It’s midday, guess I did need that sleep, the classical cat music blurring through my brain still as I jolt awake thinking I’ve missed the flights. Small’s been waiting patiently and decided on the one of two outfits I left her and I’ve wrenched myself out of bed. 

I surprise her with a little visit to the rooftop terrace where she’s wowed by the views, as am I, with the Tokyo Sky tree clearly visible in the background and skyscraper after skyscraper lacing the vast heights that we’re surrounded by. 

Off we set walking to make something of the day and we find her much-loved chicken sticks for brunch. We then head to Harajuku to visit the Meiji-Jingu shrine, after 3 visits that left us no time to do so and I’m extremely glad that we did make it. 

The huge Torii gates beckoning us towards the shrine are set atop a backdrop of ancient reaching trees and beautiful woodland area. It’s so elaborately decorated with masses of gold edging and old dark wood immaculately sculpted that we barely notice the hundreds of folk there. After a few lovely and serene hours, stocking up on tea from a local mountain village and getting a few last souvenirs we head back to get some food. 

On the subway I’ve become a full blown Karen, or maybe the two entirely separate groups of other tourists on the train are managing to piss me off royally are being especially cuntish. Three girls, dressed up in cosplay looking adorable but that’s where it ends. They’re talking so loudly, publically and with so few shits given to the culture of train etiquette, only one wearing a mask, and I’m feeling my fists itch. I’m not the only only casting them annoyed looks though, they’re talking about how ‘you can’t truly get into the anime culture without having done yada yada….’, what about the trainful of culture that you’re actually in and pissing off right here, dickheads? The next ones on my Karen hitlist are very American, talking loudly about some element of the Japanese transport system that they disapprove of, swigging beers (also not wearing masks). I’m relieved when all the disrespectful bastards have all fucked off and it’s quiet once more. 

We head back to Ameyoko Street to find food, looking for a very illustrious sushi restaurant that I was foolish to think we’d get seated at, and head to the neighbouring restaurant instead, also a conveyer sushi place, and get seated. This feels like a truly Japanese place to eat, filled with nearly all locals and a sushi chef diligently creating the wonderful plates right in front of us. 

I order sake with mine, and it’s very very delicious, almost too much so, as I’m thinking of squeezing another bottle in before we leave, until realising that Small is eating plate after plate of raw fish in my warm and fuzzy presence and I should maybe hold back a little. 

We’re just about to finish, when a chap (expat) approaches us from the next booth, explaining that he’s so very happy to see people coming to eat here, as it is a true representation of the gorgeous dish, and how lovely it is that Small has been given the opportunity to come to Japan, it being a place he visited and never returned from, having wishes he’d been brought in his childhood. 

We saunter through the busy shopping street taking a little more of it all in and having one last diabetes-inducing crepe and head home. 

On walking back to our hotel for the final time, I reflect a little on the sushi place bloke said, and get quite teary about it. It has been a wonderful opportunity, for the both of us, and I appreciate that we’ve had the chance to spend the last 10 incredible days here seeing it all and soaking everything in. I realise it’s been my favourite solo adventure with her yet, and she’s transfixed on the return trip that she’s hanging onto me saying would be in 2-3 years. I figure out I’d better put my annual leave request in early and graft at saving if I’m to achieve the same again on a similar level, especially as I’d be wanting to travel around the beautiful country a little more next time with her as well. 

We nip by her beloved Family Mart to stock up on the abominable sandwiches she loves and a handful of indeterminate whiskies and sake (maybe some shochu too, I didn’t google translate the label), and we’re back at the hotel to try and squeeze our last few goodies into the suitcase. 

It’s been wonderful, peaceful, and eye opening. Japan has given me more than I ever thought it would, and opened my eyes to the many possibilities of exploring this magnificent country again. The sake has worn off too now, so maybe I’ll not forget my passports, or child, as we head to the airport. 

Sayōnara Nihon, you’ll be much missed and forever cherished. 

Feeling a bit au fait with the subway system now. It’s just as loud and busy as London, but it’s quite possibly the easiest system to navigate, and an entirely full platform in rush hour is still silent. I think I’ve figured out the silence rule on trains- it’s because every fucker is fast asleep, how on earth does everyone cat-nap so well? Obviously I looked into it, and it’s a known phenomena over here, the sway of the carriage, white noise and feeling safe due to a culture of neighbourly consideration, can’t imagine having any belongings left if I had a nap on a train back home!

She’s either still asleep, or has listened to me about the no talking, finally. Sitting opposite to me on a busy commuter train, knowing we’re here for 30 mins and I can still see the odd glimpse of her insanely neon shorts. It remains an alien concept but I actually really like it, I may ask her to adopt it back home. The silence that is, I’ve got no say in the abominations she wears. There’s no brash conversations loudly echoing down the carriage about the next door neighbour running off with the postman leaving her kids to starve, no ridiculous displays of, well, anything. 

Personally, I find it calming, and it doesn’t make me feel like I need to explode with everything as much as I thought it would, how bizarre that ordinarily I find myself batting the status quo both internally and externally (often subconsciously), yet here I am a country with myriad cultural and etiquette rules to observe, and I like it. Maybe I could live here. It’s not like I’ve properly unpacked or finished decorating the bathroom yet, so we’re talking minimal upheaval. Maybe I could become the token fat gaijin in a maid cafe?

