Made famous by Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson in Lost in Translation, the Park Hyatt Tokyo is described as many things by its guests: ‘luxurious,’ ‘world-class,’ ‘top-notch,’ even ‘the best hotel in the world.’ But I’ll cut to the chase and simply describe Tokyo’s most famous hotel as heaven.

I was lucky enough to have the opportunity to spend two nights in a Park Suite at the hotel. When I arrived, I was greeted and quickly whisked up to the 40th floor sky lobby, handed off to another employee, and led up another four stories to my suite, where I was checked in while sitting on the room’s sofa and the room’s features were explained to me in detail. The entire process was so seamless that I barely had time to blink before it was over and I was left staring out over the nighttime lights and hustle and bustle of Shinjuku from my quiet 44th floor sanctuary.

The view during the day was no less amazing, and the room itself was stunning: a large living room with comfy L-shaped sofa, chairs, work/dining table, huge minibar, and a giant HD plasma TV, a softly-lit bedroom with two oversized double beds and another giant HD plasma TV, and an amazingly large bathroom with shower stall, two sinks, deep soaking tub, and another HDTV.

The service was no less spectacular. The room was immacuately clean, and the staff went out of their way to be helpful. When the hotel mixed up the delivery addresses of our suitcases, the problem was dealt with quickly. The staff apologized profusely, sent us each a gift of handmade rice crackers in a wooden box, and saw to it that we were personally greeted by the manager of the next Hyatt property (the Hyatt Regency Kyoto) we stayed at.

After my two days here, I resolved to become wealthy enough to stay in these sort of places all the time. Unfortunately, that’s easier said than done, when a Park Suite will ordinarily set you back over USD$1000 a night.

This is a continuation of a previous post about my two day trip to Miyajima and Hiroshima.

We awoke to a beautiful, sunny morning, with nary a cloud in the sky. The sound of birds filtered in through the walls of our room. After an early breakfast in Iwaso’s dining room, we checked out of our room and headed our separate ways for the morning. While my friends went omiyage shopping, I made the brief trek up from the inn to the station for the Miyajima Ropeway (宮島ロープウエー). I’d heard that the ropeway, which whisks riders almost to the top of Mt. Misen (弥山) in about twenty minutes, provided great views of the island and the Seto Sea on a clear day. Along the way, an amusing sign written in both Japanese and English informed me: “10 Minute Walk (7 if Run a Little) to Ropeway Station”

At the station, I bought my somewhat pricey ticket and climbed into one of the tiny cars that made the first segment of the two-part journey to the top. The Miyajima Ropeway has both revolving (cars move in a clockwise circle up and down) and linear (cars move back and forth) sections of ropeway, and reaching the top of Mt. Misen requires riding both. As the car I was in left the station and I realized that I was dangling hundreds of feet above the ground, I became momentarily terrified. But my fright was soon forgotten and replaced with awe as I looked out over the primeval forest below me and the ocean and town in the distance. The view was stunningly beautiful. The only sounds to be heard were the chirping of birds perched in the trees below and the quiet hum of the ropeway’s motor. It was amazingly peaceful.

About 3/4 of the way to the top, I transferred from the revolving ropeway to the linear ropeway. I was again overwhelmed by the view, which now faced out over the Seto Sea. Small islands dotted the water, and there was just enough mist to give the landscape a mystical, otherworldly feel. It was easy to understand why the island was considered holy. All too quickly, it was over, and the car pulled into the station at the top of Mt. Misen.

I was told that it was about a thirty minute hike from the ropeway station to the actual summit of Mt. Misen, where a handful of temples and other attractions were located. Since I had to meet my friends later in the morning, though, I decided I didn’t have the time to make the trek. I did, however, spend a few minutes walking around the area directly outside the station. Signs were posted in both English and Japanese warning of possible trouble from resident monkeys that frequented the spot, but unfortunately, none were present. “They are out eating in the forest,” I was told, when I asked someone where they had gone. The one form of wildlife that did show itself, though, was a flock of giant, flying insects. My first instinct when seeing a bug is always that it is either a wasp/bee/hornet or mosquito, but these were so large, however - at least as big as my thumb - that I was soon certain they must be some sort of moth. I therefore stood calmly soaking up the sunshine and snapping pictures while they happily buzzed around my head. I later learned that, for once, my initial assessment was accurate: my Japanese friends assured me that the bugs I had seen were, in fact, a very dangerous type of wasp native to the mountains of Japan. “Flying rattlesnakes,” someone told me. If I had known at the time, I strongly suspect I would have never left the safety of the ropeway station’s glass walls.

A bit later, I met back up with my friends. We said goodbye to Miyajima, and hopped back on the ferry to the mainland for lunch. We had decided to try Hiroshima-style okonomiyaki (お好み焼き), so we took one of Hiroshima’s streetcars to the Okonomiyaki Village, or okonomimura (お好み村). A map we picked up at Hiroshima Station’s tourist information center indicated that there were well over fifty okonomiyaki restaurants or stalls in the area, though most were concentrated on four stories of one building. It was to that building that we headed. For no particular reason, we rode the elevator to the fourth floor, looked around for a few moments, and sat down at the restaurant that had stared us directly in the face when we stepped out.

