Day 28 – Tokyo to London

I refrained my usual last-day tradition of giving away all my old clothes to the poor street kids, as there are no poor street kids and the idea of any kid wanting to accept a five-year-old Sisters Of Mercy t-shirt is just absurd.

So that's it for another trip, Japan is fantastic, I would urge you to go or at the very least write to your local member of parliament and ask him why everything is so shit where you live. If you do go, make sure you fill your suitcase with melons which at over £100 a go will certainly have you staying in the more luxurious hotels.

My final train ride to the airport was eventful to say the least. Just after leaving central station an 8.9 magnitude earthquake hit Tokyo. Amidst the chaos and confusion, the train track buckled throwing our carriage off the raised lines, through the air, and into the side of a building that was engulfed in flames. As I struggled to free myself and Ciara from the wreckage the flames and smoke began to overwhelmed me, in the next instant a thirty-metre tsunami hit the city and swept our battered carriage into Tokyo harbour and into the grip of a whirlpool. As I slowly sank into the abyss an enormous explosion of water heralded the arrival of Godzilla who snatched me from my seat and swallowed me and my laptop, hence the delay in this last post.

Did it?

No. It was pleasant, left on time and I had a nice cup of tea.

Sayonara.

Day 27 – Tokyo

I start the day with a trip to Akihabara, which is the place to be in Tokyo if you are after computers, games-consoles, phones or any other small electrical device, such as a detonator, however, I am not suggesting for one moment that the three shady-looking muslims blokes in the shop at the same time as me were after anything other than a soda-stream.

Akihabara is also home to Japanese pop phenomenon, girl-band AKB48. Forget the vomit-inducing clones that X-Factor force feed a catatonic audience every week, the Japanese (as usual) have taken it to whole new level, in the form of AKB48 who, at the last count, had 56 girls in the band – just imagine the bill for toilet roll on that tour! 

The manager – who may or may not be called Fagin – has the band (only around 12 of them at any one time) performing several times a day in their very own sweatshop – sorry theatre, to the obvious delight of the huge crowds that are always queueing outside the auditorium. 

The scary thing is that there is already a rival band (of 60-odd girls) ready to be unleashed.

The really frightening thing is that their is also a boy band on the way.

And the truly terrifying thing is that one day it will happen in London.

In the evening I inadvertently find myself in Tokyo's red-light district – I only had to take two trains, a bus and several wrong turns to inadvertently get there. Whilst admiring the faux-Englsih names of the various ladies of the night (Rabbit Bar, Bar Honey being amongst the more obvious), my attention was drawn to a sign featuring the obligatory scantily-clad Asian girl lounging over the lettering of the quite superbly named Bar Keith. Perhaps Keith was from Thailand.

Day 26 – Kyoto to Tokyo

My hotel in Kyoto seems to have been invaded by middle-aged English Daily Mail readers, consequently all talk over breakfast is of the sushi muck on offer and the lack of toast.

My Japan Rail Pass expires today so it's a train ride back to Toyko to start the day. After checking into my hotel I visit the Ghibli Animation Museum which sounds a lot easier than it actually was. Tickets are not available where you would expect, i.e. at the museum door, but have to be purchased in advance from a machine, which can be found in specific shops, the machine only displays Japanese characters so just getting them is a mission that John Rambo would be loathe to take on. Having found the shop, the machine, navigated a dozen Japanese screens you are then given an option of only four time slots a day to visit – miss your time slot and you are not allowed in. To get to the Museum from central Tokyo requires two trains and a bus journey.

The museum itself is great, provided you have any interest in Japanese animation, if not I would avoid the two hours you'll spend in the place and the six hours it takes to get the tickets and find it.

Day 25 – Kyoto

Ciara causes widespread panic at breakfast when she mishears 'Lunchtime in Japan' for 'Landslide in Japan' which she repeats loudly several times. I put our Chinese dining companion at ease but not before several surrounding holidaymakers have jumped out of the window unable to face the prospect of another natural disaster. On the plus side, I got to finish their toast.

Not content with the Silver Pavilion yesterday, today I step up a notch and visit the Golden Pavilion which...

…OK enough religion!  After 24 days (and yesterday in particular) if I see another temple, shrine, pavilion, scripture, sculpture, painting, talisman, gate, garden or get even the faintest whiff of incense, I am liable to do a Kendo Nagasaki (1980s Japanese wrestling legend, for those of you who didn't watch World of Sport) go ballistic, and put an innocent passer-by into a half-nelson.

The Manga Museum on the other hand was a great distraction, a must for anyone who believes that a man can fly or anyone who just likes looking at weird Japanese illustrations of girls being attacked by giant octopuses. The museum contained enough exhibits that I happily stayed for over four hours engrossed in the original artworks, storyboards and stories of the drunken antics of the authors. If I could have read any of the comics I may still be there now.

In the evening I was in a noodle restaurant which showed me the future, no it wasn't caused by a bowl of hallucinogenic mushroom soup, but an automatic waiter. The concept is so simple that even a cow could use one – provided it could avoid the chef's cleaver for long enough. A machine stands just inside the door of the restaurant, it features pictures of all the dishes and drinks on the menu with buttons below each, simply make your choice, insert the cash, then take your ticket to the chef who whips it up and brings it to your table. 