We’re on the subway to Shinjuku, the busiest station in the world, in rush hour. No giant sardine train experiences though, maybe the real rush starts later, it’s busy sure but not to the extent that I’m acquainted with folks in the way only can when smashed up against their delicates.

Had a bit of time spare, so decided to go and ask for the station stamp, that’s another thing that covid has fucked up- half of them aren’t doing it, Shinjuku included. I thought that yesterday’s tiny station was because of its miniscule setup (just the two platforms), but it would appear that maybe it’s a people-touching-it thing too.

Getting a seat on the next hour long leg of the journey to Mt Takao together has made for a slightly less grumpy Small, and I’ve found a vending machine selling hot black coffee for the equivalent of 59p, winner. Even managed a sneaky slightly-less-illegal pork cutlet and cabbage sandwich (sounds gross, tastes delicious), snaffling it next to the vending machines.

We arrive after 90 minutes of journeying and head to figure out where the fuck this mountain is. The tour company said that I could either get a cable car halfway up or to the top, and back, which I like the sound of as my strained achilles is demonstrable right now. Sneaky prawns, it in fact only climbs a third of the way, a 20-30 minute walk to the Temple from there and then again to the summit of Mount Takao. I’m looking around me and there’s a handful of the usual hiking superstars, but many of them are extremely elderly/slow/using walking sticks to get around, so I’m reassured and we hop on the cable car.

Small could not understand the gradient of the seat on entering, the steep incline at 31° making for entertaining angles until we hit the big climb. I’m touching knees with a gentleman in rather an un-Japanese way, until it levels out. I’ve slurped my morning coffee jelly though so I’m armed with apologies and ready to take on the world.

Small getting a fortune gachapon hand delivered by a performing mountain monkey rolling it down a track thriugh a teeny tiny Torii gate had her in stitches. The laughter is music to my ears and somewhat lessened my pending angst at the oncoming marathon. The little old dears still hobbling along the relatively flat path make me wonder, where the fuck is this temple and summit?

It’s like we’re having a leisurely stroll in the woods, passing the 450 year old octopus cedar tree ‘Tagosuki’ with ease, topping up our supply of togorashi spices from a hillside store and then – BAM….

The steps, ascending to the gods (quite literally) appeared out of nowhere, after what felt like what I now confirmed had been an upward slant going off the damp upper lip. The guide leaflet notes a place of the 108 steps, so surely that’s going to be it right? Wrong. Whilst beautiful, that was just the beginning.

The vast stone steps are beautiful, cold, and were I not on religious ground whilst hauling myself up them, I’d call them cruel. I’m the only fat one but not the only one popping a lung up, though I’m getting a little annoyed at how easy it appears for the very old ladies whizzing past me. But then I realise where I am, what I’m here to do and that I should stop whinging like a little bitch and get on with it.

The view are vast, soaked in whilst eating what appeared to be chicken balls on sticks, but turned out to be baked bread balls coated in sticky soy sauce, absoluty delicious and unlike anything I’ve ever eaten. 

We cleanse our minds as much as you can do with a proper dab on, weak knees, and sweaty child, and head through the Negai Kanau Waku Kuguri wish ring and the Yakuoin Yukiji temple. The entrance to this temple is my favourite yet with all the bright colours, I’m fully wowed and it takes what little breath I have left away.

We get our goshuin stamp and carry on. The steps and climb is a bit brutal now, and its not just me being fat and lazy either as theres a notable decline in pace from nearly everyone on the next step. But my god is it worth it. The view, a panoramic scene of mountains all around us, Mount Fuji in the distance, is just magnificent.

After a look around all the tourist bits, and deciding that as we’ve managed to do all this before lunchtime we head back down the hill to find some food and stop near the chair lift gate for some traditional soba noodle dishes. Small managed to throw her miso soup everywhere and instantly went to clean it up, Japan has fixed my child, I’m in raptures!

The chair lift is an experience and a half, and vertigo kicks in amidst Small’s laughs of glee looking down, the bump of the rails bringing her all the joy whilst I’m praying to all the gods at all of them temples that I don’t just jiggle off and roll down like the fat ginger tourist that I am all the 300+ metres down the hill.

All things said, she’s not been too much of a bastard today and in reward I decide to surprise her with a visit to the Pokemon Centre in Ikebukuro, partly in thanks for her sleeping most of the hour and a half journey back. I have no idea why she’s so knackered, I’m the one that has had 3hrs sleep, but I’ll let it slide.

Ikebukuro is stunning, in the way that only a Japanese town with its glittering lights and shining billboards can be. Sunshine City, the department centre that we’ve headed to, is a kawaii nirvana and shes truly in her element.

We get all the treats then head to a cat cafe, which unfortunately don’t allow children under 13 but we’re recommended another one that does, on the other side of Ikebukuro but unfortunately closes to new entries in 17 minutes. I run like it’s last orders at the Chinese buffet and theres no shits given for the sweat running down my face blurring the glitzy streets and slightly misaligned google maps instruction. We make it at the time they’re closing, however with my terrible Japanese and the help of google translate they allow us in.

Now we all know cats own humans, and these furry bastards couldn’t give two shits about being played with, but she’s blissfully unaware to this fact and gets stuck in. Theres a Maine Coon that looks like it wants to eat her, yet still she tries to pet it, so away I sup my free coffee until closing time. Shes so grateful, shes been missing the cats at home and this was just what she needed. A cheeky stop at the Animate character store and after being told that all the shows she likes are so old in Japan that we’ve no chance of getting any merch from them, we head home to open the days gachapon haul instead. 