It turned out to be a good choice, as the okonomiyaki at Kyuu-chan (久ちゃん) was very tasty. Hiroshima-style okonomiyaki is cooked somewhat differently from the more common Osaka style. Usually constructed in layers, it begins with a very thin layer of batter on which sliced cabbage is cooked. In addition, yakisoba noodles are often added. In Osaka-style okonomiyaki, the cabbage, batter, and other components are usually mixed together rather than layered. The fun thing about okonomiyaki, whichever style it is, is that you select the ingredients and toppings you want included. I ordered mine topped very typically with pork and shrimp; one member of our group, though, decided to try one of the stand’s specials, “American-style” okonomiyaki. It came topped with sweet corn, green onions, egg, canned tuna, and more, and was, I am told, quite good.

After lunch, my Japanese friends returned home to Kobe, but I headed to Hiroshima’s must-see attractions, the Peace Park (平和公園) and Peace Memorial Musuem (平和記念資料館). The star attraction of the park itself is, of course, the A-Bomb Dome (原爆ドーム). Before the war, the complex, now registered as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, was the city’s Industrial Promotion Hall. Now, the building serves as a haunting reminder of the destruction war brings. The dome is the only bomb-damaged building remaining in Hiroshima, and was recently reinforced to ensure that it remains standing as a monument to the destruction caused by the atomic bomb.

The Peace Park’s other attractions include the Cenotaph for the A-Bomb Victims and the Statue of the A-Bomb Children. The cenotaph (empty tomb) is a memorial containing the names of those who died in or as a result of the bombing and a flame which will not be extinguished until the last nuclear weapon is disabled. The Statue of the A-Bomb Children is associated with one of Hiroshima’s most moving stories. While in the hospital dying of leukemia in 1954, twelve-year-old Sasaki Sadako heard an old legend which claimed that a wish could be made to come true if one folded 1,000 paper cranes. The Statue of the A-Bomb Children was built by her classmates to honor her and the countless other children who died from the bombing and is now constantly draped in thousands of brightly-colored origami cranes folded by schoolchildren from throughout Japan.

The excellent, though very sad and depressing, Peace Memorial Museum is also located on the grounds of the park. First established in 1955, the museum was expanded and renovated in the 90s and is now divided into two buildings. The museum’s first exhibition area provides the context in which the city was bombed, explaining Hiroshima’s role in the war as a large military center, the forced demolition of homes and businesses by the Japanese government, and the mobilization of students as young as twelve to work in military factories and on various war-related projects. The exhibits also discuss the government’s use of Koreans and other minorities forced to work under extremely harsh conditions.

The museum proceeds to explain, using copies of original Japanese and US military documents, how Hiroshima came to be selected as the target for the atomic bomb. I found reading these letters and reports an amazing and extremely enlightening, though time-consuming, experience. I found one of these collections of documents, which discussed the Potsdam Declaration, to be particularly disturbing. The Japanese had indicated that they would be willing to surrender to the Allies on the one condition that the country’s emperor system remain in place. While those involved in writing the declaration agreed this was not an unreasonable condition, and of course did in the end allow the emperor to remain in place as a figurehead, they decided to propose only an unconditional surrender. Reading between the lines, they had written, essentially, that they did so knowing Japan would reject the proposal, allowing them an opportunity to test the atomic weapon they were developing in a real-world situation while still appearing to their own citizens to have attempted a diplomatic resolution.

Another area of the museum is devoted to explaining the basics of the technology behind the atomic bomb and tracing its proliferation around the world. Two walls are covered form floor to ceiling with copies of the letters sent by the city of Hiroshima to other countries in protest of each atomic bomb test they perform.

The rest of the museum is primarily dedicated to displaying a large collection of haunting artifacts and photographs of bomb victims. If you have a weak stomach, it may be wise to skip this portion of the museum, as it consists of nothing but room after room of horrifying pictures, personal momentos and very sad and depressing stories. Tattered school uniforms ripped apart by the bombings, broken, rusted tricycles whose riders had been vaporized, pieces of human skin, and melted bricks are just a few of the items presented.  The museum focuses especially on the fate of the children impacted by the bombing, describing where they were when the bomb was dropped and how and when they died in painstaking, gruesome detail.  The emotional impact of this portion of the museum is enormous: seeing these artifacts and pictures and reading the stories associated with them is a deeply disturbing, though very valuable, experience.

On the way out of the museum, visitors are invited to sign their names and share their impressions in a guestbook.  Also on display is a collection of guestbooks signed by world leaders and other important figures who have visited the museum.  I looked at every page, noting that the museum had been visited by an acting leader of nearly every major country on the planet save one: the United States.  Of all US presidents who held office since the museum was opened, only Jimmy Carter had ever come, and only after he was no longer president.  Seeing as we had dropped the bomb that caused all the damage being highlighted at the museum, and considering that we continually insist that Japan apologize for various wartime infractions of one sort or another, I found it quite disturbing as an American that no US president had ever bothered to show up.

After taking another look at the A-Bomb Dome, I headed returned to Hiroshima Station to catch a shinkansen back to Kobe, feeling very sad and depressed for the rest of the evening.

