Dazed by the Robot Restaurant, Tokyo

On this trip I was assisted by the Japan National Tourist Organisation.

On my visit to Japan last year, I bought a ticket to the Robot Restaurant in Tokyo's Shinjuku nightlife district.

This live show is something of a tourist trap, but also very Japanese in its combination of music, bold characters, and Japanese legends. Audience members sit in facing sections on each side of the room, as the loud and flashy action happens between them.

Afterwards I jotted some notes on my phone as I sat in the Deathmatch in Hell bar in the nearby Golden Gai enclave, trying to make some sense of the experience as I became progressively more intoxicated by shots of Japanese whisky (666 yen each!).

Here are those notes, and some photos I took. See if you can make sense of them.

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First act. Loud, bright, vibrant and noisy. Opening sequence revolves around drummers on brightly lit floats, dressed with a suggestion of demonic robots or robotic demons.

They gyrate around as music plays, lights flash and drums beat, coming within a few centimetres of audience members in the front row, who need to lean back in order not to be hit. It's loud and lively.

 

Between the short snappy acts are intervals, in which the restaurant flogs drinks and souvenirs while setting up for the next act.

Second act. A future in which the robots have taken over, but are then fought by guardians, including a giant panda. Basically it's an anime movie played out live.

Third act. The king of the robots, a huge silver thing, dominates the stage.

Fourth act. A wild, colourful extravaganza that resembles a Brazilian carnival more than anything robot related. Lively, exuberant, over the top.

I hope that's clear. It was wild. Tokyo-style.

Find details and make bookings at the Robot Restaurant website.

Thai Toy Story: The Toy Museum of Ayutthaya

On a 2012 media tour to Thailand I declined to join a group riding bicycles through the very hot streets of Ayutthaya, north of Bangkok. Instead, I investigated a toy museum I'd heard about.

As the story is no longer available online, I'd like to share it here. Enjoy!

I have an idea for the next Terminator movie: a cohort of tin robots marches across the earth, its colourful leaders backed by dozens of troops arrayed in black armour, with bulging red eyes and little looped antennas on their heads.

At least, that’s what I see when I look into one of the many glass cases in the Million Toy Museum in Ayutthaya, Thailand – and if there’s a better place for such a wild flight of fancy than a building packed with toys, I’d like to know about it.

The museum is the brainchild of children’s book writer and illustrator Krirk Yoonpun, an avid toy collector.

When his collection of toys got out of control, he built a new home for them in Ayutthaya, the former Thai capital which was sacked by the Burmese army in the 18th century.

The city is now famous for its extensive and evocative ruins, making this celebration of children’s modern playthings a delightful surprise.

The museum presents a lively, colourful contrast to the busy streets around it. Set back from the road in a lush garden dotted with salvaged horses from fairground carousels, the two-storey blue and white building resembles a massive wedding cake, light and airy but also a substantial presence.

There’s something fairy-tale about the place – as if Hansel and Gretel’s witch had decided she fancied a warmer climate, and set up shop in Thailand.

Not that there’s anything sinister about the interior, which is crammed with tens of thousands of toys. Soft toys, metal toys, superhero models, dolls – they’re all here, often in multiple copies for artistic effect.

Near the entrance I find a case containing 55 tin goldfish swimming side by side, and another case holds numerous toy helicopters whose yellow rotors resemble a forest of windmills.

I’m amazed at the diversity as I walk among the displays: toy trucks with transparent red plastic cement mixers on their backs, tin cuckoo clocks, tiny tanks, soft toys, baby-sized dolls in scary dead-eyed profusion, and miniature rockets and planes stacked next to each other.

Not that it’s all about 20th century playthings – upstairs there’s a case of centuries-old figurines, unearthed by archaeological digs among the ruins of old Ayutthaya.

Near these there’s a life-size figure of Superman and multiple copies of a character I later identify as the Japanese superhero Ultraman (thanks Twitter); but in this crazy colourful jumble, nothing seems out of place.

