On Thursday evening, work done for the day, Caroline asked the concierge for a recommendation for a typically Japanese restaurant. Motomachi Ioka proved exactly that. This is the menu, the only one available. While able to read most of it Caroline didn’t feel like spending the entire evening translating for us. So we watched as the sole, hard working chef prepared dishes and then indicated we’d like that too. In one case seeing him construct croquette-style patties with onion and potato Caroline asked what they were called to be told they were creama crockets so we had some.
They were oishi and the chef appreciated our approval. After a few more dishes and glasses of sake we were ready for a good night’s sleep. Travel tiredness for some, work tiredness for others. Comfort for me – no trains tomorrow.
Dee and I had really enjoyed the Nunobiki Herb Garden on our visit five years ago and we were all happy to spend a morning riding the cable car to the top of the mountain and walking halfway down through the most marvellous variety of flowers and trees with panoramic views of Kobe harbour. The journey starts just outside Shin Kobe Station and the view down to the port over Ikutagawa Park with its pale cherries in full bloom and the river cascading through a culvert was a great start.
The herb garden is divided up into a number of themed areas and is pleasantly informative and a gently curving path wends its way downward.
There’s also a chance to view the Nunobiki Falls which has been the subject of poems, paintings and prints as far back as the tenth century. It’s one of the top three ‘divine’ falls in Japan, whatever that means. We’ll see another on on Wednesday, the Kegon Falls north of Nikko. You can hike all the way back to Kobe but conveniently there’s a boarding point halfway down as well so we were whisked to the bottom in time to find lunch in the Crown Plaza’s Oriental City. We chose a lunch set which proved tasty enough but nap-inducing in quantity, so rather than walking to the station we took a taxi to our next destination, The Hakutsuru Sake Brewery Museum. As we arrived we were intrigued by the behaviour of three gardeners who appeared to be scouring the lawn with tweezers but unfortunately we couldn’t see what they were actually up to.
The museum gave a good explanation of the sake making process and included a tasting, during which Tom made a new friend. Pepper helpfully directed you towards purchasing the sake most suited to your tastes.
We did catch a train back into Sannonomiya, Kobe’s main railway station as I wanted to visit the earthquake memorial park at Higashi Yuenchi which we had seen only through pouring rain five years ago. Today it was warm and sunny and ideal. But we reached it through that very Japanese route a: massive underground retail mall under the station with numbered exits to go up to street level.
The Great Hanshin Earthquake of 1985 is the stimulus for a Murakami book After the Quake in which he weaves fictional stories of people affected by the earthquake in what was his original home town. Tom and Caroline left me snapping and walked back to the hotel.
I also walked back through the main (posh) shopping area of Kobe stopping at the small Sannomiya Shrine which is very small and simple and surrounded by high-end retail. Japan’s oldest shrine the Ikura is a short walk away. The Sannomiya, like most shrines I’ve been too somehow creates an area of calm amid the bustle. Apart from its history as a place of worship it bears a plaque commemorating the insult given by foreign sailors in 1868 which resulted in the Japanese Bizen troop commander firing at all foreigners and then committing seppuku, ritual suicide, because of the shame he’d brought on his people.
We decided just to walk back into the Motomachi area for dinner and pick a lively-looking locale for dinner. Again there was no menu in English but by asking for some tempura and enquiring whether they had gyoza, resulted in the chef putting gyoza fillings into the tempura batter rather than dumpling pastry and a delicious dish was invented just for us. This was a tiny bar where we suspect they rarely saw gaijin but were extremely welcoming and I apparently gained huge brownie points when I added a domo in front of arrigato to say thank you. It was what I was told was appropriate back on my first visit in 1979 and unsurprisingly is now considered very formal and polite. Well that’s me!
We rose early on Saturday and caught the train to Hiroshima which is only an hour away on the Nozomi Superexpress. We boarded the City Loop bus passing Hiroshima Castle, the Art Museum and alighted at the Atmic Bomb Memorial Museum where a series of excellent displays, video testimony from survivors and recovered artefacts make for an informative and reflective display. You do wonder how anyone could ever have taken such a decision knowing full well what the outcome would be. And then do it again in Nagasaki. And today we have chemical weapons in Syria and Salisbury, nuclear stockpiles only somewhat diminished and history’s lessons remain seemingly unlearned.