Miyajima (宮島) is a very popular attraction with both Japanese and foreign tourists, and with good reason. The island, said to provide one of Japan’s three best views, is home to Itsukushima Jinja (厳島神社), the famous UNESCO World Heritage Site with the ever-popular floating torii (鳥居), a number of Buddhist temples, and picturesque Momijidani Park (紅葉谷公園).

The island, officially named Itsukushima (厳島), has been considered sacred throughout much of Japanese history. Itsukushima Jinja has existed in some form since at least the sixth century, when it was dedicated to the three daughters of the Shinto sea god Susano-o-no-Mikoto (須佐之男命). It has been in its current form since 1168. Historically, average citizens were strictly forbidden from setting foot on the island; they were required to come by boat, first passing under the giant torii, if they wished to make an offering to the shrine. To this day, to preserve the purity of the island, all burials are prohibited on Itsukushima.

I spent Sunday and and part of Monday on Itsukushima with a few friends. Since it was the first time visiting Miyajima for all of us, after riding the ferry from the mainland and soaking up the sunshine and beautiful view from the boat, we headed straight for the main attraction: Itsukushima Jinja, home of the iconic “floating” torii. Contrary to popular belief, it’s not actually floating; it only appears to be doing so during high tide, and we had luckily arrived at the right time to see the gate appear to float. The torii is built in a somewhat unusual style known as yotsu-ashi, whereby four additional “legs” are used to provide additional stability. The shrine itself is equally stunning. Though the general idea is the same as at every other Shinto shrine in Japan - clap your hands, bow, toss a coin, pray, get your fortune, and buy some lucky charms - the amazing architecture and design of Itsukushima Jinja make a visit definitely worthwhile. The way the majority of the shrine is built out into the water on a pier-like structure of covered decking is truly unique; walking through the series of airy, open porches is a wonderful experience. Of course, the view out to the sea and up into the surrounding mountains from the shrine is also stunning.

After walking through the shrine, we headed off to Miyajima’s small, quaint shopping district for lunch, but resolved to come back to the shrine again later to see what it looked like during low tide. We sampled the delicious local specialty, anago (穴子), salt-water eel, at a small restaurant. Less oily and rich than unagi (うなぎ), its freshwater cousin, it is often simmered or deep fried rather than being barbequed in a sweet sauce.

In addition to the many restaurants lining its streets, Miyajima’s shopping area is home to dozens of souvenier stalls and shops. The area is famous for its hand-made rice scoops, called shakushi (杓子), which are available in a number of varities from countless souvenier - omiyage (おみやげ) - vendors on the island. If you find the standard-sized scoops a bit boring, you can always take a look at Miyajima’s famous gigantic rice scoop, on display next to a storefront. At well over 5m long, it is claimed to be the world’s largest, and I was certainly inclined to believe this. Aside from the rice scoops, Miyajima is also famous for momiji manjuu (もみじ饅頭), small, leaf-shaped cakes filled with sweet bean paste. In many storefronts, it was possible to watch the cakes being made in specially-designed molds and then immediately buy a fresh, warm box of the delicious sweets. For the sake of a Kitty-chan-obsessed friend, I also stopped at the island’s official Sanrio shop, complete with a shrine to Kitty-chan, to buy a small trinket. In addition to the usual Hello Kitty fare, the store was home to a number of Miyajima-exclusive items that are available nowhere else in Japan or the world.

After tiring of the souveniers and shopping, we headed back toward the shrine. By the time we returned, the tide was going out, and families could be seen enjoying newly-uncovered beaches. For a moment, standing on the beach in the sunshine, looking up at the mountains, and watching the waves gently wash over the sand, I began to feel more like I was in Hawai’i or Ko Samui than Japan. A quick look over towards Itsukushima Jinja, though, and there was no mistaking the locale. It was now beginning to be possible to walk out under the giant torii, and a number of visitors to the shrine used the opportunity to place coins between cracks in the gate, a practice claimed to make one’s wishes come true.

Near the exit to the shrine was the Houmotsukan (宝物館), or Treasure House. The small but worthwhile museum contains 228 items that have been designated as either National Treasures or Important Cultural Properties. All of the items in the museum were donated to the shrine at one time or another by the victors of battles that took place on the Seto Sea or by grateful sailors. I found the full sets of beautifully-gilded armor on display to be especially interesting, but also enjoyed the ancient masks, musical instruments, and art on exhibit.

We walked around a bit more, coming across a number of the island’s non-human residents in the process. Unlike in Nara, where street vendors selling cookies for the deer can be found on practically every corner, on Miyajima, deer food is hard to come by, so the unfortunate deer are reduced to eating scraps of paper and robbing the bags of passing tourists.

Towards dinner time, we walked up into Momijidani Park, a hilly park located at the base of Mt. Misen along the Momijidani River. Famous for, as its name implies, its beautiful maple (momiji) leaves, the park is also home to Iwaso (岩惣), the ryokan where we would be spending the night. With a legacy dating back to 1854, Iwaso is considered to be the most luxurious and best accomodation on the island, and is priced to match. The experience, however, is well worth the cost. Included with the accomodations is a magnificent kaiseki dinner and either a Japanese- or Western-style breakfast and access to Iwaso’s two hot spring baths.