No more trying to get a disinterested berk's attention, no waiting for the bill, or the change. Waiters and waitresses everywhere you have been warned your days are numbered and I will remind you of this the next time I get a 'I'm so busy, you'll have to wait' look. 

Day 24 – Kyoto

With over 1600 Buddhist temples in Kyoto, today was always going to be a long one. The Eastern area of Kyoto – Higashiyama – contains enough means of salvation that even a Premier League footballer could find it – if not spell it. Highlights of my day included; 

Nanzen-ji – a Zen Buddhist temple. It's the headquarters of the Nanzen-ji branch of Rinzai Zen.

While,

Chion-in – the headquarters of the Jōdo-shū sect founded by Hōnen, who proclaimed that sentient beings are reborn in Amida Buddha's Western Paradise.

Not forgetting,

Kiyomizu-dera – which was originally affiliated with the influential Hossō sect. However, in 1965 it severed that affiliation, and its present custodians call themselves members of the Kitahossō sect.

Got that? Thanks Wikipedia. Let's not bother with the other one-thousand, five-hundred and ninety-six shall we, I don't think the spell-check could handle it.

Day 23 – Kyoto

Is Japan expensive? 

The simple answer is yes, especially if you are travelling on the Somalian Shilling, the Peruvian Sol or the New Zealand Dollar. In general, prices are pretty much comparable to London. 

The most expensive beer I have seen was in an Irish Bar which wanted £9 for a pint of Guinness – which I have to admit is about as authentically Dublin as it gets. As for food, I have kept coming across what is known as 'Gift Fruit' which, as the name suggests, is a fruit given as a gift, but this is not your token bag of grapes for a twisted ankle variety present. I am to talking about a watermelon – a normal-looking everyday watermelon – that retails for...

...those of you with a weak heart or figure-hugging pocket may want to sit down…

...that retails for... £120! 

Yes you read that correctly, I did not miss a decimal point. How about a single strawberry for £8?

Apparently each piece of fruit is grown on its own vine, with the temperature, sunlight and moisture intake strictly controlled by the farmer (he'll be the one towing the horse box with a Ferrari). Another strange one was the tin of Spam I came across for £7. The message is clear: avoid melon and spam fritters at all costs.

Having eaten nine fruit salads at the breakfast buffet – some hope, it was sushi and seaweed for the 23rd day – I took the train to Nara to visit one of Japan's most impressive World Heritage Sites – Tōdai-ji, or to use the more common English translation; that big bloody Budda thing. 

Enormous he is (one of the world's largest), sitting comfortably inside the largest wooden building in the world (settle down, I know that is exciting), the entire temple area is surrounded by hundreds of deer who are regarded as messengers of the gods, and it appears that the message is 'Hey tourist, have you got any biscuits or crisps I can eat, or will I just follow you around and sniff you constantly?'

I'll be honest, I expected more from the gods.

Day 22 – Osaka to Kyoto

Having caught an early train to Kyoto I dump my bags at the hotel and visit the Arashiyama Bamboo Forest. This took longer than expected as Ciara was in charge of map reading, the first train took us an incredible distance in the wrong direction, the second train (to get back to where we started) only a short distance in the wrong direction.

Relinquishing Ciara of duties we arrived at the forest where closely knit bamboo trees tower into the air, knocking against each other, causing mysterious eerie echoes throughout the area – if it hadn't been for the swarms of dumpling sellers and tourists it would have been very, very spooky indeed. There were no crouching tigers or hidden dragons – although admittedly they could have been very well hidden

In the evening I discovered the finest  Chu-Hi (flavoured alcohol) drink I have tasted since arriving. I am not exactly sure what it was, but it was close enough to whisky that a Scotsman would buy one (well, steal one) with just enough of a kick of ginger to make the whisky drinkable.

I have no idea what is was called either as the writing on the can was entirely in Japanese, however, I was impressed enough by the amusing cartoon character that featured on the can to splash out the required £1.20. 

Japanese designers seem to love a cartoon character, a huge amount of advertising and packaging feature them. I particularly like the illustrations used on alcohol packaging as it is stupidly banned in England (as it's seen to be promoting drinking to children) a policy which has proved such a fantastic deterrent to underage drinking. 

What, Eh? Oh.

Day 21 – Osaka

Due to the Osaka hotel room shortage I am forced to move to another hotel a couple of streets away, annoyingly I cannot check in until 4pm. The silver lining is that as I have stayed at the Toyoko Inn chain for ten nights they are giving me tonight for free – I almost regret taking all those complimentary sachets of green tea now. Almost.

I spend the day visiting Osaka City Museum followed by Osaka Castle – which looks splendid surrounded by the changing colours of the Autumnal red, green and yellow trees.

In the evening I visit the main shopping area and see why Osaka was bombed so extensively during the World War II as the amount of light bulbs on display must have been visible from Washington. We have another Okonomiyaki which is quickly becoming the only food we eat in Japan.

Day 20 – Hiroshima to Osaka

For some reason accommodation in Osaka is harder to find than a donut in Kirstie Alley's dressing room. I spent over two hours on the internet being thwarted by a variety of  'no availability' messages and Japanese websites.

The hotel manager where I am currently staying then spent over an hour attempting in vain to locate me a room before, with a rather grim face telling me, she had found 'something, but not of a high standard'. With bowed head and quivering lower lip she a admitted that the room had 'A lamp that did not work'. Gravely insulted, I immediately called for the name of her superior, her first born child and front row seats at her impending hair-kiri.

