I am exceedingly fortunate to have had the chance to travel to both Singapore and Japan over the last three weeks. I want to thank my parents and my manager(s) for enabling me to do this; without them it probably wouldn't have happened.

If you want to view all the posts I've written regarding this trip, you can load the #Japan2015 tag; if you’re already reading from that tag, remember that the posts are in reverse chronological order — that is to say, newest to oldest.

Today marks the beginning of a new work week — I’m glad I’ve had the chance to experience the country and hope to return there in the future.

After all, I still need to get my Thunder badge.

Tōkyō is cramped for space — and you can tell this with the packed together buildings, multiple-layer expressways which are built atop rivers and canals, and the tiny little cube vehicles that seem to be really popular in the middle of the city. Rush hour traffic is more akin to a sea of people flowing down the streets into shops and subway stations alike.

Kyōto, however, feels completely different.

Kyōto is the old capital of Japan — the Emperor's family lived here between 794 and 1868 — and it definitely has a more traditional feel to it than some of the other places I’ve been while here. That said, Kyōto doesn't really feel Japanese at all, when you’re standing in the major shopping precincts around the central station. The major streets in the centre are lined with boulangeries, patisseries, supermarkets and coffee shops emblazoned with western names. It feels more like someone plucked an area out of Paris or New York, and mixed it in with a bit of Japanese culture — so much so that if you had been randomly teleported to the centre, the only way you could tell this was a Japanese city is the way there's the occasional shop selling novelty tourist merchandise, the lines of vending machines, and the traffic signals.

Before I continue, let me speak a bit about the latter two from that list.

Vending machines are all over the place in Japan. They’re a quick and incredibly convenient way of purchasing a whole variety of goods, including drinks, flowers, cigarettes and instant noodles — and, according to the official Japan Guide there’s approximately 5.52 million of them, raking in about 6.95 trillion yen annually. Drinks vending machines are the most common, being found on almost every other street corner, park, station or middle of nowhere with a lamp post. The ones I’ve seen stock iced teas and coffees, energy drinks, Pocari sweat* and other assorted soft drinks. Some are even dedicated to beers — something that is unimaginable in places like the UK. They all look identical, save for the markings and company logos on their sides, and the prices for items within them are usually pretty consistent.

While there have been instances of vandalised machines, the low crime rate in Japan means that vending machines live long, healthy lives and can be quite “technologically advanced” compared to the ones we see in the west. These machines are so ingrained into Japanese culture that most people living there don’t question why there are so many of them; they question why other countries don’t have as many as Japan.

Traffic signals in Japan are horizontal compared to the UK’s vertical layout. They’re also marked on Google maps for some reason, but they’re generally found at every major intersection in a city. Pedestrian crossings can usually be found at every light, as well as crossing some smaller intersections which don't have lights or much traffic — turning traffic must give way to pedestrians if the green man is shown, leading to weird tailbacks in rush hour.

Pedestrian crossings are usually accompanied with a loud crossing siren. These come in two sounds which were pretty standard in the cities I visited, so north-south and east-west signals on the same intersection sound different. One sounds like a 7-11 “customer entered” sound – a sort of “bing-bong” – and the other one is an electrical “chirp” sound.

Anyway. Back to Kyōto.

The hotel I stayed at in Kyōto, the Gran Ms Hotel, is situated right in the middle of what seems to be a shopping district. The streets around it are wide with plenty of places to park and the pavements covered with permanent canopies that gently play obnoxious “muzak” as people bustle along them. Take one of the side streets away from these main shopping streets, however, and you’re transported to a much more rustic city. The busy hustle of the high streets dies down to a gentle rumble and small Japanese-style buildings line the backstreets — some even with traditional wooden façades. It’s easy to get lost down these little streets, as Kyōto’s heart is based on a grid layout, and they all seem to be pretty sameish.

Bullet trains are pretty cool.

You’re sitting in your seat bumbling along at the speed of a normal train through built up areas, and then you feel a slight nudge and hear a small whir as you move into a less crowded area. Before you know it, you’re moving at a ridiculous speed and everything out the window is a blur of colour.

The interior of a bullet train resembles an aircraft, except you have a small football pitch of leg room and the windows are bigger. Otherwise, your seat reclines like a plane, you have window shades and tray tables, seat pockets and announcements from your pilot or cabin crew. There's even a trolley service which resembles one from a flight. Trains are not rotated at the terminus — instead, each of the seats in a carriage are manually rotated 180º when the cleaning staff pass them.