The suite we stayed in consisted of two Japanese-style tatami rooms, a Western-style bath and toilet, an entryway area for removing shoes, and a lovely balcony overlooking a small stream and waterfall. Just moments after we had entered the room, a woman dressed in a beautiful kimono came to serve us green tea and a plate of momiji manjuu cakes made at the inn and inquired as to what time we would like to have dinner. The room was very simply furnished, with only a low table in the center of one of the tatami rooms and a small table and chair set on the balcony. It was simply decorated as well; there was only a painted scroll hung on a wall and a beautiful ikebana flower arrangement set in front of it in the room’s tokonoma (床の間).

After we had settled into our room, we headed downstairs for a bath before dinner. Bathing in a Japanese onsen (hot spring) is a truly unique, relaxing experience. Each onsen has its own claim to fame, its own distinct list of benefits, its own list of medical conditions supposedly remedied by soaking in its waters. Iwaso’s springs are famous because they contain small amounts of radon, which is claimed to be beneficial for those with chronic skin diseases, poor circulation, hypertension, and a handful of other conditions. Of course, wanting to ensure that no one feels left out, the inn’s management notes that the water is also good simply for “the general improvement of health.” To many foreigners, the concept of sitting naked in a tub with a bunch of strangers is disconcerting. Once you get used to the idea, however, onsen are an exteremly enjoyable, relaxing, and refreshing experience, especially after a long day of traipsing around a mountainous island.

As is the case at almost all ryokan, Iwaso’s kaiseki dinner was served in our room. It consisted of over ten beautifully-presented dishes which prominently featured fresh, local, seasonal ingredients. Just the first course alone consisted of shrimp sushi, a whole crab (all of which was eaten), shellfish, and roe. After that, a seemingly neverending parade of food continued to be delivered to our room: salt-encrusted ayu, various types of sashimi, shrimp inside crispy dough pockets, more fish, bowls of rice… One of the highlights of the meal was a do-it-yourself stirfry: a plate conataining thinly-sliced beef, onions, mushrooms, baby corn, and asparagus, along with a small, lit cooking burner onto which these components were to be placed. Eventually, dessert, a melon slice, fresh fruit, and a mousse-like berry dish was served.

By the time we had finished eating the huge (and delicious) meal, it was already dark outside. Since Itsukushima Jinja is lit at night, we decided to head out for a walk down to the shrine. The night was perfectly clear, with the first stars just starting to appear in the sky as we headed towards the beach. With all the day-tripping tourists who had swarmed over the island earlier in the day gone, the area around the shrine had a very peaceful, relaxed feel. The shrine itself looked beautiful bathed in the glow of lanterns and spotlights, and the giant torii, by now again appearing to float, seemed truly magical sitting under the crescent moon and star-filled sky.

After trying in vain to get more than one or two good shots of the shrine and island at night, we headed back to Iwaso, where we found our comfy-looking (and feeling) futons waiting for us, and quickly fell asleep to the trickle of the waterfall outside our window.

Drums. Giant flags. Balloons. Thousands of people chanting and singing. At first glance, the event could be mistaken for some sort of enormous political rally or cult ritual. Take a closer look, however, and you’ll find not neo-Nazis, but tens of thousands of baseball fans crammed into tiny seats with even tinier amounts of legroom.

As an American, I had always thought that we were serious about baseball. After all, it couldn’t be called “the American pastime” for no reason. However, my experience Friday night at Koshien Stadium, located midway between Kobe and Osaka, quickly taught me otherwise.

It was my first time at a Japanese baseball game, and a Japanese friend who accompanied me to the game helped explain the proper way to participate. Before entering the stadium, we stopped at a row of stalls set up outside the stadium to buy the necessary items. I picked up only a 600JPY set of plastic baseball bat-shaped noisemakers; the items available ranged from t-shirts and jerseys to pens and necklaces. A higher-end shop sold stylish, dressy clothes that were somehow associated with the team. Unfortunately, we forgot to buy balloons - a grave error (but more on that later).

As we settled into our tiny seats on the Hanshin Tigers side of the stadium, we were entertained by various acts involving local schoolchildren, who sang and danced to the official Hanshin Tigers theme song and were given a chance to pitch a few baseballs. A few minutes later, suit-wearing managers and cheerleaders came out onto the field to present a player with some sort of award - none of us were sure what exactly it was - and a bit later, after much bowing and the handing out of what appeared to be some sort of special envelopes, the game was underway. There was no standing and singing of the national anthem, no fancy video introductions of the players, no colorful graphics on the Jumbotron; the game simply started.

Having read before the game that Japanese baseball fans were an extremely noisy and energetic lot, I was surprised when, during the first half of the first inning, only quiet background chatter could be heard emanating from the crowd. Nobody booed the Yokohama Baystars (the opposing team), the fans applauded only quietly when an out was registered on the scoreboard, and many in the stands seemed to be paying little attention to what was happening on the field. I began going over in my head everything I had ever heard about Japanese baseball, and was quickly coming to the conclusion that I must be missing something, that there must be something wrong. Just as I was about to ask my friend why the crowd seemed so unenthusiastic, the third out was registered, and the Hanshin Tigers came up to bat.