My worst hotel rooms:

1. Osaka, Japan – A lamp that didn't work, upon arrival it had been fixed.

2. San Salvador, El Salvador – This particular hotel had a 10pm curfew as a courtesy to it's guests whose safety on the surrounding streets was dubious at best. The walls separating the rooms were pieces of plywood, that only rose to just above head height – the remainder was chicken wire. None of the rooms had locks so rather than be murdered in my sleep, I spent the night drinking vodka with a heavily home-tattooed Mexican who had recently been released from a Texas jail for drug running.

3. Oaxaca, Mexico – Having spent a night on the Tequila I was in need of a good nights sleep. Around three in the morning having been constantly woken by strange gushing sounds, I lifted the wooden planks under my mattress to find it had been built over a sewer – a unique feature you won't find on Grand Designs.

4. Kuching, Borneo – The smashed window was unsatisfactory, but it was hot so It gave a nice breeze and a decent view. The bed frame that looked like a medieval torture instrument was just about bearable, however, the flimsy sponge mattress stained with enough substances (blood being the principal one) to keep the CSI Borneo boys busy for a number of days was just to much. The floor turned out to be even dirtier.

Day 19 – Naoshima to Hiroshima

We decided that one day in Hiroshima was not enough, and with Japanese trains being as good as they are, a backtrack of 170kms is an easy enough journey to make. Without this backtrack I would not of had the pleasure of seeing a station cleaner pushing around a rubbish cart that, whenever the wheels were in motion, played 'The Camptown Ladies' – that fella must go home the happiest man in the world, either that or one day he will snap and kill 80 commuters with an automatic weapon.

Having returned to Hiroshima the only thing left to do was decide what to do with the day, ancient castles? sacred temples? or, how about a 7km long production line in the Mazda Factory? Yes my inner Clarkson was released as I watched in amazement as workers and robots armed with all manner of power tools swarmed like Doozers (for those of you who remember Fraggle Rock) over slow moving cars.

For dinner in the evening we have another Okonomiyaki, which I suspect is the real reason Ciara wanted to return.

Day 18 – Naoshima

Naoshima Island has been given over to art, indoor and outdoor installations dot the island including; enormous fibre-glass pumpkins on the beach, inexplicable glass and mirror cubicles, art galleries and entire houses that have been turned into art projects. 

Many are very good – I particularly liked the almost pitch black house that had transformed the living room into a neon-light filled pond, and one installation by James Turrell in Chichu Art Museum that was nothing short of sensational – pop out and have a look at it yourself.

Inevitably a couple suffered from the curse of modern-art blather 'The twigs on the floor are symbolic of my struggle', Really? Or are they just something that was picked up in the park on a Friday afternoon having been laying into the sake.

The nights in Naoshima are slow, boasting only a handful of restaurants and bars that are dotted inconvieniently around the island, I find myself with less things to do than Amy Winehouse's cleaning lady. Having bought a can of beer from the Seven-Eleven store, I walk around the ferry station and go to the Seven-Eleven store again. Fearing the lady behind the counter may think I am casing the joint if I visit for a third time I go back to the tent.

Early night it is then.

Day 17 – Hiroshima to Naoshima

How is this for a recipe for travel related disaster: I have to get from Hiroshima to the Island of Naoshima, the journey consists of a ferry, a bus and three trains (including a changeover time between arriving and depart ing trains of four minutes!) – it's bound to go wrong somewhere, isn't it?

No, not a chance, I even made the four minute changeover at Chayamachi with about three and a half minutes to spare such is the organisation in this country, even the buses on the island are timed to leave just after each ferry arrives. In England the buses would leave two minutes before each ferry arrived, in South America they would leave six kilometres from the ferry terminal from an unmarked building, once a day. 

In Naoshima we have decided to forgo the comforts of the first world and rough it with a bit of camping. Granted the tent is six metres wide and bedecked with incredibly comfortable beds, a fridge, a kettle, a heater, lamps, tables, chairs and an umbrella stand, so it is not exactly the kind of tent you see in Somalian refugee camps.

Day 16 – Beppu to Hiroshima

I catch the early morning train, bidding farewell well to the incredibly friendly receptionist in Beppu, I did think at one stage he was going to barricade the door to stop us from leaving.

On the Eastern bank of the river Kynota-gawa river in Hiroshima stands the Atomic Bomb Dome, I'm sure most people would prefer the original name of The Internatiional Promotion Hall but on August 6th 1945 an atomic bomb exploded almost directly above it, killing everyone inside (and another 140,00 throughout the city), the building itself was one of the few that remained structurally intact anywhere near the epi-center.

In the afternoon I visit the Peace Memorial Museum which is both horrific and compulsive in equal measure. The wide tree-lined streets and laid back atmosphere make Hiroshima the nicest city I have visited in Japan, it is certainly not a place trapped by the past.

In the evening I visit Okonomi-mura a restaurant complex set over three floors each housing approximately ten different restaurants, which is not unusual, until I tell you that every one sells exactly the same dish – Okonomiyaki (a thick pancake-like dish of batter, eggs and cabbage with a filling of your choice). The restaurant I chose seemed to have a thing for pork as the 12 varieties of Okonomiyaki on the menu served everything from plain pork to pork with shrimp via pork with cheese and pork with korean pickle. I was tempted to tell the vendor I didn't like pork but feared the incident could descend into a Monty Python sketch, so simply ordered pork and spam.

