The air is
cool after a rain shower and the sky is darkening. Across the black water a Japanese
man sings rather melodiously while exercising. He is of great interest to my
fellow passengers on this tourist boat: young couples, groups of
old Japanese women with high-pitched voices, a smattering of foreigners of indeterminate origin.
This being Tokyo, the backdrop is
unsightly: a high river wall, trucks passing along an elevated expressway and a
set of soulless high rises, one of which is surmounted by what looks like a
gold rendering of Jabba the Hut’s tail. The 634 metre Skytree Tower dwarfs all,
its syringe-like summit intermittently veiled by dark, drifting clouds.
It is the middle of July, and I am travelling one last time on the Suijo water
bus. At midnight I will take my leave of this mega-city. I sit at the stern of the boat, in the open air, beside a
fluttering and very dirty Hinomaru flag. Despite the throb of the engine and
the accompanying fumes this is the place to be. Here, you feel the light breeze
and smell the salty water as the boat travels downriver towards the Rainbow
Bridge and Tokyo Port. Here it is almost possible to forget that you live in a
virtually endless urban conurbation, home to tens of millions of stressed and
overworked souls.
The boat turns
180 degrees and we leave the jammed tourist district of Asakusa. We head south,
passing beneath a very low red bridge of three arches, then a blue one that
looks like a poor man’s version of the Tyne Bridge at Newcastle. On the paved
riverbank, blue tarpaulin sheets shield the makeshift homes of local tramps.
The embankment is adorned with giant images of old ukiyo-e, wood block prints by masters like Hiroshige and Hokusai.
I head
inside the boat, past ecclesiastical windows and a sign bearing the incongruous
message ‘May Peace Prevail on Earth’. Marble steps lead up to the main seating
area, where rows of long benches upholstered in green leather extend towards
the bow. Attractive lanterns line the walls, giving the boat an old-fashioned
feel. Most passengers sit here, some enjoying cups of delicious,
reddish-coloured and pricey Downtown Ale.
Great blue
gates are occasionally visible on each side of the river, beyond which lie
tributaries or canals. Enormous signs advertise products such as Bulgaria
yoghurts, and there are unattractive business hotels and apartment blocks aplenty.
We pass rival tourist boats, some of which are decked out with hanging red
lanterns. Others seem to have been chartered by small groups posing for
pictures on the top deck. To the west Tokyo Tower, the city’s ‘navel’, is
illuminated and looks resplendent.
The river
widens and branches in two, and we take the right fork. The famous Tsukiji fish
market is derelict at this time of day, its landing stages deserted and its
carts and trucks motionless. A short distance downstream, trees can be seen above
a long river wall, a tiny hint of the beauty which lies on the other side,
where the gardens of Hama-rikyu await. You can usually get off the boat here,
but the gardens have already closed this summer evening.
The river widens once more as we come in sight
of the big wheel of Odaiba and the towering Rainbow Bridge. A giant yellow F
flashes mysteriously to the east. In the distance, past the immense suspension
bridge, huge container cranes line the waterfront. We do not travel that far,
instead pulling up at Hinode Pier. I haul my overweight backpack onto my
shoulders and head for Tokyo Tower. I assume I will never take the boat again
and, for perhaps the only time in Tokyo, I feel a sense of sadness.
