Electric Pig

“What is your favourite wild fish?”, I find myself being asked by an elderly Japanese man, his slightly LonPari crossed eyes lit up in excitement at this chance to use his English conversation. “I don’t know the names of many, err, wild fish”, I answered. “Maybe a haddock?”, (I had read some Tintin the night before). “But you are an English?!”, he said, astonished, “you love the fish”… We were sitting by the side of a stream, in Setagaya Ward in the centre of Tokyo, an unlikely place for a stream, river, gorge, or valley, minding our own business and eating our sandwiches when this old guy trundled up and introducing himself, sat down and started talking: “I like to talk to foreigners when I see them because I can practice my English for free!”. Oh god…another nutter…

As it was unseasonably hot and in the middle of the early cherry blossom season, my girlfriend and I had decided to go to the Todoroki river for a walk. I had never heard of it, but she told me that it was in Setagaya Ward, in the centre of the city. We went on the Setagaya city website, and indeed it boasted of a “different world by a river in the Todoroki valley”. Considering Tokyo is not a city of many valleys, I was interested, so off we went. It was a little disappointing to find that the tourist website had lied, or at least been economical with the truth – the Todoroki river is actually more of a stream, and the valley is actually more of a siding, in the railway mode. Still it was very pretty, and nice to walk along in the shade on a hot day.

At the end of the stream was a small temple, where a Hana-Matsuri (flower festival) was taking place to celebrate both the early cherry blossoms and the birthday of the Buddha. Jesus’ coincidental rising from the dead on the same day sensibly considered too mundane an event for mention. The temple’s organizing committee had decided to celebrate these two events in the traditional Japanese way; J-Pop and songs culled from cartoons, performed by the local Rotary Club’s Von-Trapp Family impersonating girls vocal troupe, with tea served to all, so sweet that you could feel it dissolving your teeth as you drank. As usual, the local dignitaries (war-veterans and other assorted incontinent ex-fascists), were given seats near the front, from where they could make unconsciously loud and vaguely obscene comments about the young girls, that every one else could pretend not to have heard. We left as the girls were being interviewed about possible inaccuracies in the Doraemon cartoon.

Wandering back along the other side of the stream, I noticed that the nature along this route looked worrying alive thanks to the rain that had fallen the night before, and was starting to encroach on the raised pathway. My communion with the trees and ferns extended as far as attempting to find a route through them that would do the least damage to my sneakers. Apparently, I was not alone in this, as we passed a couple of girls who had decided to accompany their boyfriends for a romantic stroll dressed in high heels and flowery party dresses with the ubiquitous Louis Vuitton bags, and for whom this was obviously a step too far into the wilds of Tokyo.

The path crossed the stream over small bridges designed to look as if made from the same trees that lined the path, although suspiciously concrete-y to the touch. Stepping-stones had given a few small children a chance to fall into the stream and they stood laughing as their parents attempted to dry them and prevent them catching pneumonia or dysentery. Towards the end of the walk, we were overtaken by an elderly walking group, led by their intrepid, moustachioed leader. Before climbing the stairs back to the station, we watched them march along in a long unbroken line, paying no attention whatsoever to the stream, gorge or temples, but desperately waving their flags to ensure that none would fall behind, abandoned forever in deepest central Tokyo.