaded pork and self-mixed, deliciously sweet sauces. What is more, once fed and watered, we were in prime position to strike out for Inari-okusha Shrine and for all the multitudinous red-orange gates one could possibly require. Genuinely, there were thousands of the buggers knocking about, seemingly set out by the ancients to secure infinite Instagram ‘likes’.

The snaking, gated paths took us all the way along an unexpectedly lengthy mountain climb – and while Beteran-chan bailed out halfway through in order to explore Kyoto’s western bamboo forests before nightfall, I’m proud to say that Soshiteumi-san and I conquered the bastard and no mistake.

*

That evening, after wandering for a fair while searching keenly for a place open for drinks on a Monday (not as quite easy as all that, here in Japan) we finally came across Sanjo Madobe, a small and markedly eccentric Belgium beer bar (rather than a fabulous Senegalese winger, currently signed for the mighty LFC). Here we watched an impossibly sweaty Scottish team see off the haphazard and ultra-violent Samoans, and drank a selection of rather strong beers, all alongside a comedy barman, notably ‘high on his own supply’.

Once extricated from Sanjo Madobe (almost #5 in FIFA’s Balon d’or voting, 2019), the last stop of a busy ol’ day was a joint named Yakitori Daikichi, just on the main road up to the castle for (no prizes for guessing) yakitori, along with further beers and all-round good times. Here we conversed happily with fellow RWC travellers and guzzled down the grilled meats like we’d all bought shares in a.) a chicken farm; b.) a charcoal company; or c.) both.

As I say, ‘a busy ol’ day’ – but a dang fine one, no doubts about it.

 

Tuesday 1st October [No games, only trains] 

I woke up feeling sick as a dog, and for once this was nowt to do with my regularly sky-high levels of consumption – rather the trusty ‘traveller’s lurgy’ had grabbed me by the scruff and grabbed me hard, almost at the last.

However, there being little-to-no rest for the wicked, depending on who you ask, I checked out of my faithful hotel and headed back nice and early to aforementioned huge Kyoto Station complex, only to find its shops shut and its WiFi down. These things, I know, are sent to try us – but to what end, dear readers, to what end?

A internet-less miscommunication meant that I ended up on a different train out west to my travelling companions – though we both, eventually, managed to squeeze onto the same absolutely jammers (JR pass-friendly) bullet train to distant Hiroshima from Osaka (them) and Kobe (me). Very much standing room only, it must be said – like the Bank branch of the Northern Line, but at a million miles an hour.

Upon arrival, we immediately queued up and booked our seats for the Osaka journey tomorrow, as we are not making that mistake again. ‘No reservations, no party’, seemed to be the golden rule here, and once bitten, much like my boy George, we were twice shy.

*

After a good deal of confusion brought about by some ropy old directions, we eventually found our cosy but well-appointed Hiroshima flat, where we were finally able to throw down our bags and (briefly) cool down. Then it was back out towards the station and to Doug’s Burger for lunch and a beer. I’m still not sure who this ‘Doug’ character is, but he makes a lovely tuna burger – this much cannae be denied.

It was then time for eine kleine Kultur und Geschichte, walking along the river beneath the plain trees to Hijiyama Park. However, despite its impressive Skywalk, this was not, in fact, the park we were looking for – that would be the ‘Peace Memorial Park’, in very much the other direction. Was this error my fault? Who’s to say? Me, in this blog? Ah, yes, well…er, yes it was indeed my fault. Moving on…

Once we were at the PMP proper, as nobody is calling it, a brief moment of sombre reflection took hold, as we walked quietly around Ground Zero of the Hiroshima A-bomb, taking in the preserved ruins and silent monuments. This muted stroll took us all the way to the impressive recreation of Hiroshima Castle, itself completely destroyed in the infamous August 1945 blast.

So yes, if ever a trio of tourists needed a drink, by this stage, it was us. And a very cheap drink it was too, during happy hour at ‘810’, an odd Jim Beam place in the city centre, its existence only explained by the Beam-Suntory merger a few years back which must’ve made a good few folks either side of the Pacific filthy rich. Good to see that at least a few of the Yanks and the Japanese have put their uncomfortable history aside to make some of that real scratch, eh? Well…for a given value of ‘good’, perhaps.

Dinner, such as it was, came in faux-Italian form at MaNo MaGiO (their capitalisation) followed up by a far superior pancakey desert at a likely looking crepe place at the Panorama Food Court. Up on the eleventh storey, it commanded tasty views over the city’s lazy river, and proved as good a spot as any to finish off quite a quiet, peaceful day.