The peace park is one of Hiroshima’s most popular Hanami sites and the picnickers were out in full with blankets, bento boxes and selfie-sticks well to the fore.
There’s a very impressive subterranean hall where 140,000 tiles represent the number of A-Bomb victims and the central fountain 8:15 – the moment the bomb was dropped. A sombre space for reflection and remembrance.
We walked on into the town centre and found space in a traditional and very popular restaurant where we were show to a dining platform where I was expecting a hole under the table to accommodate legs but there was none. So being quite tall and unaccustomed to cross-legged dining we shuffled about uncomfortably until we spotted a group leaving a table with stools which would prove much more accommodating for Tom’s 6 foot 4 and my 6 foot 2 frames. So Tom as quickest of access was despatched to secure it while we struggled to join him and make it firmly ours. This did result in the next party to arrive being shown to our platform – something which the matron of the party regarded with some displeasure. Hey she was younger than me anyway and their limbs grow up able to contort in comfort. Sitting smugly enjoying our noodles and beer in pottery beakers, I realised that while I had picked up my camera bag in the scramble I hadn’t got my phone so I went across and asked politely if they’d mind looking for a mobiru around their platform. By pointing and holding my hand to my ear they understood and eventually fished it out to my great relief and embarrassment. However domo worked wonders again and we parted all smiles.
After lunch we walked to Hiroshima Castle a “faithful” replica rebuilt in 1958. It has an impressive moat and a shrine where I was able to add a stamp to the hon we had started in 2013. Sadly here they give you a cloakroom type counter and take it off behind curtains to do the calligraphy. I much prefer to watch them do it while you wait.
On our way to the castle tower we passed three dogs being taken for a carry,
The castle tower was quite tall and probably had great views but it looked like a lot of steps for an old chap with left leg sciatica problems – and Caroline’s not fond of heights so we admired from the ground. Probably just as well or we might have found ourselves like this. 
We then moved on to the Sukkien Gardens which were a little disappointing compared to the great gardens until I read the sign on the way out which explains that the name means ‘shrunken view garden’ so it was always planned as a miniature example of the Japanese gardener’s art. It had many of the usual features and was popular with newly weds – or just people who rented a kimono and suit to dress up for the day,
It also had cherry blossom trees that combined different colours on the same tree.
It rounded off an interesting day trip to a city completely rebuilt since the 1950s with wide boulevards and straight blocks.
The train whisked back to Kobe for a shower and change before going to a hotel-recommended shabu shabu restaurant. It was very smart and involved two shoe removals – one’s own and then their slippers before entering a tatami room with low tables and thank goodness holes for legs beneath. This cooking style involves boiling water at your table to which are added vegetables to make a broth into which you dip mushrooms, cabbage, carrots and of course Kobe beef which you then dip in ponzu or sesame sauces. 
Truly delicious and something I had last done properly in 1979 as guests of the ministry of education. We thought the sake we’d selected a little sweet to start with but it went very well with the food.
When Dee and I were here we’d had an uproarious night with some young students in a Spanish tapas bar so as a contrast to the refined dining we’d just experienced we set off to find the Bar Mar, It was still there and as a result of Tom showing them a photograph from my blog of five years ago, we received a complimentary plate of serrano ham to go with our Tempranillo. Caroline revealed that in the last three days we’d walked thirty kilometres so an early-ish night and respite for tired legs was in order. I stupidly fired up Hornets Player and listened to a comfortable victory over Bournemouth at last – until extra time when that damned Defoe equalised. Angry sleep.
Caroline had researched brunch in Kobe so we headed out for the harbour front to a place in an old red brick warehouse nicely converted into restaurants and retail. There was a farmers market and a flea market in full swing as we passed. The food presentation was a little odd: huge sandwiches, my granola was served on toast with cream cheese and maple syrup and Tom consumed a huge ‘Full Aussie”. Back to the hotel to pack up, taxi to the station and just make the train back to Tokyo. There was terrible congestion in the drop off area and my driver couldn’t find anywhere to let me out. Then my ticket got refused by the automatic gate and I had to get it stamped at the window and rush up to the top of the escalator where the train and I made simultaneous appearances. I’m leaving travel arrangements to younger people in future. However I am hurtling back to Tokyo after a very pleasant trip down south.
