8 September 2011: Tenjin!

Yesterday, we ventured into Tenjin for the first time, with all expenses paid for by the university, which was very kind, and also pretty sweet. Tenjin and Hakata are the two largest train stations in the Fukuoka city centre, but Tenjin is meant to be more exciting for general money spending, whereas Hakata has connecting trains to other big cities in Japan (or something like that; I’ve not yet been to Hakata). We had a look at the IMS building with the Rainbow Plaza on the 8th floor. Rainbow Plaza is a hotspot for foreigners who are looking for jobs, maps, or Japanese friends (apparently people offer “homestays” there). But the IMS building also looks pretty cool with its swish elevator and indoor tree including tree house and stained glass window.

After the IMS building, with its wonderfully refreshing air-con––I almost felt as if I needed a cardigan, oh the very idea!––we went back into the heat. And my word, it was hot. And this is what they call autumn! Walking along the Hakata river we put on our second layer of sweat, which evaporated once again thanks to the air-con in Canal City (the orange building; what a lovely and dated futuristic vision). And what did I find in Canal City, as my clammy T-shirt finally detached itself from my back? A Moomin cafe, a Studio Ghibli themed shop, and bubble tea! Visitors to the Moomin cafe can actually share a table with Moomin Papa. This way, even really sad people who go there on their own (I count myself in here) don’t sit on their own! Oh what a wonderful world!

Having said my sad good-byes to Moomin and promised to come back soon, we set off to have some lunch at a snug little Indian restaurant. The owner, an Indian man who has lived in Fukuoka for over 30 now, almost fell off his chair as he saw us walking in, because (in his words) “the English love their curry” and he figured he had just gained 11 regular customers. After telling us that Japanese lessons are pointless and that the only way to learn Japanese is to get a Japanese girlfriend (the Japanese waitress, clearly his wife, was rolling her eyes in the background), we went on our way to visit the Fukuoka Art Museum. The museum is located somewhere in the middle of a massive city park, the Ohori Park, which, in true and orderly Japanese tradition, has designated running, walking and cycling paths. As I was almost dying, dragging every weeping pore to the nearest bit of shade, some jolly Japanese runners bounced along the running path.

The Fukuoka Art Museum had some pretty impressive names to show––Miro, Dali, Lichtenstein, and many others––as well as a little exhibition seemingly run by some Japanese ladies, who were ushering me from one gaudy picture to another. As I didn’t mind any excuse to avoid a return to the oven outside, I spent a polite 2.5 seconds looking at each painting.

Just as the sun had reached its nice and toasty midday heat, we went on a long, long walk to the beach. Our tour guide said that this was an okay beach, but compared to Brighton (even when it’s not raining...so never) it’s really very nice. Although the sandy beach is artificial (in fact, the entire bit of land we had been walking on for the last half hour is artificial), it looks really rather nice from the top of Fukuoka Tower.

Sara and I as funky Fukuoka towers

For dinner, we met Kim-sensei, who works in the international office, Ikahara-sensei, our Japanese teacher, and some other, really important man whose name I’ve sadly forgotten, and who could probably sue me if I put his name on this blog, at a Tofu restaurant. This was honestly the single most pleasant restaurant I’ve ever, ever come across. Not only was the food amazing (AMAZING, do you hear?), but the staff was incredibly grateful and helpful. Cross-legged, we were sat on tatami mats in front of a table that was full of the most delicious foods I have ever eaten. 13 wonderful meals, including the most most wonderful-lest-est fish I’ve ever eaten, yummy tofu, and free booze. The most exciting thing was a pool of boiling soy milk that was placed in the middle of the table; you scoop out the skin that forms on top of it, add some lime zest and soy milk, and enjoy. I had some (quite a bit) of ume-chu, plum wine, with my dinner, which is not only the most heavenly drink, but also has the advantage that it comes with a drink, and you don’t have to wait until someone fills your glass. As it’s considered very rude and vulgar to fill your own glass, those poor sods who ordered hot sake had to wait a long time for someone to fill their shot glass sized cups.

The night didn’t end there. Kim-sensei had just figured out that I was German but didn’t like beer or mean, which seemed to intrigue him a tremendous amount, and led us all to a small jazz bar in Dazaifu. We spent the rest of the evening drinking whiskey, admiring the absence of a smoking ban and listening to the tiny Japanese hair-dresser, who spoke about ten words of English, and entertained us endlessly (also groped some of the guys, oh well!). We wobbled into the last train and, back at Cambridge House, followed the house rules (“if you come back drunk, please be discreet about it”) and fell asleep blissfully.