And suddenly, every person in the crowd had their eyes riveted to the field. They were violently pounding together the plastic baseball-bat shaped noisemakers they had purchased outside the stadium in time with the drummers stationed in front of each section. They were chanting, singing. Giant flags were waved by excited fans. The cheering was accompanied by hand gestures, and both the gestures and cheers were different for each player. I was hit with such a deafening wall of sound that I stood dazed for a moment before grabbing my camera, snapping a few pictures of the crowd, and grabbing my own set of noisemakers and joining in.

The game went on like this until the seventh inning: relative silence while the Baystars were at bat, and increasingly ear-splitting levels of noise when it was the Tigers’ turn. But at the beginning of the seventh inning, something interesting happened. Colorful balloons gradually started appearing in the hands of fans throughout the stadium. I felt very left out; within a few minutes, it seemed that we were the only ones left in the stadium not holding balloons. Luckily, though, a kind couple seated behind us let us have an extra package of balloons, and we were able to join in the fun.

During what, in America, would have been the seventh inning stretch, the Tiger’s official theme song was again sung, and this time, it seemed almost everyone in the stadium sang along. After the singing was done, everyone quickly released their balloons. I did so as well, and then frantically grabbed my camera in an attempt to capture the amazing spectacle before my eyes before it vanished and the empty balloons fell back to the earth. Thankfully, I succeeded. I later learned that the release of balloons during the seventh inning stretch is a Hanshin Tigers tradition, performed by fans at both home and away games. Towards the end of the game, when it appeared certain the Tigers would be winning, the balloons began again to appear throughout the crowd, and when the final out was called for the Baystars, the sky was again momentarily filled with the colorful balloons.

Having launched their balloons for a second time in celebration of the Tigers’ victory, I assumed that the crowd would quickly begin to file out of the stadium. Instead, though, everyone stuck around for a good twenty minutes, singing songs of celebration and cheering their victorious team. On the field, television crews and newspaper photographers surrounded a few of the players for interviews, which were shown live on the screen next to the scoreboard. One of the players being interviewed was not Japanese, so a translator was used. The entire process was very polite compared with the pushy, haggling news media that tends to accost American players in the locker rooms after a game. Only when all of this was finished did the first few members of the crowd begin to leave the stadium.

The train back to Kobe was, of course, extremely crowded to the point where any form of movement would be impossible. Each time I thought the car had to be truly filled and it would be impossible for anyone else to board, a few more people managed to somehow shove their way into the overflowing vehicle. When the train finally pulled away from the station, I could still hear fans who had not yet left the stadium singing and cheering over the Tigers’ victory. I spent the twenty minutes between Koshien and Sannomiya stations solidly wedged against my friend and a handful of other baseball fans.

By the time I got back to my hotel, I felt somewhat deaf from the noise and a bit tired, but I didn’t really mind. I’d never had this much fun at an American baseball game.

All week, I had been hoping to get a glimpse of Mt. Fuji. Yet each time I was sure I would be able to see Japan’s iconic, perfectly shaped mountain, I walked away with nary a glimpse of its snow-tipped peak. While staying in Shinjuku, I had hoped to see the mountain from the observation deck at the top of the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building, but I saw nothing but clouds and the endless rows of buildings that make up Tokyo’s skyline stretching beyond the horizon.

Almost every tour book recommends a shinkansen ride between Tokyo and parts west as the best way to get a look at Fuji-san while in Japan, so I was excited when I traveled from Tokyo to Kyoto on a perfect, sunny spring day. The assigned seats I was given on the shinkansen for my excursion from Tokyo to Kyoto, though, were on the wrong side of the train, and I didn’t even realize I had already passed Mt. Fuji by until the train stopped at Nagoya. It appeared that Japan’s tallest mountain was going to elude my attempts to view it.

A few days later, settling into my seat aboard an ANA flight from Osaka to Tokyo, I had almost entirely forgotten about these failed attempts. It was barely eight o’clock in the morning, and I was too busy wondering how I had somehow managed to end up sitting in a business class seat for the first time in my life despite having actually purchased the cheapest ticket available. A few minutes into the flight, I ended up briefly chatting with one of the flight attendants about what I thought of Japan and where I had learned Japanese. After talking with her for a minute or so and getting my drink, she went to serve the other passengers, and I went back to playing with the confusing array of buttons on my armrest in an attempt to discover which of the seemingly infinite possibilities for arranging the seat would prove most comfortable.

A few minutes later, though, the same friendly flight attendent returned and asked if I had ever seen Mt. Fuji from the air. I replied that I had not, and she showed me to a window on the opposite side of the plane, telling me that there was a great view of Fuji that day. I looked out, and there it was, with its summit protruding from beneath the sea of clouds as if it were an island. All around was white: white clouds surrounding the snow-covered peak of Mt. Fuji. I stood, awestruck by the image - this was way better than pictures I had seen of the view from Tokyo skyscrapers or the shinkansen. If heaven was real, I thought, it must look something like this.

That day, looking down on Fuji-san from 35,000 feet, it became perfectly clear why the Japanese view the mountain as being sacred.

Attempt to exit (or enter) any major train station in Tokyo and you are likely to find yourself lost in a maze of winding multi-level underground passageways and arcades lined with all manner of shops and restaurants. Make a wrong turn, and you’ll somehow end up caught on the designer handbag floor of one of the towering department stores attached to the station by a dizzying array of underground and aboveground entryways. For a first time visitor to Japan, a major train station and its associated passageways and tunnels can be both an amazing and frightening experience.