As I return to the ground floor, it occurs to me that toys often reflect the technology of the era they’re constructed in.

A case in point is the set of model locomotives about 30 centimetres long, painted in bright colours and with moving pistons.

I love the look of these, and jokingly tell museum attendant Napat he should search my satchel on the way out. He takes me semi-seriously, which just goes to show how good an observer of human nature he is.

I smile as I realise this museum is affecting me in a way I thought it never would – the sheer quantity of toys is enveloping me in the warm embrace of nostalgia.

I owned those tin robots when I was a boy, which seems like a million years ago. They were great.

The Million Toy Museum is located at 45 Moo 2, U Thong Road, Ayutthaya, Thailand.

Bangkok: Focus on the Small Stuff

Some years ago I won a prize in a Thai Airways travel writing competition with this article about Bangkok (I subsequently used the prize - a trip anywhere on the airline's network - to visit India). 

As the story is no longer available online, I'd like to share it here. Enjoy!

I don’t know what it is, but it’s big. I’m standing on the footpath in the Siam Square district of Bangkok, looking up at a towering white figure that’s not quite human.

The seated statue is pure white, with an elongated head, feet and fingers, and is staring into the traffic.

Dollar is an outlandish piece of street art on a busy Bangkok street, just metres from the endless flow and roar of motorbikes, buses and cars. According to the artist, the statue represents the stresses and pressures of modern society.

As I read these words on its base, I find myself nodding. Bangkok is definitely a lively city, exciting and vibrant at all hours of the day; especially here in the commercial centre, where gigantic shopping malls line busy roads, overshadowed by the Skytrain elevated railway.

But is it possible to discover a more contemplative side to the Thai capital? Having set out on foot through the humid morning haze from my hotel, I’m determined to give it a try.

Turning right into Soi Kasem San 2, there’s a remarkable contrast between the mega-malls behind me and the quiet laneway leading to Jim Thompson’s House, my destination at the end of the street.

This collection of traditional Thai timber houses, some of them centuries old, was linked together in 1959 to create a single sprawling home.

An American soldier during World War II, Thompson had then become a silk manufacturer, employing the traditional silk weavers of the Muslim district across the nearby canal.

Thompson was a great admirer of Thai traditions, so he filled his houses with beautiful antiques, including ancient statues of the Buddha, while adding Western elements such as chandeliers.

Then, in 1967, on a holiday in Malaysia, he mysteriously disappeared and was never heard of again. As a result, the house has become his legacy.

“Visitors enjoy the fact that it is not a museum, it’s someone’s home,” says Eric Booth, trustee of the James HW Thompson Foundation.

“We take care of it as if Jim was still living there. The young guides aren’t there to lecture, so our visitors are not overwhelmed by history.”

However, the knowledgeable Thais who lead the regular tours are happy to answer questions about Thompson’s superb eye for art and its placement.

“There are many important pieces, including the exceptional Dvaravati torso in the garden,” says Booth, referring to the partial Buddha statue that’s over a thousand years old.

“But what I really like is the mix of important pieces and everyday objects. The way he displayed them makes the house a wonderful place. After all, it is a home, not a museum!”

After the tour, I wander through the splendid tropical garden and admire the house from the outside. I decide it’s a charming and, more importantly, balanced home, a harmonious blend of natural and man-made objects, and of new and old.

I feel I could happily move in here, lounging on its daybeds and letting natural ventilation, shade and shutters cool me rather than relying on the dry artificiality of air-conditioning.

Leaving the grounds and walking west, I discover Garimmin & Sobereen, a small restaurant stretched along the path that borders the canal.

It’s decorated with potted tropical plants, and serves up freshly cooked food from its open-air kitchen. This is the real thing - straightforward Thai food served direct from pan to table.

My pad thai, a Thai standard, arrives bearing noodles, egg, crumbled peanuts and a dash of seafood. I add a sprinkle of chilli flakes from a jar in the middle of the table.