Its been a busy one, and we’re both truly shattered, but as our holiday is drawing to a close, she has nothing but gratitude for every single thing we’ve managed today.

Tomorrow is our last full day, theres one Asahi left in the fridge, and after having a semi-conscious sit in the gigantic bath tub its 2am and time to sleep.

Last day tomorrow, I’m so tired that I’m not planning a thing, not setting an alarm and I pass out. 

When you wake up 3hrs after your alarm clock, and that was only because of a wanting bladder, you’d have thought there’d be an ‘in/out/pants on and go’ attitude. But my oh so lovely mermaid/pastel blue roots have faded so badly
that the surround of my face looks like the verge of a roundabout mid construction-muddy and in desperate need of some TLC, halo of said grim roots surrounding my face, making me look dead- there is a point to this hang in there. The resulting makeup-athon led to Small announcing “mummy don’t worry about your face, it’s your soul that counts”, immediately after responding to request of an opinion on said face with “the kindest thing for me to say mummy is that it’s interesting”. Whilst it’s cheese as fuck, clearly I’ve instilled that in her as she recounted my said pep-talk verbatim. She might be a dickhead sometimes but she’s mine and I’m proud of the wibbly-wobbly-what-the-fuckery-way she’s turning outout, cute potato. Not all is lost, and what a lovely way to wake up, albeit 3hrs late. 

I digress, we get to Disney around 11.30am, forget to bring the tickets, so did a lovely little 180, thankfully not losing more of our time.

Kids have no concept of time do they, she keeps thanking me for the fact that we got here ‘early’. I’m nodding with gratitude at her innocence, knowing she’ll one day call me out on our shambolic timekeeping (in the land where lateness is a huge taboo).

It was magical if I’m honest, and it’s made me love Japan even more. Whereas in France, it was hectic and crazy and loud and messy, here it’s calm, everyone is dressed up, I went to approach Belle to take a photo of her and her beautiful dress, only to realise she was just a regular guest, shopping bags in hand. It was beautiful and friendly and everyone was so excited, the locals really get into Disney here. There were all the wonderful contumes, and as soon as I was able to, I was asking for photos of them (shashin o totte mo īdesu ka? ) and feeling pretty chuffed when they understood enough that they acquiesced! There was a full blownblown anime cosplay that were clearly getting snapped all day and I never found the window when there weren’t any adoring fans falling at their feet to get a pic.

Small practically combust upon seeing 4chan, before the whole troupe as the Mei from Turning Red came bounding towards us about 15 mins later so she could get a full photo, very cute. I also think this is going to be Small’s next favourite thing, as she sadly looked like I’d just deep fried the cats on suggestion she might get the slightest bit excited about seeing the traditional Disney characters, let alonealone the disgust on asking whether she wanted to go and meet Belle and that I was happy to pay for anything like that. I might show her Bambi to recalibrate things.

Disney is Disney though isn’t it…. The clientele are what made it for us, the atmosphere was achieveofby the people who brought the magic with them. The customer service is unlike, I’ve ever seen anywhere- every single cast member smiling, waving, wishing us a good day and a good ride, it appeared as genuine glee to be there, and it was mirrored in the visitors. We didn’t wait any longer than 30 minutes for the big rides (other than two big ones being closed for maintenance) and I was gobsmacked that we actually got all round it! I’m glad we did Disneyland rather than DisneySea, just for the familiarity of the setup. But the lack of monster queues were definitely a refreshing taste, whether that may be because Japan has only just opened up or not I’m unsure. We were the glaringly obvious minority there.

We did the weirdest of rides and interspersed them with a cracking set menu and went popcorn bucket hunting. I’d have loved to have looked for the matcha or black pepper flavoured ones, as to date I’ve not seen a single one of those 300+ flavours of kitkats that Japan allegedly boasts, so feeling a little left out on the ‘snack-cidents’ front, filling it with standard cute Disney popcorn rather than the weird and wonderful. Still, she couldn’t give a shit what flavour it is, she can queue up for a ride and get all in there, sneaky eating handfuls of the stuff under her mask. Me too, guilty as proven.

Dropping pieces of popcorn and hunting the floor to find it to take it home was a priority, but amidst a whole 19 mins waiting for Splash Mountain, there it was about 5 meters away. Can you imagine, Japan is so clean and tidy that I was able to see my one cookie flavoured kernel standing brightly against the immaculate painted red floor, waiting for rescue and being walked around like a sinkhole, if only for the fact that crushing it would render me in droves of frustration and probably get me deported.

The eating rule is a little less enforced here though still very much a thing, and I’m feeling slightly guilty for making Small stand between an office wall and chicken restaurant this morning facing the wall to hide her woofing down her new favorite here for breakfast (ham, egg and cheese on white bread no crusts).

We finished off with the Electric Parade, which was magical, then we headed to find a good spot for the fireworks display, that being one of Small’s favourite parts last time so much so that we’ve a framed picture that I took. Nope…. Maybe it’s covid or maybe they didn’t get the memo, didn’t bother snapping any of the handful of fireworks adjacent to the castle (which were quite piddly in fairness), aside the backdrop of some basic lighting shone on the castle- ‘any minute now the real thing is going to start’. It didn’t, that was it. The only disappointing part. Small wasn’t fussed though, we had 3 trains to get and she was hangry, so whizzed up for yet another ham and cheese sandwich, despite my fruitless attempts to convince her to try even some noodles, anything! She got to ride on a double decker train though, so reassures me she’s happy! 