Last week, I spent a handful of nights at the Century Hyatt, a nice, four-star hotel located in Tokyo’s Nishi-Shinjuku skyscraper district. Of course, this meant that I would be making use of Shinjuku Station, the poster child for enormous and confusing Japanese train stations, and the underground tunnels connecting it with my hotel. It is often said that finding the same location in Shinjuku Station twice is impossible. I had previously used the station for visiting Shinjuku, but this was my first time using it as my jumping-off point for the rest of Tokyo, and I found that it definitely lived up to its reputation.

Each day, three and a half million commuters pass through Shinjuku Station (yet, like most other places in Japan, it somehow remains practically spotless). Six train companies operate over a dozen lines that stop at the station, which is connected to the rest of Shinjuku by miles of twisting below-ground walkways. Seven department stores are linked with the sprawling station complex. I only ever figured out how to get to one of them, though I can’t say I tried particularly hard.

Ah, yes, the department stores. Japanese department stores are amazing sights that have to be seen to be believed. Most are at least ten stories, selling everything from designer clothes, handbags, and cosmetics to stationery, electronics, and books. Department stores are also a great place to eat on the cheap. The top floor or floors usually have an array of reasonably-priced sit-down restaurants, but the real bargains are to be had in the basement. There, you’ll find a sensory overload of dozens of stalls selling every type of food imaginable, from traditional Japanese-style dishes to spaghetti. Countless varieties of sweets and bakery are also available. Employees shout out over the noise of thousands of shoppers, enticing hungry patrons to eat at their stall. Everything is freshly made and nicely displayed, and free samples are often available, if you can manage to pick them out from within the crowds of hungry commuters. Almost everything costs less than 1000JPY (about $8.50), so the department store basements make a great alternative to overpriced hotel food. The bento boxes sold by many stalls also make great lunches to take with you when out sightseeing.

For dinner one night, I found a stall at Odakyu called Chicken Deli that sold a rotisserie chicken stuffed with carrots, potatoes, and onions and seasoned with some of the most delicious spices I had ever tasted. I also picked up a great salad from an adjacent stall that went beyond typical American salad fare of lettuce, tomatoes, and cheese and added bits of pumpkin, beans, peas, and nuts. The whole thing cost barely more than an American McDonalds Extra Value Meal and tasted way better (and was no doubt way healthier).

One of the most amazing things about Japanese stores in general, and department stores in particular, is the care that goes into packaging your purchases. The salad I purchased was wrapped in no fewer than three containers - a small plastic box, which was placed inside a plastic bag, which was taped shut with an ice pack attached to the top of it, which was finally inserted into a larger paper shopping bag with handles. Items purchased are beautifully giftwrapped and boxed upon request at no extra charge. In contrast with most American department stores, where it is often nearly impossible to find anyone to help you, employees are always available and eager to assist.

Just in case the department stores don’t offer enough shopping and dining options for you, the shops and restaurants lining the underground walkways connecting the train station with other areas of Shinjuku are there to fill in any gaps in the department stores’ offerings. Convience stores, fast food restaurants, tiny sushi stalls, and even banks and post offices can be found tucked away in various locations inside the tunnels beneath Shinjuku’s streets.

While other train stations operate on a somewhat smaller scale, most major ones follow the same basic pattern: department stores and long underground shopping plazas connected to the station by dozens of tunnels and walkways. Tokyo’s Ikebukuro, Shibuya, and Tokyo stations and Kyoto’s main station all offer similar shopping and dining options.

Luckily for me, Shinjuku Station was fairly kind. I only got so hopelessly lost that I had to stop at a koban (police box) and ask for directions once. I managed to find my way back to the Odakyu department store’s basement each day to buy lunch, even though I never managed to get there in quite the same way twice. I found myself walking in circles or taking some horribly indirect path a number of times, but I always managed to get to where I wanted to go in the end. While sprawling and somewhat befuddling on occasion, I’m definitely looking forward to my next stay in Shinjuku. Now where is that Isetan department store?

The ancient city of Kyoto, the capital of Japan for over 1,000 years, is home to many of the most famous Buddhist temples and Shinto shrines in Japan. A collection of some of the most famous of these can be found along the Path of Philosophy (in Japanese, Tetsugaku no Michi or 哲学の道), a narrow trail following a canal that winds through the Higashiyama (東山) district of Kyoto, roughly from Ginkaku-ji (銀閣寺) to Nanzen-ji (南禅寺).

While the walk and certainly the temples and shrines along it are beautiful at any time of the year, walking the path in the spring when the cherry trees that line almost its entire length are in full bloom is especially nice.

It was with this in mind that I set out for the Path of Philosophy this morning during the peak of Kyoto’s sakura season. As could be expected of one of the most popular locations in Kyoto for enjoying the sakura, the path was filled with people. This did nothing to take away from the beauty of the surroundings, however. Walking the tree-lined path, listening to the water run along the canal, ducking inside the traditional shops, and experiencing the quiet calm of the temples and shrines made me feel as if I had been transported back in time to the Kyoto of long ago - at least until I was reminded that I was still in the middle of a modern city of almost 1.5 million residents by a taxi cab that sped up the road to one of the temples I was visiting, parked right next to a mound of raked sand, and almost ran over a number of people in the process.