Checked into my room I was able to congratulate the hotel on its choice of name: Asakusa View Hotel. Did what it said on the tin. Skytree still looks big but Senso-Ji and the Pagoda look quite small from up here. I was also able to confirm that our timing for hanami is perfect and the Asakusa Pagoda looked as good as ever from the ground.
Nice clear view of Mount Fuji as we passed through Hakone. [Tom’s photo credit – I was stuck in the middle] Hope it’s as good for the grandchildren next week when at least we’ll all be starting from the same hotel and might just keep together.
My name is entered in the Etihad system as RAGGETT/MIKE but my name on my passport says RAGGETT/MICHAEL and for security reasons they have to match. Don’t know how it happened but they won’t check me in. I am presented with a call centre number which I dial, run through the options and am told my call is ending now. So I dial again and press different options and eventually speak to Marije who is in Belgrade and tells me I need to photograph my passport (thank God I have a phone with that capability – trying to grab it in a Photo-Me booth boggles the mind) and reply to an email she’ll send me. No email arrives. I try Heathrow WiFi. I switch that off and try 4G. Still no email. So I go through all the button pushing again and eventually and miraculously, reconnect with Marije. She gives me her email address and I despatch my passport’s photo – not a work of art taken while balancing it on a suitcase and using the camera on a new phone for the first time. By now the best part of an hour has passed and there are only two staff left at the check in desks who urge me to hurry. I explain that while I may appear to be on the phone, I’m actually hearing Balkan ‘hold’ music and can’t tell it to hurry. Marije’s voice returns after an age to tell me that it’s fixed in the system and will cost me $149.90 (how?). So I now have to dig out a credit card, read her the details three times – for security – and then go to the desk where a frustrated agent had really wanted to close five minutes ago. She puts a Tokyo label on my case after I ask her to remove the one for Abu Dhabi and then a suited gentleman colleague escorts me straight to the gate. My original refusenik check in agent says, “Oh you made the flight!” With a rather surprised tone. I am on the flight by the skin of my teeth but have to go to the transfer desk at Abu Dhabi to get a boarding card for the flight on to Tokyo.
The hotel was an easy ten minute walk towards Utrecht’s defining monument, the Dom Tower. Even I couldn’t get lost looking for Domstraat. I did have a slight worry when I had to ring the doorbell to gain entry. It’s a hotel in progress as the eleven suites (they are worthy of the epithet rather than just rooms) are all there and beautifully appointed but the bar and restaurant won’t open until next week end, Staff were helpful and went to check whether housekeeping had a room available and I was quickly signed in and shown to a spacious second floor room with windows on two sides and views out over the inner city.
I haven’t Googled it but I guess there was an old Tivoli theatre as there is an older building behind the massive new music centre which opened in 2014. Do we have so many modern music and/or theatre venues in the UK? If not, and I suspect not, maybe the “creative industries” should step up their lobbying. This place had several gigs on and a cafe that must have been making good money for it. There are nine different halls each designed with an acoustic suited to particular music forms. We were in Cloud Nine the blue semicircle that sticks out at the top. A good name for a jazz club. I make my way up through the public area and collect my guest ticket which ominously bears no number but the words “Rij Stoel ” but also the legend Vrijkaart which meant I was a guest and there indeed I later found an isolated chair to the right side of the stage. But again a helpful employee said “You must be Mike” and I was escorted through to the green room and met up with all my new friends from yesterday and Skid. They had done the sound check by the time I got there and we had time for a few jokes and general chatter and it was time to go on stage. This was a 4 pm Sunday Afternoon Jazz slot. Again it’s a very modern room but with a great atmosphere.