I’ve cracked open the Asahi and am swilling the leftover popcorn out like I actually have an adult in me. I started tactically packing the suitcases but gave up half a pint in. Mountain Day tomorrow, ufffffffft. I wish the tour company had put me up for sake or mochi tasting instead! 

Our Goshuin book is lacking some love, so we set to that with a short trip out to Nikko, about 2hrs from Tokyo and a beautiful mountain Village that hosts some beautiful temples and shrines, specifically the Togushu complex. 

Having bartered decent behaviour from Small by way of offering up (yet another) Akihabara for a tootle afterwards in the hope that we find the right street, we cracked on with our three part journey to Nikko. She was a hell of a lot more awake than the day before, but the bar had ben set quite low. I acquired some ‘coffee jelly’ by mistake, and spent an embarrassingly long time figuring out how to change that jiggling caffeinated almost sentient substance into something drinkable. Turned out I just needed to shake it. Obviously- I was pre-coffee parenting. It was the equivalent of putting a Mensa test in the way of getting a place in junior school, just cruel.

Having swiped in at the station and made our way to Tokyo, we hopped on the bullet train packed up with the cutest bullet train bento box for Small and a giant tempura prawn to add a bit of leverage to the element of peace. She has by now figured out that if she so much as whispers loudly enough for someone other than me to hear her, it’s horrifically not the done thing, and is subsequently sat with puppy eyes, gesticulating with more theatrical pizazz than a RADA dropout, glaring at me. 

I still don’t understand how you’re allowed to eat on the Shinkansen but not on a train that’s a same time frame, but it doesn’t matter, it was all gone within ten minutes, before we’d even pulled off if I’m completely honest. Small naturally frothing at the choos anticipating the sensation of being catapulted into deeper space with the GForce of Tom Hanks crashing down to earth, but ultimately, whilst fast, it didn’t feel very ‘bullet-ey’. And why would it I guess, can you imagine the whiplash? We got there like hot shit off a shovel however and before we knew it arrived at Utsunomiya, connected and landed in Nikko. 

Now, we’re in the hills, it’s fresh, the air smells and tastes incredible and I can’t help but think that the spring water we’ve been buying from out local shop that Small insists ‘smells of sushi’ is in fact just pure as fuck and filtered through nature’s answer to a top of the range Brita filter. It doesn’t smell of fish, mind, and it’s entirely implausible she’s capable of racial slurs, so I’ll take that as her having a capacity to distinguish between tap water and fancy shit. There’s hope yet. Used extemely broken Japanese asking about where the bus was to the shrine complex in the mountains, because fuck that and we land. 

It’s primarily Japanese folk, and I was relieved that there wasn’t the abundance of tourists fucking the atmosphere up with their loud talking cheeseburger snaffling attitudes, until I released that sans the burgers, I’m the tourist. We did everything as all should be however, so much as a fat blue haired English girl and her hyperactive gobshite kid can, I guess. 

I was glad of having frantically posted on Reddit asking for recommendations about suggestions for our tiny window of opportunity to see everything, having scrapped the chance to go an hour further from Nikko centre to a traditional Edo themed amusement centre. No time for that when there’s all the pretties to see! 

Kudos to Small, she eventually said she was glad we were doing something special together. We did the Futusoran Jinja, Togushu, Yomeimon gate and the Nikkosan Rinnijo, passing by the sleeping cat sculpture (which we both absolutely adored) and battling the 207 steps to the resting place of a highly respected Shogun, Tokugawa Iegasau. 

Following the advice of Reddit (the Netmums of travel advisors) and after as many temple visits as we could muster, we headed for what I’d hoped would be a leisurely stroll down the 634m above sea level ‘hill’ to the station, Small gingerly nursing a finger that she burned sticking it into a pile of burning incense while I had my back turned (theme, much?!). Stopping by *only* for a souffle mousse pancake and a cheeky visit to pick up some 90 year old art prints, we found ourselves twatting it down to make it to the only train that would make out connection for the bullet train. The views and the mountain air had been delightful, but all good things must come to an end, I guess. And I realised that aiming to get down a steel hill of 1.5m in 20 mins laden with all the temple charms and arty luggage wasn’t my finest adult calculation. 

Very full of pancakes might I add as it goes by this point; Tell me now that those sweet red bean paste pancakes are filled with anything different to that kidney bean crumble I made as a very poor very broke student of 22ish? Same delicious shit, different context! 

Small being unable to discern between a normal and a bullet train, she was convinced we had three of the Japanese spaceships to get, so was extremely happy. However sitting in the middle of Utsunomiya station frantically looking for our lost tickets, it’s fair to say that I was not. 

She’d remembered my promise of Akihabara by this point, and stuffing my bag to enable avoiding a trip home to dump our haul we headed to the electric town with minutes to spare on retrieving our ‘lost’ tickets. 

It was so fucking shiny! Threw ourselves into the first shop we came across, I found myself in a bizarre google translate dance whereby it eventually transpired after 30 minutes that I was signing up to a delivery based pre-order scheme. Upon ditching and apologies to Small for the lost time acutely aware everything shut in one hour, we headed to a figure shop. Second hand and very cheap figurines of Japanese pop culture characters, we were both in our elements until Small’s bubble of innocence almost burst when finding myself having to explain away the nude provocatively posed little plastic minxes and swiftlys exiting. 

