The monesteries on the mountain of Koyasan were founded by Kobo Daishi, who changed his name to Kukai - which translates as sea of void.

It feels strange to pay buddhists money to stay with them and pray. I smoke and drink. I felt like I shouldn't be there - like another zen tourist - untill I discovered that the monks themselves love a piss up. At the monestries you stay in shikubos - little rooms with heated tables and T.V.s! - and can eat and drink waited on by trainee monks who are catching a glimpse of another world while they bring you bottles of beer and ashtrays. You can attend morning service at the ungodly hour of five A.M.

Why do the monks charge for board? Did they used to put up travellers but now the outside world has forced them to need money? Spiritually they don't. Is it upkeep? Buddha must be rich. Some of the prayer beeds cost thousands of pounds to buy. They used to sustain themselves, but now probably go down the cable car to shop at Asda.
"Oi! Sea of Void. It's your turn to do the shop."
"Oh, man. I replaced the paper in the fax last. Its your turn."
I imagine a monk in the cable car humming to himself carrying plastic bags full of shopping.

No beginning, no end, no footprints.

In a town famous for its buddhist monestries, with all the peace and non-violence that entails, I saw an advert recruiting for the Japanese army.


You're never just doing nothing
You're always doing something
Be it breathing, waiting, or just aging

The bag search at the Imperial Palace was a mime of a search. The white gloves mimed the movements of what it would be like to do a search, if the man conducting it was a real security worker.

"ooh! A photo opportunity. A samurai dancing in a paper hat backed up by what seemongly is a primary school beginners recorder group."

All Japanese schools have Uhnicycle sheds, in prospect halving the amount of wheels on the road in the future.

I`m starting to discern the individual noises amid the cacophony of the city. The double beeps of the cross-walks stands out from the babble.

I eat raw eggs cracked over rice, or by dipping meat into them.

The disdain for society, the acts of vandalism we have back home, vanish here Everyone is a whole. All are part of a functioning body - where you wear a surgical mask to prevent other members of your society cathing your cold. In Britain you get drunk and commit vandalism or destruction against the city you live in. Here, I don't even want to drop a cigarette butt. People here carry portable ashtrays with them.

The Japanese are really into rank and heirachy. Under the cherry blossoms - sakkara - the lowest person in rank at the the company must reserve a place, all day, for the rest of the company. Then they must pour the drinks for everyone else. Everyone gets hammered. I saw a chap being carried by his co-workers because he was so sozzled at seven in the evening.

The Geisha`s fame is the opposite of western fame. They are followed and photographed, snapped whilst getting into and out of cars. But it is not about them individually. It is about their costume and their image. The image is the celebrity. The dead-eyed girl behind it is not the one being photographed. She is only the walking embodiment of an idea of Japanese heritage.

So many things are flavoured, or taste of Green Tea. Do they have Green Tea flavoured water?

The Japanese see seafood and say, "oishi," delicious, and all they have to do is take it out of the water, and eat it, raw, like an apple plucked from a tree. Imagine if a cow walked the fields of Devon wrapped in a bun covered in relish. The food comes straight from the sea onto a plate.

Underneath an arch of cherry blossom trees
The upturned floodlights
Form a roof of white leaves
Dappled with holes of dark sky.

There seems to be constantly amplified shouting in the background. At the temple, from cars in the street and somewhere in the distance from where I am now, on the steps of a house in Kyoto.

So here I am, wide awake, with jet-lag at 5a.m. Japanese time - God knows what English time. I`m waiting for it to get light so I don`t feel so alone in the world, so I don`t feel like I`ll wake anybody up by my noisiness alone.

I want to lie in the comfortable room reading and not in this freezing kitchen. But the light in the other room has two settings; nearly off and Iraqi interregation. After making tea I`m keeping the gas ring on to warm the room up a bit.

At least the birds are awake now. I thought I just saw the sun rising but it was just a streetlight through frosted glass.

Phrase of the Day #2 "In this area, don`t be fever, except Saturdays!"

Not allowed shampoo on planes, but they gave us metal cutlery.

Phrase of the Day #3 "There is even not a day on the same day either..."

The hundred Yen coin has a beuatiful picture of flower heads on it. In England we have leeks and thistles, but in Japan the money has a simple elegance not found on our own.

On a withered branch
a crow is perched
an autumn evening

Matsuo Basho.

My idea of just adding the `aru` suffix to all words to create Japanese has actually revealed itself to be valid.

For example, `Grapefruiteru` and `Hairsprayeru.`

Japanese seems easy when you follow this simple rule. I have yet to test it in a conversational setting, though, but I have high hopes for it`s success.

The Dubai transfer was fraught with frustration. We sat in a bar where it was seemingly impossible to get a drink, until we waited so longwe got our last call the second I got my drink. A clever ruse by the Dubians to keep us sober, I think. Well they failed. We got pissed on the plane.

Japan does seem to appear all present and correct. Manga reading on the train, face masks for illness, small children staring indescriminately. It`s also so clean, so careful in it`s appearence. Just like Germany. Maybe rebuilding a anation after a catastrophic defeat in a world war does have it`s benefits.

Kansai Airport to Namba stopping train.

We're about to get on our way to the airport. We've checked in online, chosen our seats and now I'm filling up on British T.V. before I leave. I've brought as many Rizla as I can fit into my largest pocket and I've loaded my carry-on luggage with nicotine pills. I have a brick of Yen that could choke a medium-sized ninja. All this intense preperation has got me ready for most things except one: Snow. It is snowing and 7C where we are going. All my preperation has been geared toward internal comfort; cigarettes, booze, food, reading, but now I realize I have to think about my external comfort.

I best pack a jumper.

"Ron drove clear across town with a hipflask of whiskey and a .38 special on
the passenger seat, right past two police cars and a wedding, weaving back and
forth on the road."

Tomorrow morning I fly to the Land of The Rising Sun. For now, I pack. And pack I do, thoroughly, and - if I may say so myself - like a bloody professional. Chargers, socks, travel wallets, Aspirin, passports, Yen, books, new toothbrush, and yes, I will not forget the vital thing: Tickets. I will be attempting to write a travel diary.

- There will be the cherry blossom festivals with drunk salarymen under the trees. (Oh, yes indeed. The national excuse for a thousand drunken picnics and for ordering office underlings out with a blanket to reserve you the best place, under the best tree.)

- The hunt for Matsuo Basho's grave. (The final resting place of a legend. But where the hell is it?)