 

Wednesday 2nd October [France 33 – 9 USA; New Zealand 63 – 0 Canada] 

It’s a leisurely start when one is very much pre-booked on the 10:54 to Osaka, I can tell yer that for free. Incomparably more pleasant are these bullet trains, when one has both a seat and a sandwich to one’s name.

Once in Osaka, our very final stop, we find our flat, this time with a little bit more ease, but this time in a notably less salubrious spot. We barely give the place the once-over, however, before dropping off our bags and heading on up to the famous Doutonbori Street – a very busy, popular place with impressive animal animatronics and vast plastic beasts adorning the sides of bustling restaurants, displaying high camp variations of the once-living wares they offer up.

Soshiteumi-san was keen for a final rotating sushi feast, so, after a dedicated search, it was into ‘Daikisuisan’ that we bundled. The ‘whole tail of tuna’, in this writer’s opinion, would prove very much to any gourmand’s taste – ’twas my first and only ‘golden plate’, after all. The unexpected but highly appreciated soft serve ice cream also ticked all the T.H.Mansfield.com boxes.

From here we ankled over to Shinsaibashi Shopping Street, where I at last, at long last, picked up some birthday presents for Moan of Arc and Si-Moan de Beauvoir. Were they worth the wait? Well, you’d have to ask the ladies in question – though let it be noted that Osakan ladies and gentlemen of taste and style were quite figuratively applauding me down the bustling Osaka streets for the rest of the afternoon.

*

So yes, after breaking my cardinal, nay ‘capital’ rule and actually purchasing goods/wares that afternoon, I needed to gaze upon something beautiful and ancient and free to air. We therefore tubed it swiftly to and from Osaka Castle, to spend our remaining allocation of daily sunlight wandering up to, and taking myriad photographs of, this mighty edifice, thereby ticking an undeniably impressive, splendidly touristy item from the Japanese list.

Soshiteumi-san had some final presents-cum-tat to pick up, and I agreed to provide him with emotional and spiritual support – so together, arm-in-arm, we headed back off to Doutonbori to brave the accursed tatlands. After arguments and duels, and with tat at last acquired, we met back up with a furious Beteran-chan at our filthy Airbnb, which we found to our horror had not been cleaned a jot, leaving us in wrathful squalor to which we had no intention of becoming accustomed.

Beteran, such is her way – even whilst enraged, swiftly secured us a full refund, and pretty much just around the corner (first left, second left, then up on the right for those playing along at home) we stalked into yet another ‘Crystal Hotel’.

Having appraised my room and having found it literally and pleasantly identical to that which I enjoyed in Kyoto – and giving my weary and still seething fellow travellers the final night ‘off’ – I took to the Osaka streets alone, wandering over all of the Doutonbori area ‘stag’, using my final night to ‘soak up’ just a little more of the bubbling riverside atmosphere. And then…well then there was only time enough for a quick snack and an early night – for early (far too early) the next morning I would be leaving the Land of the Rising Sun (before said morning sun had the decency to rise, in fact).

 

Thursday 4th October [Georgia 10 – 45 Fiji; Ireland 35 – 0 Russia] 

‘Home James, and don’t spare the horses’, cried my corporal frame at unholy o’clock on my final Japanese morning. The rest of my being resisted, but to no avail: It was home time – so ‘home’ surely I must go.

So up I got and me bags did I pack, leaving other, weaker souls to their slumbers and their rest and their lie-ins. Eyes set square upon future and horizon, albeit with my mind still swirling from the bustle of Tokyo to the temples of Kyoto, I set off through the aforementioned (yet much more subdued) Osaka streets, only getting mildly lost on my snaking way across town to distant Kansai Airport.

‘Aha, reversible seats, I will miss you most of all!’ I cried aloud to the swivelling thrones, much to the alarm of the full to bursting airport train. People, in fact, went as far as to shuffle away from my manically grining, overtired fizzog, and I even managed to gaijin my way into a much-coveted seat – a fitting way, perhaps, to finish off my splendiferous Japanese travels.

Additional ‘fittingly final Japan acts’ included, at Kansai, making a final set of local enemies by hopping, smiling, straight into the front of the check-in queue to join a surly Soshiteumi-san and Beteran-chan; then clearing out the Mansfield ‘Pasmo’ on a final crisp lettuce sandwich; and then, finally, spending slightly over the odds on some interesting looking Japanese whisky for the Isabella House liquor cabinet.

And then, my long-suffering friends, silence.

Well, Air China silence. So not silent at all. Time to stick the headphones on, sink a Tsingtao or three, and write myself a blog.