The fatigue has kicked in by now, I’ve promised her a little tickle at one of the hundreds of arcades, bags full of plushies that I know I’ll regret trying to pack and feeling sorely guilty for my mum-splaining of aforementioned naked female anime figures. 

Turned out I was quite ok at the tactical grabbers, coming away with another three huge teddies I have no fucking space for, and we went on the hunt for food. 

It’s 10pm by this point and we’re both feeling the burn we ended up falling into a fish restaurant. Noticed the grill on the table and remembering her last adventures with cooking her own food, (fucking brilliant), we’d committed to the seating and it was last chance saloon…. Notwithstanding my not-very-Japanese dimensions were sure to make it difficult to snake my way out on a hurry, so we made peace and ordered. We were presented with Dave and Lisa, the tiny fish, to Small’s great delight, until Lisa’s head fell off and I realised I didn’t know the Japanese for ‘please tell me what the fuck I’m meant to do with this?’. All things in, full bellies were had and we traipsed to Akihabara station to get home. 

She was pleased with her haul, and I had a cold can of Asahi waiting for me, all was well. 

Chuck a couple of Totoros at a kid and you’re laughing, it would seem. She’s buggered off to the room to unpack her sizeable haul while I have a cheeky 5 mins in the fresh air. Have to admit, it would seem that underneath all the transient rage, I’ve got a decent and extremely sensible seven year old in my pocket here. Not that I’d have said that an hour ago upon watching her mimic the ‘Ninjas’ that were serving her food, with more than a tickle of the theatre that went along with it, but more on that later.

This morning, we peeled ourselves out of bed more than a little bit fucked after a very late night meticulously organising all her gacha to head to the very pretty Mitaka and visit the Ghibli museum.

On the promise of a decent breakfast once I’d got us across the city and hoping (in vain) that there’d be coffee before our adventure began, we made it. An underground, overground and a bus later feeling rather smug with myself might I add, we landed in the gorgeous town to find it was going to be a sneaky onigiri round the side of the shop. To someone to whom eating is as ritualised as breathing, the not eating in the street thing is a real killer. What do you mean I can’t stuff my face with foreign deliciousness in public for the works to see?

Not that it was a bad thing, the spicy beef bun that I snaffled in secret presented more than a mild threat to my digestive system (thank the universe for the background noise buttons on these ‘ere fancy toilets!). I was more than focused on having to haul a knackered grumpy seven year old through Tokyo first, painfully regretting my lack of parental insistance that she’d gone to bed at a reasonable time. She took the best part of 3hrs to pull round, which she achieved around the same time she first cast eyes on the museum exterior, wide glassy eyes in wonder at the oncoming treasure that is all things Miyazaki and Takahata.

The strict ‘no photography’ rule is something that I initially couldn’t understand, but having come across a Redditor getting roasted for snapping the exhibits, the only pics I can justify are the ones that made my interior design synapses ping like a motherfucker- so much wood, watercolour and stained glass (featuring Kiki, Totoro to name a few!!!! Every corner had little creative surprises that reminded me of Mouseman woodwork back home.

She was transfixed by the Robot statue outside, one of the few things we could full blown tourist over, insisting that it was ‘in actual fact mummy’ an Antony Gormley and ‘how amazing was it that the Japanese people respect his work so much’ – (I let it slide).

The cafe was cute but rammed, though was worth it to watch Small neck some roast barley ‘coffee’ and then have this enjoyably visible dissonance as to where she could dispose of said frothy dishwater in a way which didn’t draw unnecessary attention -it was like watching Simba eating bugs in Lion King- still, I’m proud she didn’t yak it back up into the cup, Domesticating, and all that. I guess some parents are proud when their darling little spawn ‘graduate’ reception, write their own name and get invited to every kid’s party, I’m just happy when mine doesn’t run into glass doors or bang into ‘not-things’. Perfect I’d say.

But she acquired a fuck tonne of Ghibli stuff, after I made it extremely clear that she isn’t getting much from Santa this year. Unless that is, that I can find a shop selling something Princess Kaguya from a Ghibli shop, and no I didn’t fancy the thought of trekking across Tokyo for (wait for it….) the one magnet they do. Now that’s a very sentimental Ghibli for Small and I, so we settled for dust bunnies, multiple Totoros and other things that I enjoyed buying but live in the suitcase until we come home.

The day wasn’t without the odd mishap however, with Small managing to lose our IC transport cards at least twice, traversing the extremely busy rush hour Ueno station only to have the extremely kind locals chasing us down with a gentle ‘sumimasen’- (why the hell didn’t I bring any little packaged up thank you gifts today?). And the later ‘douitashimashite’ when I accidentally careered into an innocent man’s leg on pivoting on the spot to look for the extremely verbal but woefully absent Small in th gift shop. I’d have pulled it off had I realised at the timetime and not just now that I should have been saying ‘gomenasai’ and not ‘you’re welcome’, talk about a lingo faux pas, no wonder the poor fucker looked shell-shocked at my badly babbled sociopathy. 