Ginkaku-ji, the shogunate villa turned Buddhist temple, is the northern terminus of the Path of Philosophy. Its elaborate sand sculptings and perfectly manicured hillside moss gardens make it the path’s most famous and popular temple. The villa and its grounds are considered to be a prime example of refined Japanese design and architecture. However, since I’d already been to Ginkaku-ji previously, I bypassed it this time in favor of some comparatively neglected locations.

Honen-in is one such temple. Though mentioned in some guidebooks and clearly signposted in both English and Japanese, only a small trickle of tourists makes the five minute uphill trek from the Path of Philosophy to Honen-in’s entrance. Inside, a lone sakura tree added a flair of color to the temple’s Buddhist cemetery and a pair of turtles sat sunning themselves on a row of submerged logs in the temple pond. Trees cast shadows on the moss-covered ground and a carefully-placed leaf directed the flow of a stream of water. Here, there was no admission fee, no gift shop. Instead of ticket checkers and docents, I saw monks. Relatives stopped by the cemetery to visit the graves of their ancestors. Compared with Ginkaku-ji, Honen-in is a far better example of a normal, working temple complex.

Just a few minutes away from the crowds along the Path of Philosophy, homes lined a deserted narrow mountain street. When the wind blew, sakura petals slowly fell and covered the ground as though they were snowflakes. And then, out of nowhere, came a string of giant yellow schoolbuses for the Eikando Kintergarten with big plastic babies stuck on their fronts. If there is one thing I learned from walking the Path of Philosophy, it is to never underestimate Japan’s ability to throw something totally unexpected at you.

Shibuya, a high-strung, fast-paced district of Tokyo, is the birthplace of countless consumer and pop-culture trends. Shibuya Crossing, the area directly in front of Shibuya Station is the world’s busiest intersection. With its multi-story Starbucks, fifty-foot high television screens, and bright neon, it is one of the most popular images of Tokyo.

Predictably, such an area draws many young people and features countless trendy boutiques and shops. In addition to their respective main department stores, Shibuya’s Tokyu and Seibu also own a number of other properties around Shibuya:

• The hip Shibuya 109, operated by Tokyu, a trend-setting complex aimed at young women and featuring ten floors and over 100 different boutiques.
• Tokyu Hands, a “lifestyle store” offering housewares, hobby supplies, stationary, and a variety of other items.
• Parco, a large, multi-building Seibu-run complex hawking all the latest styles.
• Loft, Seibu’s take on a Tokyu Hands-style store.

Of course, there are also countless independent shops not affiliated with either of the two goliath department stores.

I didn’t head to Shibuya to buy the hottest clothes, though. In addition to the hip boutiques and enormous department stores, Shibuya is also home to two of the biggest record stores in Japan: HMV and Tower Records, both names no doubt familiar to most westerners. Since I’d heard good things about it, I headed to HMV.

There, I found six huge floors filled with CDs (and even actual viynl records) of every genre of music imaginable. On the first floor, the latest Japanese releases were prominently featured at listening stations and special displays. Further inside, long aisles held tens of thousands of rock, pop, dance, and other releases. An entire section was devoted soley to independent artists. I was amazed at the wide selection: in Cleveland, a “record store” was a chunk of the local shopping mall barely bigger than my bedroom or a small corner of a Barnes & Noble bookstore. At home, if I looked for practically anything that wasn’t a #1 hit, I would be told that the disc would need to be ordered in. Here, though, I was able to find every single artist I looked for, popular or not.

I quickly filled a shopping basket with way too many yen worth of merchandise and headed up to the second floor. Every bit as big as the first, it offered popular and rock music from American and dozens of other countries. This came as a shock, considering that most places in Cleveland offer either no imports at all or only a handful of English or Spanish-language dics that are left lying neglected in some back corner. Here, though, music from around the world was displayed prominently. A small cafe served up Starbucks-style drinks and pastries at tables which each had a pair of headphones and a selection of music to listen to while you enjoyed your coffee and cake and looked out over the bustling streets of Shibuya.

The remaining floors in the building were no less amazing: an entire floor was dedicated to jazz and classical music, another to DVDs released both in Japan and elsewhere. An entire wall was devoted to documentaries and was lined with thousands of discs from the genre that barely gets any shelf space in American stores. There was a stage for live performances and an on-site radio studio where live FM broadcasts were occasionally produced.

Eventually, though, I knew I had to leave before I spent every yen I had on me, so I paid for my basket full of purchases and left with my wallet a few 10000-yen bills lighter. Before, having nothing to compare it to, I thought the selection at the new fye in my local mall was pretty good. I don’t think I’ll look at it in quite the same way anymore.

Simply put, Ginza is a shopper’s paradise. With seven department stores and countless pricey designer boutiques, it is Japan’s most famous shopping district. Ginza is home to the (in)famous $15 cup of coffee, the ultra-exclusive Wako department store (where it is seemingly impossible to find anything costing less than a few hundred dollars), and real estate worth well over $100,000 per square meter.