I had some work-related stuff to do on Monday but once that was complete had a chance to walk around other parts of this delightful city. I decided that my feet were too old to climb the 465 steps to the top of the Dom Tower and of course the top part is clad in scaffolding at present during restoration – well it was built in 1382 to it probably needs a bit of tlc. It rises to 112 metres making it the tallest church tower in the Netherlands. I did take a look at St Martin’s Cathedral next door which has a very fine cloister and then walked along the Oudegracht or old canal, sparkling in the unexpected warm spring sunshine and with the Dom Tower dominating the skyline. Then back up through another canal-side park towards the market place and the old centre. I realised I was running short on euros and consulted Google maps for the nearest ATM. I dutifully followed the steps but there’s no bank in sight. The map said it was bang next door to Lush, the soap shop. Now I’m not very fond of the odours that emerge from Lush but I manned up and walked in with my phone to enquire if they knew where it was. Total blankness from the first assistant but then her colleague said that it was inside the Hema shop opposite. Now able to buy a coffee I continued to walk through old Utrecht.
It was interesting to see that the minute the sun comes out again people love to eat and drink outdoors and there were many examples of lunch time cafe society as I moved through the city. I joined them and then it was then time to catch a train back to Amsterdam, the Thalys to Brussels and Eurostar back to London, completing a highly enjoyable short break.
Just along from the museum is Amsterdam’s famous Vondelpark so I went for a stroll there with loads more skaters on the lakes including an impromptu ice hockey game, joggers on the pathways and cycles ridden it seemed by Michelin men and women – puffa jackets seem de rigeur. Leidseplein is the tourist epicentre for bars, restaurants and clubs so it was now time for a beer and a snack. I found a good traditional bar Reynders and after refuelling I walked back to the centre. On the way I had a very reassuring phone call from my neighbour John who had heard me coughing in the night earlier in the week, noticed that the window shutters were closed and called to check that I was alive and well. Aren’t neighbours just wonderful?
It was a great route crossing all the big central canals and finishing up in Dam Square. From there it was a further kilometre or so to Central Station and then along the Ij to reach Bimhuis a magnificent music venue built about ten years ago where I was due to meet my friend Alan Skidmore for the sound check before their concert that evening. It was quite fun arriving across a angled bridge over the canal up to the empty venue and being escorted from reception to the green room with the greeting “You must be Mike”, They knew I was coming, had they baked a cake? Well no but there was beer in the fridge and an unbelievably warm reception for a random Brit who just happens to be Skid’s mate and webmaster. Despite being an ace saxophonist, Skid’s a drummer manqué and got a chance to sit at the kit in the sound check.
After a pleasant stroll, well wrapped up against the minus 8 according to my phone, it was time for a pause in the journey for a beer. A fine old cafe Mulder presented itself on my route and it seemed rude to refuse. Wooden bar and tables and a good old-fashioned atmosphere with a selection of drought and bottled beers – just what was required. I soon after arrived outside the imposing Rijksmuseum which was on the agenda for tomorrow. 
Across the park behind it was the concert hall for which I had tickets for 8.15 pm in an hour and a half. Perfect time to find another bar and have a pre-concert snack. Again I was lucky to find a table in a very popular place Gruter – it was reserved from 7.30 but I promised to be gone by then. It was very lively and I struck up a conversation with a couple from just outside Utrecht who were flat sitting while their daughter was off skiing. They said I’d done well to find the bar as it’s reckoned to be one of the hidden gems.
So I had a little moment and resumed my journey on a packed tram. I had time to raise a glass to her in the Piazza del Popolo and found another birra artiginale this time from brewery Beatrice with a pale ale called Diana – all very British royal family! With some complimentary crisps and nuts I was ready for the last leg. I had done very well using metro, trams and a bus and decided to treat myself to a luxury ride to the airport in the hotel’s shuttle bus which proved a good plan as we arrived in good time and I was able to find a seat and write a previous blog.