There’s an odd custom I’ve noticed when you’re using public transport in Japan. The PA systems and notices within the vehicles all prominently display the following message: Please switch your mobile phone to silent mode and refrain from making phone calls while on the vehicle. I think this is a great idea. If we had that rule in the UK, buses and trains would be a much more comfortable place to be. Unfortunately, it could never work — especially with the chavs claiming their deity-given right to loud and obnoxious music blaring from tin can speakers.

Trains always stop at the same point on every station. Platforms have queue lines painted on them where doors will be, and stations with faster trains (i.e. the Shinkansen) have gates that open when you're allowed to climb aboard. Most stations provide step-free access from concourse to train seat. Trains are the primary means of transport in bigger cities — such as Tokyo — where owning a car is pretty much impossible.

All the trains I’ve been in within this country are very traditional, despite the hugely futuristic gate systems for entering them. All train lines in Japan are electrified; all commuter trains are electric and very quiet. The train pilot sits in front and their sole responsibility is to control the throttle. The conductor sits in the back of the train, and reads the non-automated announcements, controls the doors, and presses the button to control the piece of music played at the platform when the train has arrived. All train staff wear an immaculate uniform and very much look like they’re off to a job interview.

The conductor has a very artistic ritual when a train arrives into a station, involving multiple over-the-top hand gestures (pointing at doors, buttons, and in the direction the train will move) — it almost seems as if it’s all audited and kept track of. It’s actually supposed to help keep the conductors (and drivers) mentally alert — heightening mental focus at key points on the job where accidents are likely to occur. (As a side note, you can read more about this here and here).

Japan railway services are the most punctual in the world. The average delay on the Tōkaidō Shinkansen in fiscal 2012 was only 0.6 minutes. If a train is a few minutes late, the conductor will make an announcement over the PA system, profoundly apologising for the delay. Any longer than five minutes and the train company will offer a “delay certificate” (Wikipedia reference) because nobody in this country expects you to be delayed by a train. Imagine First Great Western in the UK doing this — they'd go bankrupt within the hour.

Of course, all this positivity wouldn't be without its downsides. An increasingly common practise for train companies is to provide female-only carriages during rush hours, due to the increasing number of sexual harassment crimes taking place on the railways. Trains are also used as a means to commit suicide in the country — Japan unfortunately suffers from a very high suicide rate. Platform edge doors are becoming more common to prevent people jumping, and various other countermeasures have been put in place by the railway companies.

Still, Japan’s railway systems are a marvel to behold; and an example that the UK’s shoddy railway system can only aspire to be.

You may have noticed that the first two days here (in Japan) I wrote some paragraphs on my posts which probably read like insights from an outsider — mind you, they’re probably not completely accurate and shouldn’t be taken as gospel. Since I spent most of Monday on a train to Nikkō, and most of Tuesday and Wednesday trekking the scenic areas around the town, I thought it might be more interesting to jot down some of my observations here as a foreigner first, rather than attempt to write a holiday journal of what I’ve done over the past few days.

Japan is a land of islands — an, reads archipelago of stratovolcanoes comprising of 6,852 separate islands. The four largest that make up the “mainland” Japan that people usually refer to are called Honshu, Hokkaido, Kyushu and Shikoku. Eighty percent of the population live on Honshu.

When people think of Japan, they probably think of it as a religious, green country — rice paddies and shrines are usually descriptions given. Rice farming techniques, including use of the paddy field, were brought into Japan about 500 BC by the Yayoi people. Japanese rice has apparently been cultivated to be typhoon-resistant, and some types can even grow in the colder climates found in Hokkaido. Japanese people are religious; however the count is indecisive — Wikipedia quotes some sources saying 84-96 percent follow either Buddhism or Shintō, and other sources stating only 30 percent are religious. Buddhism was brought into Japan from mainland Korea in the first century and has remained as a major religion since then, pulling influences from China. The Shintō religion has a much harder to pin down start date, and unlike many other religions you do not need to publically profess your belief.

Shintō involves worship and protection of spirits in physical entities and places, i.e. rocks, trees, rivers, animals. Shrines are erected to interface with these spirits, but natural places can also be very spiritual and even contain deities. Mount Fuji, for example, is said to contain a deity, and the earliest people to climb the mountain were probably worshippers on a pilgrimage to pay their respects. Indeed, a Shintō shrine sits atop Mount Fuji — and all modern climbers must pass through one of its gates in order to reach the summit. Shrine gates are said to purify those who pass through them, so anyone entering a shrine through its gate will be purified. There's some etiquette you need to follow in order to pay your respects properly; I’ll talk about those later on in this post.

Despite being seen as a highly technologically advanced society, credit cards are generally not accepted outside of the major cities. Foreign debit cards may also be refused — especially at banks and ATMs — so the easiest way to pay for things in the country is by cash.