Day 15 – Beppu

A morning in Hell. 

No, not a day spent Christmas shopping in Asda and Primark but rather the Hells region of Kunnawara, north of Beppu. 

Named due to the volcanic waters and steam that seep from the ground through the rocks, drains and rivers (the painted plastic devils that have been placed randomly around the area are just a nice touch) the Hells area is circuit of eight natural wonders where boiling water and mud bubbles ferociously from the ground. Local entrepreneurs have taken to cooking in the intense heat but there is only so much egg and corn you can eat in a morning before wanting to vomit.

The other attractions in town surround the Japanese pastime of onsen, which is the putting of your tired and weary body in the aforementioned boiling water, whilst the water is not as hot as that found at the Hells it is still bloody hot, and the last thing you can be is weary when you need to jump three foot in the air after stepping into the water. Fortunately there are different temperature pools for those weaker mortals inclined to keep the top five layers of skin on their body.

In the evening I pay a visit to the Jin Roberta and Beer Pub. As soon as I walk in I am staggered by the enormous variety of…  fish. 

In a novel take on the traditional pub, a very limited supply of two beers (one of which is a stout so I am more than happy) is supplemented, under a huge glass counter along the bar, by enough dead fish to keep a gang of drunken penguins happy for hours. It seems strange but it works incredibly well, order a beer, point at a fish you like the look of, and the barman will grill it right in front of you. Fresh mackerel and beer what more could any man want his woman to smell of?

Day 14 – Aso to Beppu

It seems that even Beppu likes to keep Sunday special so consequently pretty much everything is shut when we arrive in town – I'm not so sure what is special about that, maybe I am missing the point. Whenever I need to kill some time I find that the supermarkets are great fun just to browse around trying to identify what the products are. I am not sure what the shelf-stackers make of me keep taking photos of packs of curry.

I get press-ganged by the receptionist at our hostel  (I mean we happily volunteer) into doing a calligraphy class, where we are taught the art of Japanese writing in return for helping students with their English, it actually turned out to be good fun and in response to the often asked question 'Are you on Facebook?' you will be relieved to know that I have given out most of my good friend's names.

In the evening I look around the town and am perplexed by the amount of signs offering 'Snacks'. As I venture deeper into the back streets the signs become more revealing in both an artistic and explanatory sense as 'Ladies Snack', 'Jenny's Snack' and 'Lolita's Snack'  leave me in little doubt as to the true meaning of what snacks are on offer. By the time I arrived at 'Come and get a bloody big snack here, sailor'  the Yen had well and truly dropped. 

Day 13 – Kumamoto to Aso

I was in a shopping centre today and happened upon probably the greatest toilet I have ever used, Oak-panelled walls, an iPad like screen to control every aspect of your visit (seat temperature, room temperature, angle of bidet jet, etc), enough room to swing a cat in each out-stretched hand, a flip down desk (yes, you read that correctly) and enough paper cranes to keep the armchair origami ornithologist happy for days. 

The only previous time I had seen a bird in a toilet was an unfortunate dead pigeon who had taken a wrong turn and ended up in the open-sewers of Glastonbury Festival. Still it was death by stench or watching the Red Hot Chili Peppers so I understand the bird's dilemma.

Aso town is set in the middle of the world's largest caldera (126km in circumference), the town itself is very, very small but it is the main base for getting into the volcanic Aso-San Highlands, which conveniently you do by catching a bus from directly outside the main train station, buses leave at regular intervals throughout the day – this country is so easy to travel in!

The main volcanic crater has all of the conditions you would want and expect from a highly dangerous natural wonder – billowing smoke, toxic gas emissions and deathly barren landscapes – only failing to deliver on an actual eruption itself. Had an eruption happened, we would simply have moved to the  emergency shelters that somebody (of course) had had the foresight to build on the mountain side, I imagine the shelters would have had a bar, a swimming pool, a couple of TVs and a representative of Aso Volcano (apologising profusely for the trouble) inside them too.

Red Romance – no not a hilarious Moscow-based Jennifer Aniston romantic comedy but possibly the worst beer I have ever tasted, try taking a particularly weak beer, add 50% water and a bit of red colouring and you will be close to the taste.

Day 12 – Kumamoto

As you may have reasoned by now, everything in Japan runs smoothly, this blog, usually awash with stories of: annoying tour guides, unhelpful waiters, malodorous conductors, late-running trains, non-existent buses, death-trap taxis, unpalatable food, insipid drinks, insufferable accommodation, rats, cockroaches, fleas and all manor of obstacles that Judith Chalmers never had to put up with are all happily absent on this trip. Whilst this makes for a pretty uneventful blog, it makes a nice change for me, 

Probably the most annoying thing I have come across since being here is when I approach a door and only realise at the last moment it is not electronic and have to open it manually.

I may have to reassess going to third world countries if this continues, however, I believe Libya is particularly nice this time of year.

Today I visited Kumamoto Castle, an impressive wooden castle that dominates the skyline of the city The sixth floor gave 360 degree views of the city and amble warning of any approaching samurai – including the obligatory few in the courtyard below gurning for photos and looking distinctly un-noble. In the afternoon I visited the very plush and modern Kumamoto Art Museum, personally I would have put a bit more money towards acquiring decent artwork.

