Insomnia in the city.....

Insomnia and me are no strangers, indeed, you might say we are old friends, we’ve been acquainted since I was a sulky schoolboy in sleepy Surrey. For me, it comes and goes; it arrives unannounced, stays around for a week or so before it pops off again. There is no way I can tell when this old mate will show up, stomping about in my head, throwing things hither and dither and generally being annoying.

Shin-Ohashi Bridge as dusk is just about to fall.

I had regular bouts as a teenager and during college, then he disappeared for a long while before coming back in my late twenties. I don’t remember him visiting during my thirties, although, if I’m completely honest, I can actually recall a lot of details about those years.  I didn’t have many periods in my forties, although working twelve-hour night shifts on a four-on, four-off basis plays hell with the normal sleep pattern anyway. After I stopped earning a crust in the darkest hours before and just a tingly bit after dawn, I’ve had regular periods of sleepless nights. Usually it is when my world turns upside down, and daytime seems sleepy bye-byes time, and at night, it's wakey wakey after midnight.  Sometimes there have been reasons for it, job stress, end of relationships, death, illness and that sort of malarkey and other times, there seems to be no reason, none at all.

For the last few nights, he’s been back, the first time since I’ve been in Japan and about as welcome as a glass of Andrews Liver Salts when you’ve got the trots!.  Actually, yesterday that was also the case, I had both a sleepless night and a butt that was almost permanently on the heated seat of my class A loo.  The tummy trouble was, I’m pretty sure, due to consuming four cans of a ‘sugar-free’ alcoholic beverage as well as polishing off a tube of ‘sugar-free’ mints. Accidentally overdosing on sorbitol can have a laxative effect; well, it certainly does on me, as yesterday can attest to.

Clear skies and gentle breezes

I did manage to head to the supermarkets today for a stock up and also a walk around the neighbourhood.  I enjoyed a lunch on the river terrace watching the boats go up and down the river, and after returning home, I sat on the balcony and again watched boats go down and up the river, until the sun started to set.

Now, as the clock ticks onwards to midnight, my mind is not in the least bit sleepy and is racing away to various subjects and topics. Indeed in the last twenty-four minutes, I’ve contemplated buying a new camera, which shop to get the tax refunded, potatoes ‘n’ mint with the possibility of growing one or the other or both on the balcony, where to buy a bag of compost, can kiwis fly, how many steps it is to the nearest vending machine that takes IC cards, what liquid refreshment to have next!

So, as the week rapidly races to its end, this sleepy insomniac is wondering if he should go for a walk before midnight to tire even further achy bones to encourage sleep to arrive before four in the morning. Or stand on the balcony and watch the last of the river traffic heading back to its mooring while I wait for the timely dew of sleep, falling with soft slumbrous weight, inclines my eyelids!

Pretty hydrangeas and other lovely flowers offer food for the soul.

Matsuo Basho keeps a lookout up the river. On a clear day, in days of old, you can see Mount Fuji

Who can say what dreams were made this day?

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A world of history is just around the corner.....Matsuo Basho

Less than a thousand steps from my apartment building is a memorial garden, a shrine and a museum all dedicated to Matsuo Basho, a leading haiku poet of the Edo period.

The small shrine on the site, which is believed to be the place where Matsuo Basho's hut was.

I’m not an expert, but from what I gather, this chap was about as famous as you can get, back in those times, which is the mid to late 1600s during the Edo period. Now, legend has it that in 1680, Basho abandoned life as a priest, moved from Nihonbashi in Edo to a thatched tiny house, or hermitage as they are called, in Fukagawa.

He used this hermitage as a base and concentrated on creating haikai, a form of linked Japanese verse, drawing his inspiration from a wide variety of subjects, including those he saw around him. He also wrote several travelogues, such as 'Oku no Hosomichi ‘ (‘The Narrow Road to the Deep North’), following a journey of some 1500 miles during the spring of 1689.  Oku no Hosomichi starts off:

“The months and days are the travellers of forever. The years that come and go are also voyagers. Those who float away their lives on ships or who grow old leading horses are forever journeying, and their homes are wherever their travels take them. Many of the men of old died on the road, and I, too, for years past, have been stirred by the sight of a solitary cloud drifting with the wind to ceaseless thoughts of roaming.”

He may have taken up to five years to write, rewrite and rework it, but all that effort was well worth it, for even to this day it is considered to be one of his best-known works and part of the reason his legacy lives on. Basho is also revered for playing quite a major role in developing the modern haiku.

Climb the stone steps for a wonderful view and a tiny memorial garden.