I may have accidentally found myself in the Japanese equivalent of Poundland, B&M and The Range’s genetically ambiguous lovechild, Daiso 100. I’ve you’ve ever been lucky enough to supervise me on a particularly sensory day on a shopping trip to any of these places, you’ll understand quite how determined I was to ensure that at I filled at least one of the extra 2 suitcases we’re coming home with stuff from here. For context, Google today shows 1¥ as the equivalent of 59p. And 99% of what we’re coming home with had cost just that. I still however managed to spend like I was TKMaxxing and crammed £79 worth of cheap but not shit stuff into the oversize nana shopper (reminiscent of those red blue and white checked ones we all saw in our childhoods), getting a huge discount on a giant teddy which then went in with the fucks I didn’t give to the struggle I never anticipated lugging said bag and then two further ones across town, to our dinner reservation.

The food products alone, all the base products that I simply cannot get at home. Bags and bags of unidentifiable dead dried things and miso for miles that I can make gorgeous stocks/soups etc with. We both thoroughly enjoyed playing with our newest acquisitions this evening.

Picture the aforementioned amount of purchased goods, we’ve survived rush hour subway, and have an extremely easy guide to our dinner reservation at the Ninja Restaurant in Asakusa. There was an entire page in our guide on how taboo being late would be to this, on top of the cultural suicide that is doing this in Japan ever, so I twatted is as much as a fat bird with a shipload of shopping can, before realising I had a kid in tow who was slogging the bag of food and glass bottled ingredients up and down the platforms with each step getting slower and slower, I tried to encourage her in the way that I figure people perceive health promotion advice from people with certain outward appearances. We both knew that the anxiety-induced cold upper lip sweat had more than adequately shifted into a full blown workout that made my body scream in protest as I was practically bathing in my own exertions running up (yes, running….) the 100 something steps that lay before me. I’d relieved Small of her burden thus she watched on with great amusement, little bastard.

It was 16.55, I’d run with said bags through the busiest crossing I’ve seen yet, upt down and around the same whole corner of a department store that housed Ninja restaurant 4 whole times, before I found it. I mean I know it’s basis, but I practically dropped a lung in my attempts to find the bastard.

We were shown into a dark room, my eyes squinting in the darkness in the way they only do once you hit your 30s regardless of whether you wear gigs or not, and stumbled through a fucking maze. Yes, a maze, guided one on one with a ‘ninja’ who made us jump through spaces, over fires etc into the (unsurprisingly still fucking pitch black to me) dining area. Small loved it, yet I found myself daydreaming about whether there’s a special reward for having a heart attack in a themed cafe, in the same way that one usually gets free shopping for life when your waters break in a supermarket?

We had plate after plate after plate. Small got bolder and bolder until she eventually started lovingly harassing the ninja staff with her call of battle. I had to smirk, she held her own and got into the magic of the green-flamed, smoking, sparkling ‘treasure’ dishes. She quite literally got into as well, despite many a reminder of basic table manners, she went on to digitally explore most of my plates by man handling before some were even out of their box (anyone else’s kid a dickhead when they’re hungry?) I ate ‘big-plate-little -food’ grub for the first time without getting pissed off, it was delicious. And I was full, despite sharing mine with the bottomless pit that announced she didn’t feel fed enough still. I disregarded through the first few whinges based on the portions at school dinner that she orders making Oliver’s Twist’s scran look like an all you can eat buffet, but she persisted, so we shared.

She didn’t seem that chuffed with the offer of the clam part of the clam chowder. I wonder if throwing up a kilo of mussels still hits hard?

I forgot to mention Derek! Please forgive me, but couldn’t help but be reminded of my late Grandfather, minus the vacuous nothingness beneath the samurai gear with the bristle brush style upper lip moustache. He didn’t say much, just soaked it all in. Derek sat between Small and I, she picked a few fights with him, but he never rose to it. 

We navigated (myself rather blindly still being hyper aware of how bloody dark it was) to quite possibly the fanciest toilets going, to bail on the 40 min journey across 3 stations and a lost fuck to get home by hopping in a taxi. It was quite nice actually, as you’d expect for a £20 sit down, having the local sights being pointed out, feeling incredibly tiny seeing the huge high rise corporations towering above us in the business district, and having the real Akihabara pointed out to us (it was indeed very well lit up, and I gather we walked a good mile in the wrong direction the other night having seen where I should’ve gone). 

Off to Nikko to see the grand shrines and temples, I’m hoping she plays nicely. I can’t imagine a point where I could walk up the pebbled footpath (representing walking through water to aid release of any impurities before calling on the spirits) without dredging her back from running over any sign staying keep off/out, pissing someone off with her profound cheekiness, or just deeply disrespecting the sacred ground upon which she stands, usually achieved by caterwauling like the banshee she is. I guess if nothing else we’ll get to ride the bullet train, even if she’s got the romanticism and spiritualism of a rapidly evacuated dulcolax, making it difficult to fully submerse in the experience.

What do you with a jet-lagged un-napped little turd in Tokyo? Get lost in Akihabara the evening that you land, that’s what. I should’ve realised when the sparkling lights and blazing billboards started to dim to a faint glow that we were walking the wrong way. She thanked me in the only way she knew how, by weak-limbed protest, fixed only by buying a gazillion gachapon and throwing some restorative ramen down her neck. 

New day, right? Started off thrilled with the breakfast sushi that’d she’d hand picked the night before, and I with the dearth of coffee on hand, grabbing all but the most important of things (clearly, the heinously expensive Instax film, and entire new outfit for Small), head off to meet tour guide Miki for the day. 