Japan is the only nation I've been to where the money doesn't have fractional denominations — that is to say, all prices are rounded to the nearest whole number. The coin denominations are 1, 5, 10, 50, 100, 500; notes go from 1000 to 5000 and upwards from there. Prices are usually rounded to the nearest ten, unless you’re shopping in a western-style shop where prices end in the typical 1 or 9, leaving you with loads of small change.

I’ll make a few notes here about what I’ve done in Nikkō as reference for the curious amongst you — and to also use as a reference if I ever want to remember what I did on these days in the future.

Nikkō is a mountain town in the Tochigi prefecture about 140km north of Tōkyō. It is famous for its shrines, hot springs and local wood craftsmanship. Interestingly enough, the Three Wise Monkeys (“See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil”) originated in a shrine in this city, which I visited on Wednesday morning. The Nikkō National Park is designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site due to a combination of these attractions.

On Monday morning my parents and I boarded a local commuter train that took us from Tōkyō to Utsunomiya, and then the JR Nikkō Line from there to Nikkō station. From there, a hotel bus took us to our ryokan. A ryokan is a traditional Japanese inn, the idea of which originated in the Edo period as a sort of traveller’s inn. The rooms consist of Tatami (straw) mats, shōji doors and windows, and a small table used for eating meals which is cleared away nightly to place futons (mattresses).

The inns generally have communal facilities and may even lend you traditional Japanese attire which you can use during your stay there — for example yukatas, which are used as casual wear and even pyjamas.

On Tuesday, we took a bus up into the mountains to visit the Kegon-no-taki falls, and the Chuzenji-ko lake. The road to the falls splits into two as you go up the mountain – one road is solely for traffic going upwards, and one solely for traffic going down. This is probably to allow faster traffic, such as cars, to be able to pass slower traffic, such as buses, without doing dangerous overtaking manoeuvres on the winding roads.

The falls themselves were as you'd expect — foaming and rumbly. There seems to be an abundance of dragonflies in Nikkō, and these swarmed around the viewing platforms – both at the top and bottom of the falls.

The Chuzenji-ko lake feeds the little stream that produces the falls, however as far as lakes go, there wasn’t much unique to it. Since it began raining quite hard at this point, we decided to retreat to the small woodwork shops along the waterfront and then make our way back down to Nikkō in a bus.

Upon returning to the main town, the rain had eased up a bit and we trekked along the Kanmangafuchi Abyss — a gorge with a fast moving river running along the bottom. A small mountain trail runs along one of the edges that brings you past the Bake Jizo (ghost jizo), a set of stone statues said to care for the deceased. They look out over the abyss into the botanical gardens over the river.

On Wednesday, we explored the shrines in the area, in particular the Tōshō-gū shrine with the 17th-century carving of the Three Wise Monkeys over a door. There is a small mountainous area containing many shrines and temples — some being restored — which can all be comfortably explored by foot. That said, if you’re planning to visit all the shrines, be prepared to climb up several steep flights of steps.

Thirty-eight floors in total during the day

The bigger shrines (which contain the remains of several important people) require tickets to be purchased in order to visit, however there are a few which you can walk into ticketless as well.

The main Tōshō-gū shrine has three distinct areas which require separate tickets, or a single combined ticket purchased outside.

Tōshō-gū shrine is where the three wise monkeys come from — “See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil” — and this carving can be found on a small wooden building just within the front entrance. It isn’t the biggest carving and might be missed on first sight, but the crowds of tourists taking photos of it will probably get your attention.

On the right side of the entrance, and in a separately ticketed area, there is a route up to Tokugawa Ieyasu’s mausoleum. This part of the shrine lies atop the mountain and has approximately 200-or-so steps to reach it. The gate to the steps is guarded by a small carving of a sleeping cat, which is said to have rid the area of all evil mice.

On the left side of the entrance, also in a separately ticketed area, lies the Honjido Hall, featuring a huge painting of a dragon on the ceiling. The dragon is nicknamed the “Crying Dragon” due to the way a “water droplet” sound can be heard when two pieces of wood are clapped directly under its head.

Tōshō-gū shrine stands proudly in the centre of the shrine area, and can also be visited. You must take your shoes off in order to get into the main building, but once inside you can admire the architecture and craftsmanship, as well as lots of small dragon paintings on the ceiling.

There are several other shrines in the area; some are being renovated and you can go in to see this process, others stand tall and proud welcoming visitors and followers alike.