As you enter the site you walk past ‘Venusia’ a prop used at the beginning of Fellini’s Casanova. Once through the gate we walk along a rough a roadway lined by large terracotta painted buildings each with a Teatro number. Teatro is the Italian equivalent of Stage in English film studio parlance and our first stop, as I try out my new umbrella, is outside Teatro 5 one of 22 in all. I already knew this was their biggest with two submerged tanks for underwater and water surface filming and a massively high ceiling for crane shots. I had also read that Fellini (a favourite from my 1960s film-going days along with Pasolini and Antonioni) held it as his favourite space. I asked whether they had shot the famous scene in La Dolce Vita here in which Anita Ekberg inveigles Marcello Mastroianni to join her in the iconic Trevi Fountain. They hadn’t. It was apparently shot at 05:30 in February with Mastrioanni demanding a wet suit under his tuxedo while Nordic ice-queen Ekberg strolled through the waters, shoulders bare, in her evening gown. There’s a brass plaque on the wall outside Teatro 5 dedicating it to Fellini who did in fact recreate whole streets in the studio for this and the many other films he made here.
Next to it they are just starting to build an outdoor set for a new film version of Umberto Eco’s Name of the Rose which we weren’t allowed to approach – secrecy or construction hazard I’m not sure. We then move to Assissi built for a film about St Francis but since much adapted to be Florence and other towns in medieval times.
The entrance area also has a brilliant children’s play area made up from the letters of Cinecitta.All in all a fascinating morning and I was very glad I’d caught up with the guide.
I found an old UK pound coin in my camera bag and rather than take it to a bank I cast it to the waters. I hope it’s valid for Roman myths.
On into Santa Agnesa in Agone right opposite Bernini’s famous Four Rivers Fountain which represents the Danube, the Nile, the Plate and the Ganges with mythical creatures and is topped by a huge obelisk. One of the characters is holding his hand up to shield his eyes from the light but popular Roman tales have it that Bernini had this man shield his eyes from the awful facade of the church built by his greatest rival Borromini. Great story, not true – the church came fifteen years after the fountain but hey – it’s a fun way of explaining the rivalry between the established master and the young pretender both eager to attract sponsorship from popes, princes and patrons.
I walked back from the concert past the Trevi fountain and flung in some euros just in case my invalid pound bars me from returning. I looked at several restaurants and was attracted by the option of Ristorante Rossini – what a musical contrast! It proved a good choice with a starter of sauted clams which I’d never seen before. They were in fact steamed like mussels in a white wine and parsley sauce and very tasty. It was also a nod to Dee whose favourite pasta was spaghetti alle vongole. My second course (and last – I’m not Italian) was a delicious lasagne in which the pasta sheets were paper thin and the meat and tomato ragu a little spicy and just what I needed. I was frowned at a little for declining my main course but explained that as an oldie I don’t get as hungry as I used to – thank you Google translate!
There is a mixture of installations, archictects’ drawings and models, which I’ve always loved whether in balsa wood or Perspex, photography including a magic Helmut Newton series of Rome and a special exhibition of art from war torn Beirut. I spent a very stimulating 90 minutes and could have explored other areas but wanted to see the work of another superstar architect Renzo Piano.
Highlights for me were the map room in which you can walk from south to north of Italy in five minutes with brilliant relief representations of the various areas of the country either side of you as they were thought to be in 1580. As a geographer, Dee would have taken some persuading to move on but Tatiana was strict and we were ushered on towards the Raphael frescoes. These are quite wonderful except for one which I think was the Expulsion of Heliodorus where most of the wall is in his usual style but the a handful of figures in the lower left side are much more dramatic, muscular and frankly Vincian. Tatiana told us, the probable urban, myth that Raphael stole the key to the Sistine Chapel and had a sneak preview and decided to copy the master. While beautifully done he really should have stripped off the plaster and started over for consistency.
These bronze doors – apparently one of only three that weren’t melted down at some stage are high above the level we are now walking at.
I walked through Piazza Navona passsing more Bernini fountains – I especially liked his elephant supporting an obelisk on its howdah. – and I pass the church where I have a concert on Thursday night and on up the Tiber to the Ara Pacis museum. This had not been on my original agenda but I’m easily diverted. This is a glass box built recently to house the Altar of Peace of Augustus which was consecrated in 9 BC after Augustus had conquered France and Spain and people and animals had to be sacrificed to celebrate. It was buried under silt until 1939 and is in remarkable condition and a very beautiful structure despite its deadly purpose.
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