Sapporo – The Winters Tale is a new discoverer on the beer front, and whilst it may sound like a Japanese Disney movie it is much more appealing than that. I am yet to find a bad beer over here (I am not including the dubious alco-pops in that statement), however, it has been rather difficult to keep track on the beers as a the majority of the names are written in Japanese. 

Day 11 – Nagasaki to Kumamoto

In the morning I found myself at Dejima Island Museum a tiny man-made island at the base of Nagasaki harbour which between 1641 and the 1850s was the only area in Japan that foreigners were allowed to live. It was run as a trading outpost by the Portugese followed by the Dutch (obviously the British tried to steal it) and all contact Japan had with the outside world came through the island.

From the latter part of the 19th Century, as Johnny Foreigner was allowed to move freely around Japan, it's use diminished and the area around it was reclaimed from the sea, built upon and the original island was lost.

Appalled that this historic landmark was being swallowed to progress, engineers are now busy. digging out the area around the old island to create an in-land island, in effect they are reclaiming a reclaimed island from the land. 

Only in Japan could this happen.

I catch a late afternoon train to Kumamoto, and check-in at yet another Toyoko-Inn Hotel. I have stayed at this chain on eight out of the last 10 days, chiefly because it has one of the few websites I can find that not only works, but as an added bonus, displays words in English. The amazing thing about the chain is that the double rooms are exactly the same in every city I have been to, I don't mean similar, I mean exactly the same. Tonight I opted for an upgrade to the 'Double Panorama View Suite' which I should have guessed was exactly the same as every other room I have stayed in but on the 23rd floor. At least I know how to use the shower, air conditioner and coffee machine.

As Ciara and I were leaving the hotel in the evening, I caught the unmistakable delicious aroma of curry drifting from the kitchen. Maybe our plans for a meal in an expensive restaurant could be put on hold? 

'How much is the curry' I ask the receptionist, 

'It's free'. 

What do you think we did?

Day 10 – Fukuoka to Nagasaki

The trains in Japan are amazing, we have yet to catch one that did not leave and arrive et exactly the time specified on the ticket, when you consider that the distance between Kyoto and Fukuoka is over 600kms that is some feat. The seats are wide, leather-bound monsters that recline and have all manner of trays and drink-holders concealed within them. The carriages are immaculate (even the smoking one's – yes, weirdly you can still smoke in restaurants and trains over here) and even the toilets, whilst not good enough to eat your sushi on, would certainly be cleaner than you average first class seat on a train in London.

An early train takes me to the infamous southern city  of Nagasaki. As you would imagine there is a wide variety of monuments and sculptures dedicated to the atomic explosion in which 75,000 people ultimately lost their lives. The main Museum of the Atomic Explosion is a sombre and at times gruesome place with artefacts, photographs and film clips telling the story from the moment the B-52 plane dropped the bomb to the effects on the ground in the days and years after the blast. A fantastically designed underground glass memorial building to the victims is next door which offers some degree of inspiration.

I didn't really fancy visiting the penguin aquarium after that.

Day 9 – Fukuoka

Great Britain has darts, America has bowling, Japan has Sumo! 

Two big fat blokes locked in sporting combat – for the power, for the glory, for the tradition. OK perhaps not so much the tradition in darts. maybe for the sixteen pints of Watney's Red Barrel.

Japan has only four Sumo tournaments a year each lasting fifteen days, I had been told to arrive before dawn if I even wanted to smell a ticket. 

I duly arrived before the cock had opened his eyes and was literally over-the-moon (I may as well continue the sporting theme) to find seats still available, I entered the arena to find it packed, packed with empty seats that is. 

It seems that the first five hours are given over to the lower ranked, the has-beens and the 48-stone weaklings. Still, it gave me plenty of time to watch the amateurs go through the paces and find out where all fifteen toilets were located before the place started to fill out for the main events. It also gave me ample opportunity to trade in my £20 seat for one of the superior £100 ones available closer to the action. 

As the day progressed the crowd grew more raucous, which by Japanese standards means they progressed from quietly clapping to shouting words of encouragement to both fighters. I am not sure what it was they kept shouting but it sounded uncannily like 'Roger Moore', I'm sure it wasn't but I haven't seen him act in much lately so maybe he has a new line of work.

The old boys in the next seats struck up a conversation and before long I was being handed cans of beer, shots of sake, bars of kit-kat and pieces of dried fish 'I'll pass thanks, fifteen's my limit' whilst being given a full run down on the finer points of the sport, such as the ongoing invasion of foreigners (Mongolians in particular) and Japan's reluctance to open it to a wider audience, I see their point, would 'Hank Hamburger-guzzler from Wisconsin weighing in at 85-stone and sponsored by Dunkin' Donuts' add much to proceedings?

Maybe not, but christ it would be funny.

Day 8 – Kyoto to Fukuoka

Due to the impending bank holiday, accommodation in Kyoto is harder to find than drugs at a Billy Graham sermon so I decide to head south and return in a week's time.

I spend the morning looking around a couple of the city's smaller temples and take the obligatory tour up the observation tower which in the high winds was swaying around as if Billy Graham had shown it the light.

I visit an underground food hall where myriad hawkers are offing free samples of there wares, always up for a challenge I try some delicious and wholly indescribable sweets, vegetables and fish dishes as well as putting some things in my mouth that frankly would make a veteran porn start to gag.