 

Did have a cheeky tootle around Ueno station under the careful guide of Miki, I did as well navigating here initially as I did finding a fucking shop sign in the ‘Electric Town’ last night, so seeing something pretty was a good find! 

I now know how to ask for these commemorative stamps, and I have a lost of stations to try. But I envisage station stamp hunting in the busiest city in the world to be as much fun as the 14190 steps that I’ve done today (yes I know that’s fuck all, but I’m fat and have had a whole load of time-space-continuum-slowing Japanese carbs by now). 

Off to Asakusa Temple now, paid respects, wound my way through 8171549501 other visitors, a good half of which were wearing kimono which Small loved so much she proceeded to squeal and point in glee. I suppose she didn’t throw up this time, the glares were almost as juicy however. 

We’d near enough cracked it on the Facey McFace bollocks, until she opened a ‘bad fortune’ which despite Miki explaining at length that that was good as it was an opportunity to leave anything and everything that takes your energy, at the Temple and then move up, up, UP!…. She was quite pissed off as it goes. It stuck. She wasn’t all that chuffed about burning her hand on plunging it into a still smoking pit of spent incense because she was so insistent on her independence either (note this, there’s a theme today). Just as well there was that giant pool of sacred water that was reserved exclusively for the ritualistic process of cleansing oneself prior to sparing a thought/prayer/wish at the Temple. 

To splash about in. Joy. I’m surprised she didn’t crack out a water bottle. 

We did have an amightly cute moment, somewhere between the breakfast sushi rage/burned incensed hands and lunch however. It’s a tradition for children aged 3, 5 and 7 to visit the Temple in October to give thanks to surviving what is/was perceived that be treacherous years for health in infants, age 7 marking the final. The lovely helpful Miki negotiated a photo of the two 7yr olds (her idea) to share a special moment. Small was shaking like a shitting dog, shy little thing when presented with the unprompted, crumbling into a heap of embarrassment. There was a smile in there, we caught it by sheer luck. 

Goshuin book bought, calligraphy hand painted within it, prayed to our specific Buddhas (Small-Sheep: will make a good leader and mine, Rabbit, to do good by imparting my knowledge- nearly choked on mine) bought a fair few good luck charms later then headed for food. 

Now Asakusa Temple has the glorious equivalent of a a Christmas market buzz, but covered in autumnal decorations, a billion people buying red bean paste pancakes and more mochi than. You can shake a stick at in the stalls/pop up shops lining the walk towards the Temple buildings, all crammed with tourist/folk/local trinkets and food nibbles. However having watched all of 3 Japanese cooking programmes, and clearly being an expert, it was time to put what I’d binged that one covid isolation day into good use. Okonomiyaki is like a pancake on steroids cooked by yourself in a far too public place to be able to fuck it up and glide along past your faux pas gracefully. 

Full to the brim with squid, spicy fish eggs, prawns, cheese and pork not too catastrophically cooked pancakes, Small finished full-bellied and nursing not the one but the three hot plate stings she gave herself clearly ignoring every single instruction to be careful near said hot plate- thankfully as extremely superficial (what is it about “don’t touch that, it’s hot and will burn you” makes someone need to touch it whilst looking you dead in the eye). It would’ve been easier had she not been hissing rage at my embarassingly audible discontent at her absolute disregard for her safety. This is however following spending the best part of five hours already clinging onto her in fear we’d get split up in the scrambles and was swiftly met with the loveliest kindest kid for an hour I’d never asked for. I was feeling a bit frazzled by this point from accidentally pressing the wrong button at the wrong time for the wrong body part and ‘reverse-pissing’ all over myself to the cute sounds of waves lapping at the beach- those waves didn’t mask shit. By the time I had cleaned the ginormous wet arse patch from my pants and dungarees, on my return Small had entirely forgotten about her little hotplate adventure, and there wasn’t a mark to be seen. 

Then we headed to Japan’s answer to a clean, glass floor boasting, Eiffel Tower-esque shiny tower to watch the sunset. Saying our goodbyes to Miki we headed up into the biggest throng of queuing people in a small space I’ve ever seen. I remember when chatting with the tour organiser thinking ‘do I want to do this, really?’ but then realised that there was the Pokemon Centre and a huge anime themed character goodies shop that would sweeten the load with Small (and myself), so off we hopped. 

The opportunities for commercial shite were endless, however we both felt this a worthy cause, tying our wishes with our ribbons the tallest structure in Japan. Kinda up there with the audio tour guides in the British Museum, but a definite must-do all the same. 

Japan is the kind of place that you can so easily pose next to something that makes you an instant fangirl, bit I rather quite adore this snap. 

By the time we’d explored every last corner of the character shop, and talked each out of buying every thing in said shop, we tried to hot-foot it to the Pokemon Centre she she could buy the bastard Pikachu she’s been chunking on about since touchdown in Haneda. It would have been a grand achievement, had we not gotten ourself entirely lost in said hunt, had a huge bag of shit that we didn’t need but truly wanted (that’s the theme of the shopping related decisions we’re making this week, both in agreement we’ll check with each other and then when said party is in agreement it’s fair play and all guns blazing for more kawaii crap then we can shake a bento box at. I should try this more in real life : “Small, do we really need this 10ft bouncy castle/house sized plushie” etc etc. 