The effect is gratifyingly spicy and the meal is delicious - and all for a mere 30 baht (S$1.25). As I sit and eat, ferry boats loaded with tourists periodically zoom past, but I’m not in their world right now; I’m taking it slowly.

Finally, I step onto the footbridge that will take me across the Saem Saeb canal to Baan Krua, the district where Thompson’s weavers lived. From this vantage point, the jumble of shops and homes that make up the district are appealingly human-scale.

It’s peaceful and cool walking along its narrow but neatly-maintained pedestrian laneways, and it’s fascinating to encounter the small shops embedded in the buildings, serving residents’ diverse shopping needs.

I score a smile or two from the shopkeepers, and somewhere unseen I can hear children chatting and laughing.

Suddenly, walking east, I pop out of the perimeter of Baan Krua, back into the busy larger world of Bangkok.

I can feel my energy levels rising by the second, and I’m keen to enjoy all this bustling city has to offer; but I linger for a moment, wanting to hang on a little longer to the relaxed vibe of its back streets.

Out of Tokyo via Tobu Railway

For my visit to the Nikko region I was hosted by Tobu Railway.

I arrived in Tokyo in September by shinkansen train from Fukuoka. Then, two days later, I headed to Nikko.

The Nikko region, two hours north of the Japanese capital, is a pleasant green region known for its thermal baths. In the town of Kinugawa Onsen, where I was staying, most hotels have their own hot baths to soak in (though you can have problems getting in if you have a tattoo - more about this later).

I reached it via Tobu Railway, a private rail company which operates from Asakusa Station in Tokyo. The company runs both trains and key attractions in the region, and offers the useful Nikko Pass which combines unlimited travel with discounted admission to the local sights.

Starting at Asakusa, I boarded Tobu's ultra-modern Revaty train for the northward ride...

... and alighted at Tobu World Square Station. This is adjacent to the theme park of the same name, full of impressively detailed models of buildings from around the world. It's a lot of fun wandering around and playing the "I've been there" game:

Not far away, linked by shuttle bus, is Edo Wonderland. This is a theme park of a different stripe - a meticulous historical recreation of the Edo period of the 17th to 19th centuries, a golden age of culture for Tokyo and the surrounding region.

It's basically a living village, with working shops and cafes, and regular historical shows and processions:

On the following day I experienced another Tobu train, this one on the opposite end of the modernity spectrum: the SL Taiju steam train which first ran on the island of Hokkaido in 1941. Now it's a tourist train offering half-hour jaunts through the Nikko area:

After the train ride I visited Nikko's World Heritage area, with several historic attractions. The key sight here is the Toshogu Shrine, a beautiful Shinto shrine set within a forest:

At the end of the day I ended up at Kagoiwa Onsen, one of the few thermal baths in the region that are happy to admit people with tattoos (spoiler: I have a small tattoo of the Eye of Horus on my upper right arm).

So I sat in the hot water, and relaxed. Tomorrow it was back to the fast pace and bright lights of Tokyo. But for now, I soaked.

For more information about Tobu's passes and sightseeing in the Nikko region, visit its tourism website.

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Aerohaveno will be taking a break over the holiday season, and will be back with you in early January. Have a great New Year!

Profound Devotion: The Festival of Thaipusam in Malaysia

This article from my first visit to Malaysia appeared in The West Australian newspaper in 2009, but never went online: so here it is. I was hosted on that trip by Tourism Malaysia.

The sensual immersion is incredible.

Sight: thousands of devotees walking in procession toward the Batu Caves north of Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia.

Sound: Insistent drumming, mixed with amplified Tamil-language music.

Smell: Smoke from incense and tobacco drifting through the air.

The Batu Caves sit within a rocky outcrop that rises dramatically from the flat land surrounding it. It’s an impressive craggy mass, but more impressive yet is the crowd heading toward it to commemorate the annual Hindu festival of Thaipusam.

