A Fishy Affair and Buddha Zen

I get a grand total of 50 minutes sleep before I have to haul ass out of bed at 5am. My bad. I was up until 4.00 this morning chatting with 'Michael' from Denmark - otherwise known as the Danish Drool-Fest. I'd seen him floating around the hostel for the last few days and politely returned his smiles but it wasn't until last night that I put on my glasses to look at him. My God. I should have worn my glasses more often at the hostel. Tall, manly, perfectly smooth baby skin, a Colgate smile, funny, intelligent, striking blue eyes... it is most unfortunate that he returns to Hong Kong today to finish finals at his university.

The things we do for momentary lust.

Today, it's an early start for the Tsukiji Fish Market. Unfortunately, our big merry band of market wanderers is but three of us (a far cry from the 7 who had eagerly put up their hands last night when I stupidly suggested we get up at 5am). There's me, Shelan (from Denver) and Phil (who keeps following me around - having your own personal stalker is so over-rated).

6am at the markets. Smelly, chaotic, floor drenched in fish blood and guts. Did I mention 6am? Blimey. This is not the place to bring your date - unless they have a thing for giant-sized tuna and old men in galoshes. The Tsukiji Fish Market raises your blood pressure like a broker in the New York Stock Exchange 3 minutes before the close of business. There's insane wheel and foot traffic, swords, shouting, pushing, disapproving looks at the gaijin who get in the way. Forget caffeine first in the morning. Where can I get me a shot of Tsukiji Fish Market?

I leave the guys at 8am. Shelan (who is, by this point, looking like a war victim with blood splattered on his jeans) is flying back to Denver with his cousin today. And as short a time as I know him, I am sad to say goodbye to the traveller (whose favourite word is 'shinkansen' - if I only had a dollar for every time he said it). As for Phil, I could not run away fast enough!

Sleep and food deprived, I fall into a light sleep as I make my way out of Tokyo into Kamakura on the train.

Today is glorious and perfect in every sense. The sun is out and at times, the weather verges on warm. Today, I let time slow down and my pace ease. There will be no shopping agenda in Kamakura, no gaudy cosmopolitan spots to frequent, no bizarre images to capture on camera. Mediation and quiet is the order of the day.

I head for Daibutsu to see the state of the giant Buddha. I have managed to escape the tourist hoardes today. The expression of the giant Buddha is immediately calming. Eyes half shut; a mysterious look of contentment and contemplation. It is but a small place for visiting, but I take the time to memorise its architectural and spiritual depth. I am as far away from the city as one could possibly get.

A short walk away is Hase Kan-non Temple which houses the 30 foot statue of the Goddess of Mercy clothed in gold leaf. She appears more fierce, more frightening a deity. Her eleven faces return the gaze. In her infinite strength, there is beauty. I am in awe. The temple grounds are breath-taking. The canopy of trees fuses the sky with red and auburn leaves and the striking green of bamboo. A lookout provides a far-reaching view of Kamakura's cityscape that meets the ocean.

I stop for a coffee from a vending machine. When it drops down the chute, I am pleasantly surprised that it is hot in my hand. I take in the spectacular views around me and create a narrative for the Gaijin on his own whose only company is a stray cat that has settled by his feet. The potshots are far too easy - Charisma Man with his Japanese Pussy...

It is 2pm by the time I start the 3.3km Daibatsu Hiking Course (armed with 2 crackers and a bottle of water for the day - what a genius - sometimes I wonder how I ever did a PhD). The terrain ranges from gentle slopes to sharp inclines. I am reminded how much I enjoy my own company and not having to make polite banter. I pass other hikers along the way and give the occasional 'konnichiwa'. An old man aided with a walking stick passes by me going the opposite direction. I imagine he has been on this trail every week of his adult life and knows the path the way a pianist knows the keys of the piano.

I stop at a small shrine called Kuzuharagaoka. It stands alone, devoid of grand gates, gold leaf and impressive gardens. An old man tends to the shrine, putting out a small urn in the courtyard. The smoke drifts up and creates a misty cloud in the trees. I drop some yen into the donation box and ring the bell. It clangs loudly. There is a humbleness to Kuzuharagaoka that makes me extremely glad I stumbled upon it.

The final stop for the day is Jochichi Temple. It is nestled in a forest of cypress and green moss. Two cemetries reside here. The place is so embedded amongst the trees that it feels as if it has been cut into the woods. Statues of deities poke out from crevasses and holes in the surrounding wall of rock. A groundskeeper is busy raking up mountains of fallen leaves. We nod in acknowledgement of each other. An old fragile monk watches me pass by as he shuffles slowly along his verandah, grasping carefully onto the wall for stability. When I exit the temple, the old woman at the gates smiles and waves goodbye.

I have to return to Japan again.

I make my way back to Kita-Kamakura train station. Here, the streets and sidewalks are narrow. A woman is bent over a tray of tofu which she is mixing, a lit cigarette hanging from her mouth. A barber is on his cigarette break. School kids are on their way home. This is country living. I'm glad I took Miyume's advice and visited Kamakura. I owe her one.

I leave Kamakura, again falling into a light sleep. This time, I dream of returning. Returning to this place. Returning to this country. And even returning to the hostel in Asakusa with the now familiar faces of new friends.