Any person is welcome to visit a Shintō shrine; doing so is called Omairi. If you want to pay your respects, there are a few steps to follow:

• When at an entrance gate, bow respectfully before going through.
• Perform Temizu (outlined below) if there is a provided water basin.
• If there’s a donation box, you can drop a small donation in the box. If there’s a bell, you might be able to ring it gently to notify the spirits of your presence.
• At the shrine (or after donating or ringing the bell) bow, clap your hands twice, keep them in a prayer gesture while saying a prayer and finally bow again.

As per Wikipedia, Temizu is as follows:

Take the dipper in your right hand and scoop up water. Pour some onto your left hand, then transfer the dipper to your left hand and pour some onto your right hand. Transfer the dipper to your right hand again, cup your left palm, and pour water into it, from which you will take the water into your mouth (never drink directly from the dipper), silently swish it around in your mouth (do not drink), then quietly spit it out into your cupped left hand (not into the reservoir). Then, holding the handle of the dipper in both hands, turn it vertically so that the remaining water washes over the handle. Then replace it where you found it.

On Thursday, my parents and I will be taking a bullet train to Kyoto, where we will be staying for a few days. I’ll have a better connection there, in the evenings at least, so I should be able to keep everyone more up-to-date.

I may not have a steady internet connection over the next few days, so I’ve decided to bundle these two days together in a post and upload what I can before I disappear to Nikkō. After all, my weekend here with my parents was quite unstructured and involved a lot of walking and visiting several small places which are better to visit in person, rather than read about. That, and I'm exhausted after these two days of being on my feet all the time.

Since the weather became considerably wetter on Saturday morning, we decided to visit the Edo-Tōkyō museum. It portrays the history of Edo and the way it has transformed into modern Tōkyō. The museum building is a fascinating structure — a sort-of trapezium suspended upon four pillars. It reminded me of a SNES console raised above the ground on four fat legs.

The museum is full of interesting historical items

There’s really not much else to say about this museum. It’s a fascinating place, filled with multiple-language exhibits that are carefully crafted and interactive. If you’re ever in Tōkyō and interested in its rich heritage and history, it’s well worth a visit.

The rain didn’t get much better after lunch; we wanted to visit the Tōkyō Skytree only a stone’s throw from the museum, but it was unrelenting and from the heavy cloud cover it was obvious the view would be obstructed. Indeed, getting closer to the tower revealed that the top half pierced into the rain clouds and out of sight making the Skytree appear as if it were an apparition. We decided to give it a miss this time.

Instead, we headed across the river to Asakusa to visit the Senso-ji temple. This area of town was packed with an obscene amount of people — some of which were taking part in a samba and float carnival, yet another surreal sight in the pouring rain.

Further in towards Senso-ji, there was a huge shopping district packed with people — and a surprising amount of young ladies wearing kimonos. The shrine itself seemed peaceful, if you ignored the heaving seas of people flowing through its doors. I dropped a hundred yen coin into the coin box and paid my respects to the central shrine.

A few steps away from the bustle, however, there lies a small stream full of koi carp beside a pagoda. I spent a small amount of time there and had a photo taken with a group of kimono girls — who giggled a lot and spoke a little English. They appeared to be there of their own accord, laughing and snapping selfies of each other, so we left them to their own devices and made our way back to our hotel.

On Sunday morning, we once again chanced the Skytree, as the weather appeared to have cleared up a bit. However, on emerging from the Tōkyō metro, the rain had started up again.

That didn't stop us going up, though.

Tōkyō Skytree stands at an impressive 634 metres and dominates the skyline of the north-eastern side of the city. We spent more time queuing for the ticket than up in the first observation deck, which is a little more than half-way up the tower at 350 metres. There is a second observation deck at 450 metres, but it requires an additional ticket to enter that can only be purchased from within the first observation deck. The clouds slowly rolled in around the observation decks as we were up there, so it was decided not to spend more money going up to the higher one — at least I'll still have something exciting to see if I ever return!

After lunch, we took the metro all the way across Tōkyō to the Meiji-jingu shrine, a shrine dedicated to Emperor Meji and his consort, Empress Shoken. It was a truly beautiful little shrine in the middle of a forest park, offering respite from the ever-moving hustle and bustle of Tōkyō city. I learnt how to pay my respects to the spirits of the shrine properly, and admired the craftsmanship of the buildings that it was comprised of.

As the rain was obviously not going to stop, we decided to call it a weekend and return to the hotel. Tomorrow, at lunch time, we will be travelling north out of Tōkyō to the smaller mountain town of Nikkō, famed for its hot springs and beautiful views (if it isn't raining). I’ll also be staying in a traditional Japanese Ryokan inn so there's going to be a lot to talk about there; however, no guarantee of internet outside of the lobby. Further journal posts may be uploaded in batches at specific dates.