I load up on Wasabi peas and a couple of cans of Suntory Grapefruit Strong (a surprisingly refreshing brew) for the train journey to Fukuoka.

Day 7 – Hakone to Kyoto

A new day, a very dark, foggy and ominous sky. 

My first stop was Togendai for a cruise across lake Ashino-ko in a bizarrely themed pirate ship, I am not sure what the theme was other than it gave a good excuse for grown men to dress as pirates and blackmail parents into parting with 2000 yen for having a photo taken with their children – £20 for a photo is piracy on the high seas in anyone's book.

The lake cruise was good and I was reliably informed by the English commentary that behind the thick blanket of fog were sights to behold that would have had Sinbad himself swooning. The fog did eventually start to clear as we completed an hour long lap of the lake in time to arrive back at Togendai for a cable car ride up the mountain for stunning views of Mt. Fuji or perhaps, more fog.

I must have arrived at Owakudani at the same time as Budda because as I stepped off the cable car the fog completely cleared and Mt.Fuji stood alone against a perfect blue sky. Judging by the delighted screams of the Japanese tourists around me this is a rare privilege indeed.

Owakuni itself is a mountain-side doom-laden wasteland of boiling volcanic waters, sulphuric gases and teeming tourists. A long time ago, some bright spark hit upon the idea of boiling eggs in the volcanic waters, the resulting eggs (there shells turned black by the sulphur) change hands faster than drugs at a Led Zepplin gig.

Toxic gases and black eggs are can only keep one entertained for so long, so I head to the train station in Odawara – where I am delighted to find a bakery for the first time in a week – and catch the Shinkansen bullet train into Kyoto late in the evening.

Day 6 – Tokyo to Hakone

Mt Fuji – Japan's most famous and revered mountain. In 2010 over three-hundred thousand people climbed it. 

So how come I couldn't even see it? 

Typically after five days of clear blue sky and perfect Autumn temperatures the heavens decided to open on the day I was going to Hakone national park. Add in the fog, the freezing weather and the two-hour traffic jam and I may as well have been on a bus to Southend. The closer I got to Hakone the harder the rain started to fall, then I got off at the wrong bus stop. 

And then, the rain got worse.

As luck would have it, the accommodation (a fantastic traditional Japanese Ryokan) had it's own indoor thermal bath which was heated from the volcanic waters which ran below – an unusual stoke of luck indeed – and I spent a glorious afternoon in there considering whether to go for an early evening hike.

And then, the rain got worse.

So I stayed in the bath.

At around midnight a siren in the town went off, it sounded like one of those World War II air raid sirens. I was reasonably confident that we were not about to be flattened by bomber command but I was a little perturbed that a bloody massive landslide might be on the way.

It wasn't. I have no idea what the siren was for, probably those flaming kids down at the sushi club.

Day 5 – Tokyo

Never let it be said that I don't know how to show Ciara a good time, today we were out of bed at 6am to visit a fish market, however, this is not just any fish market, this is the world's biggest fish market – what's not to like? Apart from the fish.

Tsukiji Fish Market is enormous (how else could it claim to be the biggest in the world?) watching men armed with knives, which are more akin to samurai swords, mince a tuna the size of James Corden into bite-size pieces in a matter of seconds is truly a site to behold – If we could get Corden to put on a tuna suit I would die a happy man. This is no place for vegetarians, certainly not the cop-out 'I eat fish, so what fish don't count'' variety, pretty much every stall has something moving on it – although a swift flick of the fishmongers wrist soon puts pay to that.

My next stop was the Hama-rikyu-telen (try asking for that after a night on the sake) gardens, which I thought would be a wise choice as I was now reeking of fish blood and guts so badly that 9000-year-old bonsai trees were wilting in my wake. A couple of hours later, having decided that being near people would not cause their olfactory organs to melt down, I head to the Museum of Science and Emerging Innovation.

This was a great place to visit, one particular presentation outlined in vivid detail the work being done, and the strides being made, by micro-biologists to eradicate disease in the third world. My favourite exhibition displayed an internet-linked microwave oven that played a pop video on the front screen which it automatically matched to the exact length of cooking time – and that my friends, is progress. Your children will never have to wait for their Pop Tarts without being able to watch Girls Aloud, who cares about malaria in Sudan when you have Cheryl Cole and a strawberry filled snack?

There was an cool demonstration of the house of the future, and in all seriousness, the work-shy sofa bound dole-sponger of the future is in for an easier life with his TV, stereo, lights, fan and any other electric device in the house being controlled from the comfort of his (stolen) iPad.

I finished the day watching, the world famous Honda advert Asimo the Robot walk, wave, dance and serve on command from his human master which really was an amazing glimpse of what robots can do for mankind in the future.

Or it could have been a little fella in a shiny white plastic suit entertaining gullible tourists.

Day 4 – Tokyo

Five in the morning is no time to be getting out of bed unless you are a miner or a milkman, but this jet lag seems to be getting worse so I have not got much choice.

An epic day of seeing the major sights of Tokyo followed but I will not bore you with the details, suffice to say, we saw an Imperial Palace (their words, not mine), a very busy crossing, some epic food courts and many strangely dressed goth-type girls. Go and watch Lost in Translation, that is what we did.