His thatched cottage or hermitage was called 'Basho-an' because it became overgrown with banana plants gifted by his disciples or followers, although, I suppose in today's parlance, we'd call them fans. After Basho's death, it was incorporated into the samurai residence and preserved, but it disappeared between the late Edo and Meiji periods. However, whilst the exact location may not be known for sure, there is a sweet little shrine on what may have been its approximate location, and it's just around the corner from both the memorial garden and the museum. The museum was opened on 19th April 1981 on the site of Basho-no-Ō Old Pond, where his cherished stone frog had been found following a typhoon back in 1917. Another of his famous works is this little haiku:  “An ancient pond - a frog jumps in - the splash of water

Basho left Edo for the last time in the summer of 1694, enjoying some time in Ueno and Kyoto before arriving in Osaka. Unfortunately, he became unwell with some form of stomach complaint and, with his disciples around him, he passed away in November, aged 49 or 50. His last poem offered a farewell to his followers.

“falling sick on a journey - my dream goes wandering - on a withered field.”

It is amazing what is hidden just around the corner. By looking around, you can open up your eyes to new sights and your mind to new experiences. 

Local legend has it that the statue moves at night!

Can you see the fish?

Looking upriver to the Shin-Ohashi Bridge and the memorial garden just in the right corner

More info on the museum:

Basho Memorial Museum | Koto Ward Cultural Community Foundation

Take a stroll around Koto city using a restored old map from the Edo period. 

Kase Map 'Koto Ward Revitalised Old Map' Service Launched | Fukagawa Edo Museum | Koto Ward Cultural Community Foundation

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Rainy days are beautiful too!

Thursday and Friday.

I love the feel of rain on my skin

If you believe in an omnipotent god, you might well have said he or she had been upset over the last couple of days, for the heavens have opened and tears from angels have fallen down.  I don’t, so for all I will say is, it's been raining! 

Yes, water from the clouds has been falling for most of Thursday, through the night and for pretty much all of Friday as well. The temperature has also plunged, 22 °C yesterday and 15 °C today, which means it was warmer back in dear ol’ Blighty than down this end of the globe. (Do globes have an end?) Indeed, most of Southern England has been bathed in clear sunshine (well, at least during the daytime!) whilst a cloudy, rainy sky has been the mainstay of these days.

Looking out under the umbrella

Yet, whilst the weather hasn’t been exactly the best, I’ve still gone out for a little walk for fresh air, exercise, and to find out if Japanese rain was warm – a request from my brother. The short and honest answer is no!  The rain that greeted my head yesterday was not warm at all, although I will admit, it wasn’t icy cold either; it was pretty normal.  High humidity percentage meant it probably felt colder than it actually was, but it was still worth being out in it. 

I strolled by the river, with hardly a soul about, both today and yesterday, which was hardly surprising and honestly quite delightful. I looked at the plants, the bushes, the wildlife – a large grey Heron, the raindrops, the sometimes slightly slippy paving and tiles, which were enhanced by the cloudy and somewhat murky sky.

Little drops on little leaves

Yesterday, the cloud was so low that the entire 634-metre Tokyo Skytree was obscured from view; today it made an eerie, ghostlike appearance, looming in the sky between bursts of rain. I found it slightly disconcerting that the single tallest landmark, by which I often navigate this part of the city, was absent from my vision, while my mind assumed this is what the skyline must have looked like 15 years ago, prior to construction.

Today, I walked a little further, down to Kiyoshu-bashi Bridge, where I crossed the river, then walked along the terrace and up and over Ryogoku Bridge and back along that side until I was home.  Sometimes the rain was soft and little more than mizzle, other times it was driven ferociously by the wind into my face, blowing the umbrella inside out and soaking my top.  

In this dull and rainy state, you might have expected my fondness for Tokyo and Japan in general to dissipate and diminish, at least a little bit. You know, people rarely wear the rose-tinted tourist sunglasses in the rain. But you’d be wrong, I still have a soft spot in my heart for this massive city. Even in the rain, the mist and the murk, I still found beauty in almost all directions. Be it along the sides of the river, or the roadways I pass down or the skyscape that greets the eyes as I gaze heaven-bound. I’m not sure if the fact I’m getting older, or indeed am already old, but I try and find beauty in everyday activity, for which I am thankful. Perhaps, it is only when you get old that the simple joy of seeing a Heron perched on a bush in the middle of a downpour, or feeling the rain tingle your cheeks, or watching bigger drops splash in puddles, delights and lifts your heart. 

Rainy days are beautiful too!

What is that bird?  Is it a heron?  Maybe.

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