I’ve arrived here before dawn to avoid the heavy traffic that will envelop the site once the sun rises; but even at 6am the road that leads to the caves is thronging with people.

Weaving my way slowly through the crowd, I find myself on the path of the pilgrims walking to the shrine located high up within the caves. Past me trickle lines of men and women in orange robes, carrying pots of milk on their heads.

Then men appear bearing huge decorated frames resting on their shoulders - colourful canopies decked out with feathers, tassels and statues of the Hindu god Murugan.

These kavadi are extraordinarily elaborate; one even has a mobile generator connected to lights upon its exterior, being pushed along by a friend of the devotee beneath it.

And Murugan is the focus of this spiritual event, a god particularly revered by Malaysia’s Tamil community. Every year during Thaipusam, they carry milk to his shrine, or bear a decorated kavadi as a greater offering. Some devotees are thanking the god for a past prayer that has been answered; others are hoping for help in the year ahead.

Although Thaipusam originated in India and is still celebrated there, the Batu Caves celebration is one of the most spectacular, with up to a million devotees making the journey up the stairs set into the spectacular mountain that houses the deity’s shrine.

The devotees are watched by tens of thousands of spectators, and there’s a carnival atmosphere among the diverse stalls and tents lining the route, selling everything from spiritual memorabilia to mobile phone plans.

The generosity of the day is also called upon by charities, including a mobile blood donation centre among the stalls.

The most striking act of devotion is the piercing of the skin by skewers, inserted through the tongue or cheeks. Some even have hooks inserted through the skin on their backs, held taut by supporters walking behind them.

The degree of pain represents the worshipper’s devotion to the god, though those with spikes through their flesh are often coaxed into a trance state which lessens the impact of the pain.

It’s intriguing to watch the faces of those in a trance - one man with hooks in his back is rolling his eyes and tongue dreamily as a holy man speaks to him, walking backwards ahead of the devotee. For someone from a completely different cultural background, immersed within the crowd, the sight is overwhelming and fascinating at the same time.

As I’m moving along with the masses, following the generator-lit kavadi and taking photos, I pause next to a group of young men who are dancing to the incessant beat of the music which accompanies the procession. One of them peels away to shake my hand and ask me where I’m from.

“What do you think of all this?” he asks, eyes sparkling, as he bounces on the ground with enthusiasm.

“It’s amazing!” I reply, quite truthfully - I’m feeling unexpectedly awed by the sensory overload. Satisfied, he shakes my hand again and rejoins his friends.

The loud music keeps playing, and as I wait to reinsert myself within the procession, my left foot starts tapping out an involuntary little dance.

My new acquaintance notices this and points it out to a friend, and they both laugh. It’s a good-natured chuckle, in keeping with the joyous mood of the occasion.

Along the way I chat with several more onlookers, and supporters of the devotees. The supporters accompany their friends and family members, and ensure their safety if they should be overcome by their burdens on their way to the shrine.

It’s an inclusive, energetic event, completely lacking the solemnity I associate with Western religions, and people are enthused by the all-encompassing sounds, sights and crowds. There’s something intensely stimulating about the controlled chaos of the procession, a ritualised abandonment of daily routines and inhibitions.

By the time we reach the foot of the 272 steps which lead up to the shrine, dawn is breaking. I peel off, walking past a vast mound of coconuts to find a seat at a refreshment stall.

Sitting with an iced tea, I watch the growing stream of pilgrims move onward and upwards, past the enormous statue of Murugan that towers alongside the steps.

Music is playing loudly, smoke is billowing from a nearby shrine, and a flock of birds is flying across the sky above the crowd.

It’s an invigorating atmosphere: a potent blend of aroma, sound, colour, motion and human vibrancy that reaches deeper than the rational mind, intensely moving in both its passion and the good humour of the crowds which have come to share in it.

Thaipusam takes place upon the full moon in the Tamil month of Thai (January or February each year). Thaipusam will provisionally fall on 21 January in 2019.