The local 7-Eleven shop is seeing a good deal of our custom for assorted snacks/drinks and I think it may be the advertising slogans that are going to win the best beer competition this time round (as all the beers seem to taste the same), striking into first place we have:

Suntory The Brew – Clear and smooth taste for your refreshing time

Closely followed by the not to dissimilar:

Suntory Rich Malt – Enjoy Rich taste in relaxing time

Considering both beers are made by Suntory, I think the copywriter could have stretched himself a bit more. Suntory The Brew edges it for me as I always prefer a beer for my refreshing time rather than my relaxing time.

I fell asleep just after 8.30. Rock and Roll.

Day 3 – Tokyo

My body clock hasn't got back in sync yet, so I wake up early and head down for breakfast and although you would think that potato salad, sushi, pickles and toast would not work together, surprisingly, they do. Which is good for me as I will be having it for the next four weeks.

A bit of culture is the order of the day and we visit the Tokyo National Museum, some small shrines and have a good wander around the area being consistently amused at zebra crossings by the fact that when a red man signal shows, no one crosses the street  – even if there is not a car within earshot.

On arrival back at the hotel I asked to extend our stay for an extra two nights, only to be told the hotel is full. That is not good as I now have to find somewhere else to stay tomorrow night. We search around the area for nearly three hours (it would have been easy if we had wanted to pay £250 a night) without success but eventually give up and return to the reception desk to ask if they have other locations elsewhere in the city they can book us into. After some frantic crunching on the keyboard the receptionist returns with: 

'Everywhere in Tokyo full'. 

I was worried, this was not good.

'Shame, you not want double room' she muttered.

'Excuse me?'

It transpires that we are staying in what is classed as an Economy Double Room which is full tomorrow, however, the hotel does have plenty of availability in Double Rooms, Twin Rooms, Economy Twin Rooms, Smoking Double Rooms, Smoking Twin Rooms, Smoking Economy Twin Rooms and something called a Heartfelt Double Room. But not Economy Double Rooms, I didn't ask for any of the others

It was shortly after this experience that I decided to start trying the Japanese alcoholic beverages. They do fruit beers (known as Chuhai) which would have Audrey Hepburn turning in her grave (no, I didn't know she was from Belgium either, I had to go to famousbelgiums.net for that joke and I hadn't heard of the number one entry on their list so she got in). I tried one called Kirin Chu-Hi Apple Nouveau which I can assure you is easier to drink than to say.

Day 2 – Tokyo

Most airports I arrive at have one thing in common – chaos – albeit due to the fact that most of the countries I go to are on the verge of war, famine, poverty, a bit all three or I have landed in Dublin. Usually, you cannot move in these airports without being pounced on by porters, collared by cabbies or harangued by hoteliers, Tokyo airport  is different, very different, everything is calm, everything is ordered, everything is clean, everything is just thoroughly pleasant. 

I even received by first bow as I was going through customs. Nothing major but it was certainly a 10-degree lean forward on the bow-o-meter and I was more than happy with that just for showing my passport. I spent an hour in the airport just  wandering around before I even considered getting the train into town. 

The lady at the ticket window told me the train would arrive in central Tokyo at 10.24 it hurtled along the track at break-neck speed in almost complete silence and arrived at 10.23 and 47 seconds. Not quite on time, but pretty bloody close, I'll give her that.

I am liking this country already. 

My hotel room was a little on the small size (a suite to use it's Japanese title) but the highlight of my day came when I went to the bathroom and was greeted with a control panel the like of which I have not seen since Chewbacca sat at the flight deck of the Millennium Falcon. 

The panel had 14 different buttons and was for nothing more than controlling the toilet seat, amongst the options at my disposal were; front-directional water jet, rear-directional water jet, water-speed controller (this came as a bit of a shock when I discovered it), water temperature controller, seat heat controller, deodoriser and pop-corn maker.

One of the above is not true – but just one, imagine! 

I am loving this country.

Day 1 – London to… somewhere over Siberia

Five in the morning is no time to be getting out of bed unless you are a miner or a milkman, it's certainly no time to start your holiday. 

After a three hour wait at Heathrow I was in the air just long enough to be thrown a complimentary can of Heineken, a cheese roll and a duty free brochure of toy windmills before I was on the ground again for another four hour wait. By the time I boarded the flight to Tokyo I had been travelling for 9 hours and was just leaving Amsterdam, I could have walked there faster.

Much to my delight KLM showed one of my favourite films, Blazing Saddles, as part of it's classic movies season, however, due to the more politically correct times we now live in, they had decided to remove any joke that could be construed as racist, sexist or derogatory. It lasted about 20 minutes.

The day ended with the plane somewhere over Russia. It wasn't a very eventful day.

Day 26 – Havana to London

I spent my last few hours in Cuba ordering every single item from the breakfast buffet menu, none of which was very good hence I kept ordering, and enjoying a PIna Colada, which was exceptionally good, on the veranda.

I gave out the last of my local currency to the beggar at the hotel gates, who looked at me like I had handed him a fresh dog poo – it was easily enough for three slices of pizza, five scoops of ice cream or seven cones of peanuts so I don't know what he was moaning about, especially if he was attending a childrens party later in the day.

Having had to endure an hour long wait at customs getting into the country three weeks ago, I was expecting the security staff on the way out to be happy to get rid of me as quickly as possible, alas not. Having nearly lost the will to live queuing for check-in followed by passport control, I was informed when I reached the front that I needed to pay a departure tax first for which, of course, I needed to go to a separate desk. With the final security leg cleared I could at last relax for the fifteen odd minutes I had left before my plane departed for London.