Ginza is often recommended as a “must-see” area of Tokyo. Its stratospheric prices and enormous stores and boutiques are certainly awe-inspiring. However, as someone not in the market for Prada handbags or $50,000 wristwatches, I found myself becoming quickly bored by the endless onslaught of expensive brand-name goods.

Until I walked into the Sony Building. Yes, it was another building filled with expensive, brand-name merchandise. However, at least for a gadget freak like me, the type of pricey items contained within this particular Ginza building were far more interesting than the thousand dollar scarves available next door. Here, you can get a glimpse into the future of computers, televisions, digital cameras, cell phones, and a variety of other electronics. Or, at least the future if you don’t live in Japan. Almost everything in the showroom is already available for sale in Japan, but most items are not available elsewhere.

The Sony showroom fills four of the building’s eleven floors (the rest are shops, restaurants, and other businesses). Digital cameras barely longer than my thumb, giant HDTVs, computers with folding keyboards that seem more like pieces of art than productivity tools, finger-sized MP3 players, ultra-high-tech boomboxes, and a dizzying array of other electronics are presented. Cell phones as thick as a few credit cards with built-in cameras better than the one I bought for $300 last year and high-definition camcorders that fit in the palm of your hand are also among the items on display. Unfortunately (or is it fortunately for my wallet?), almost nothing is available for sale within the building itself, with the exception of some very overpriced “overseas models” aimed at tourists which include English-language manuals and some headphones, batteries, and other small items.

Everything is very nicely presented, making the showroom seem more like a musuem than just a display of products. It makes a very nice place to spend an hour or so admiring the latest technology. The only downside is that you feel entirely depressed when you realize that the majority of these products won’t be available in your home country for another year or so.

If you’re a gadget nut, it’s also worthwhile to check out the five-story Apple store while in the area. While everything inside is also available elsewhere and therefore lacks the wow factor that the Sony showroom does, Apple’s Ginza location is perhaps the company’s best. The store’s 27-foot-long Genius Bar, 84 seat demonstration theater, and employees proficient in 10 languages make the Ginza store stand out from Apple’s other retail outlets.

Yasujuni Jinja, a Shinto shrine located in Tokyo, attracts a lot of controversy. This controversy has recently placed the shrine at the center of a number of international political issues, and as a result, many people outside of Japan have read about the shrine in newspapers or heard about it on television.

Originally called Tokyo Shokonsha, the shrine was created in 1869 to honor those killed in the wars surrounding Emperor Meiji’s return to power. In 1879, it was renamed as Yasukuni Jinja and became one of the most important shrines connected with state-sponsored Shinto. Over 2.5 million souls are enshrined at Yasukuni, representing all Japanese (as well as some Koreans and Chinese) who died in the service of Imperial Japan through the end of World War II.

It is from this fact that the controversy surrounding the shrine stems: among these millions are 1,068 who were convicted of war crimes at the end of World War II, including 12 Class A war criminals. Visits to Yasukuni by Japanese government ministers (including the annual visits that former prime minster Koizumi Junichiro made) have been protested by China, Korea, and Taiwan and are frequently the subject of political contention.

Even within Japan, views differ on the issue of the enshrined war criminals. However, for most Japanese, Yasukuni Jinja is simply a place to honor those who died in war and remember history. While the shrine itself is interesting, Yasukuni Jinja also has a nicely-presented museum detailing the history of wars in Japan through World War II that is in my opinion the star attraction. The museum contains a wide variety of artifacts and exhibits, including among other things some beautiful examples of Japanese armor and weaponry from a number of different periods in Japanese history. Also featured are human torpedoes, World War II-era airplanes and tanks, and items recovered from planes and boats destroyed in World War II. There are many English signs explaining the various exhibits, though much more information is available only in Japanese.

The musuem’s account of the war is definitely slanted in such a way as to make Japan’s military actions appear to have been the right and justifiable course of action in each and every situation. However, the museum explores some interesting events that most Western accounts leave out, and makes you consider the ways in which the accounts of history you are more familiar with are also slanted in a different way. What if Japan had won World War II instead? Why isn’t Truman considered a war criminal? After all, what could be considered a worse “crime against humanity” than the use of the two most distructive weapons the world has ever seen? The museum raises a number of questions such as these that are worth considering.

The museum at Yasukuni is often criticized as glorifying war. While many of the exhibits are undeniably militaristic, the final rooms of the museum make it difficult to leave with that impression. An entire wall is filled with books of letters, one of which is translated into English, sent by soldiers to family and friends. Many of the letters are heartwrenching; in many, soldiers write to their children and loved ones with advice or memories, clearly realizing that they will never return home. The final room’s central exhibit is a case filled with bride dolls. These were sent to the shrine by grieving mothers whose young sons had been killed in World War II before they had a chance to marry. The dolls were intended to provide comfort in the afterlife for these victims of war. By the time I reached the end of the museum, I was left with the distinct impression that war was anything but glorious.

In addition to the shrine itself and the museum, Yasukuni Jinja has a nice, small garden that is worth a visit.

Its controversial nature and excellent museum make Yasukuni Jinja well worth visiting at any time of year, but the sakura trees throughout the shrine make late March through early April an especially nice time.