Note however the night to day change in expression on falling into the authentic conveyer belt sushi restaurant that I’d been promising Small for years, to that post 20 plates between us in. It is honestly no wonder I’m so round, she was jabbing at that picture menu like a bat out of hell and ambitious rolls, wraps and mystery bowls were firing at us from left right angle centre. I’ve never felt quite so attacked by food, maybe this is the uprising that I need…. The teeny tiny sauce/seasoning packets sweetened the load and red bean filled, fish shaped doughnut completed that smile. It’s like Yo Sushi had a baby and became affordable for the masses. 

I’m rather certain quite frankly I must have missed Bowlby’s theory of raising highly spirited and independent kids in this massacre that is the next generation of grownups to be…. But that face, the joy of the days treats/gifts- anything for an easy life when it’s all you can manage to do to not misplace, incinerate or let them climb onto a sushi belt, feral or otherwise. 

She’s not that bad, I reckon she’s having a decent time, betwixt the foot fatigue, sheer gluttony and going MIA in a new country to the most unhelpful of times/whereabouts.

A pleasantly hot shower, scrub and laying the tattas on the table to dry out like the porcelain spaniels ears they resemble, in quite most ‘un-Japanese’ activitt I’ve achieved so far! 

You’d be forgiven for thinking that in paying a small fortune to pamper her, that I might have placated [bribed] for some decent frolics in anticipation of over 24hrs of being on the move. Fools. 

(That was fine as it goes, for the first 2hrs at least, after hissing my way through security) however-

It wasn’t her this time. When did she stop frothing at the chops over a mispronounced kids tv character and start reminding me “you’ve only yourself to answer to mummy, when you think about it properly”? When? … 

Never will I ever get cross at Small for saying “are we there yet?”. My arse is on fire, my back is grim and we’re not even halfway there yet. Fuck you, Putin. 

I’ve been up since 3am and I’m yet to get comfortable. It’s not the plane, that’s stunning and perfectly equipped comfort wise for what you’d expect in economy travelling a third turn rouund the world. It’s me.

 
Pressure areas checked and no redness or areas of concern noted. Fuck knows how. 
My lardy arse compressing the seats providing appropriate comfort levels for a normal sized derriere. Would it be the same in business class? More than likely, going off what shape Small’s memory foam neck pillow looked like after an hour under me. I’m grumpy and exhausted. It’s like water torture. With butt cramps. 

Let’s take it back a step, we arrived 2hrs earlier than the check in desk were taking on in Manchester. It’s like I’d shit the bed at 3am to get here for 5am, for the sole purpose of entertaining the check in desk staff (Thanks Jayne for that helpful heads up)…. Cheeky little snapshot of Helsinki- why are they obsessed with Moomins? Is this my 90s coming back to haunt me? – Little snackette and then rolling out of one airport, and into another. 

I’m nearly certain that the nasal snore spray (that only sees light of day when I’m crossing multiple times zones or on a promise) did fuck all, based on the sensation of snoring myself awake, whilst contorted into magnificent shapes like a fat overtired pretzel. I decide to take the brave step and ‘have a stand’ around the little bay of toilets to do my cheeky DVT exercises and try not to look up. I feel like I’m staring down the barrel of a plane shaped gun with a sea of faces watching me, well of course I can’t have a good stretch now. Sadly, I’m too round to achieve said stretches in the blue-lit, fancy buttons and butt-cleaning cubicle. 

Oh god, then it happens: I’m stood next to Mr Motivator. She’s cracking some right shapes, she looks like she only eats organic quinoa and runs 10k every day, I’m between admiration and sheer horror at my proximity to her with the juxtaposed sea of faces, and all I can think of is whether I could try me some of those spirit-fingered stretches to offset having bailed on the TEDs hours ago? I’d love to have been one of the passengers that’s slept the whole way, Small has lain sprawled across me a fair chunk of it, whilst I have achieved a decent catnap of around 4hrs total. 

I do shift work, so why am I so battered?
Is it something to do with the gastronomic feasts that keep presenting themselves at the oddest of times? I did enjoy that 3am muffin, however can’t help but be suspicious in its role in my upcoming and newly-fucked circadian rhythm. I’ll either rally, or pass out- yet to see. 

 
Small being rather more picky than I’d anticipated on the food, maybe I’ve not prepared her enough for the Japanese mystery food, we cook it at home a lot, but it’s never truly authentic is it? Still, an hour from landing, after having a reasonably amenable journey despite her throwing juice at me, wearing her yoghurt and upending my rucksack at least twice, we had our first altercation. We’d done brilliantly with the little phrases, made a (hopefully) good impression with little thank you gifts to the air hostesses, all was well until I tried convincing Small she was just being a snowflake with the chicken, rice and sauce. 

It was perfectly unimposing, yet she still felt the need to not-very-discreetly honk it back up straight back in the tray. Just one elderly woman saw the dramatic retches (but that’s more than enough!), I’m dying in embarrassment, I may as well have done a naked pirouette in the toilet waiting bay.

I’m confused, upside down, and entirely clueless as to how the hell the next 36hrs will pan out. And I’m doing it all in charge of a kid. 

But we got here. The feel of that bump on runway, it feels all the more real now. Small’s just asked if we’re in Japan. We absolutely are kiddo, we absolutely are!

I’m looking out the window. There’s a Pokemon plane parked up. I’m complete.