Day 25 – Havana

After a hellish three weeks of Mojitos, Pina Coladas, lobsters, outrageous cigars and 30 degree heat, I decide to treat myself to a bit of luxury and book into the luxurious Nacional Hotel following in the exalted footsteps of Brando, Flynn, Sinatra, Churchill and Hemingway amongst others.

I cruise into the ornate lobby dressed in my customary backpacker attire – scruffy shorts, scruffy shirt (I have given most of my clothes away) and scruffy bag clinking noisily with cheap bottles of rum.

After inquiring what rooms were available the receptionist haughtily stated 'The rooms are 170CUC' as she looked down her nose at us. Handily, this proofed to be the perfect angle for CIara to thrust her Platinum Mastercard up the snotty cow's nose. Having removed the card she launched her charm offensive in a last ditch attempt to get a tip from us – the fool!

The room, whilst a little past it's best – not helped by the blind that I managed to pull down – had spectacular views of the ocean, promenade and lush gardens. I made full use of the swimming pool and only ventured from the hotel grounds to stock up on supplies of champagne, peanuts and more cigars (weirdly you could smoke in the rooms and lobby but not the halls). At eight times the price of most of the other places we have been staying it was a little extravagant and I certainly felt a bit guilty when asked for money on the streets 'Leave it out, I am not staying at The Natio… oh, here you are'.

Day 24 – Havana

It's amazing how quickly you get used to a country, Havana seems far less hectic than when I arrived three weeks ago, helped by the fact that I have worked out how the dual currency works, everything seems a lot easier.

My day starts with a tour around Havana's largest cigar factory where the myth of Cuban cigars being rolled on the thighs of virgins is quickly dispelled, but advertising works and I guess that line is always going to sound better than 'Rolled on the dirty desk of a crone'.

Next stop on the Keith Richards itinery was the rum museum where the process of making Havana Club was shown – there is no Bacardi in Cuba, Fidel sent them packing for being capitalist imperialist pig-dogs. The tour included a tasting session of the various Havana Club varieties served by a girl with the longest legs and the shortest skirt I have seen in quite a while. Personally, I would have her rolling smokes in the cigar factory and selling them for £200 a piece.

In the evening I visit the National Theatre. I had taken the guided tour of the building earlier in the day and was left a little disappointed, after relieving me of my money a bored and sulky looking woman whisked me around two rooms in about six minutes giving such nuggets of information as "This was not always theatre', before wandering off and leaving me wondering if that was the end.

Whilst there I had noticed that an opera (La Dulcia Moor) was playing in the evening and as we queued for the £36 tickets a rather shady looking character in a long coat and trilby hat appeared from a fog of cigar smoke (I seem to attract the attention of shady street dealers in the same way that Angeline Jolie attracts the attention of African adoption agencies) 'Senor, you want tickets? I have'. Before I could say 'Isn't that the lead actress?' we were being led through the stage door, across the backstage and into the Presidential seats so called as they are favoured by Fidel himself. The shady character was given a nice little earner and the next time I saw him he was operating the main spotlight.

Day 23 – Playa Larga to Havana

I bid hasta la vista to the beach and say hola to the last bus of my trip that will take me back to Havana. I have booked a couple of nights in a casa that is located on the fourteenth floor of a tower block giving me great views of the city skyline from one window and the ocean from the other.

Cubans like ice cream. So much in fact, that the locals think nothing of queuing for over an hour to get a scoop from the national chain Coppelia, since my arrival here I have never been past an outlet that doesn't have a throng of punters outside. Tonight my luck was in and there was no one waiting, probably helped my the fact this particular outlet is huge. After a short contemplation I went for strawberry (as it was the only flavour they had) paid my 3p – yes 3p – and sat back to enjoy. It wasn't bad, but queuing for an hour? I think not. I would give someone 6p and get them to queue for me in future.

Cuban Beer League
A last minute entry into the beer league.

1. Bucanero
2. Bucanero Max – A stronger version of Bucanero, the upside being you would need to drink less of it to get drunk, the downside it is horrible.
3. Cristal
4. Cacique
5. Mayabe

Day 22 – Playa Larga

It would be overstating Playa Larga somewhat to call it a town – we have seen no shops (not uncommon in Cuba), one restaurant, and only one stall selling pizza on the street (although that was closed and again that is not uncommon in Cuba). It is more a collection of houses sitting alongside a great beach.

It is set at the top of a 30-km long bay known as the Bahia de Cochinos or more infamously as The Bay of Pigs. Pick up a copy of Great American Military Disasters and you'll find the chapter just before the one entitled 'Vietnam – winning hearts and minds. but not battles'.

In 1961 a US-backed and trained invasion force landed here but was routed by the Cuban army within days. Eventually 1,197 men were returned to America in exchange for $50 million (the only war debt the US has ever paid). Apparently Kennedy was so humiliated by the disaster extra funding was given to NASA to facilitate the moon landing by the end of the decade. He also learnt a painful lesson about not underestimating an enemy, and promptly invaded Vietnam.

I visit a superb inland snorkelling site, a 70 metre deep fissure in the rocky ground which has filled with water (essential for snorkelling) and thousands of fish, the beach is pretty damn good too.