Southern Loop Leftovers: SC & GA

Posted on August 14, 2025 by admin

Early in the recent trip.

The Buc-ee’s imperium marches on. On my way to Tennessee that first day, I stopped at the location near Smiths Grove, Kentucky, to visit its gleaming facilities. Business was reasonably brisk that Monday, but nothing like the bedlam on the Sunday, nearly two weeks later (on the trip’s last day), when I stopped on the way back home at the same place, for the same reason.

South Carolina

Had a pleasant walk down a non-tourist street on a Sunday in Myrtle Beach. Not a lot going on. The late afternoon light had a nice glow.

Myrtle Beach International Airport used to be Myrtle Beach Air Force Base, which began as Myrtle Beach General Bombing and Gunnery Range in 1942 for use by the U.S. Army Air Corps. It closed in 1993.

One legacy of the base is a cluster of military memorials near the perimeter of the airport – at a place called Warbird Park, which is fully accessible to casual visitors – that includes something you don’t see all the time.

It is one memorial among many.

As well as some of the aircraft that used the air base.

Found at a MB beach shop among the clothes and beach equipment. Nothing says Myrtle Beach better than skulls, no?

There was more. Much more.

In Columbia, the Basilica of St. Peter.

Mass was in progress in its impressive interior, so only a glimpse.

Georgia

An automated, Fotomat-style ice store in north Georgia. They’re not as common up north, with the closest of this brand to me (I checked) in Aurora, Illinois.

Twice the Ice is the brand name. Quick facts: there are about 3,300 Twice the Ice locations so far in the United States and elsewhere – water and ice “vending machines,” according to one page on the company web site. Another page on the same site puts it at over 4,000 locations, which just means part of the site isn’t being updated. Whatever the exact number, there are a lot, and most if not all are franchised, representing about 1,000 franchisees.

It’s automation we call all get behind. I don’t think the machines are putting ice handlers and baggers at local gas stations and grocery stores out of work, since who holds that specific job?

So far as I know, “Ice is Civilization” is not the company motto. But it could be. It was said with such conviction by Allie Fox in The Mosquito Coast.

Of course, by the end of the book and movie both, he was howl-at-the-moon mad. So maybe some other slogan. Then again, that line is one of the few things – besides the fact that Allie Fox goes nuts chasing Utopia – that I remember from either the book or the movie after about 35 years. So it’s pretty memorable.

After gassing up at a station in north Georgia, I parked away from the pumps near the edge of the property to fiddle with my phone for a few minutes. Just outside the car window, kudzu lurked.

Which got closer.

And closer. Man, it grows fast.

Not really, but I did see all that kudzu at the edge of the gas station property. Kudzu. Who hasn’t seen the walls of it down South?

“In news media and scientific accounts and on some government websites, kudzu is typically said to cover seven million to nine million acres across the United States,” Smithsonian magazine reported in 2015. “But scientists reassessing kudzu’s spread have found that it’s nothing like that. In the latest careful sampling, the U.S. Forest Service reports that kudzu occupies, to some degree, about 227,000 acres of forestland, an area about the size of a small county and about one-sixth the size of Atlanta.

“That’s about one-tenth of 1 percent of the South’s 200 million acres of forest. By way of comparison, the same report estimates that Asian privet had invaded some 3.2 million acres — 14 times kudzu’s territory. Invasive roses had covered more than three times as much forestland as kudzu.”

Yet kudzu is regarded as a particularly intractable invasive species. How is that? It grows well in highly visible places. Such as next to a gas station parking lot. Smithsonian notes: “Those roadside plantings — isolated from grazing, impractical to manage, their shoots shimmying up the trunks of second-growth trees — looked like monsters.”

Along Georgia 60 in Chattahoochee NF, Smokey Bear is still at his job.

One thing leads to another online, and Smokey eventually lead me to “Smokey the Bear Sutra.” Only takes a few minutes to read, and it’s a trip. Just like the song “Elvis is Everywhere,” there’s a founding document of a religion in the distant future, one that asserts that humans should never have given up worshiping bears.

Myrtle Beach: The Boardwalk & The Gay Dolphin

Posted on July 23, 2025 by admin

My spring break trip in March 1981 with Neal and Stuart involved time on the Outer Banks of North Carolina, and we planned to cross into South Carolina for a visit to Myrtle Beach. But because of the ferry schedule between islands, we spent a memorable night on Ocracoke Is., and determined that there was no time for Myrtle Beach. We made it as far as Wilmington, NC.

I thought of that on my drive between New Bern and Myrtle Beach last month, which was mostly, but not entirely, on US 17. Just another example of how I think: When I miss a planned destination for some reason or other, something doesn’t quite sit right until I go there eventually. At 44 years and some months, the lag between planning to go to Myrtle Beach and realizing that visit was unusually long, but in any case I finally made it on June 20, 2025, a Friday, and I stayed until the following Monday. Yuriko joined me those days.

Crossing into SC on US 17, you first encounter North Myrtle Beach, which seemed every bit as developed and tourist-oriented as Myrtle Beach itself, replete with restaurants and motels and retailers, including a wide variety of beach retailers whose large-letter marquees made bold and nearly worthless promises about low prices.

North MB is also where I started noticing the area’s miniature golf courses. Or, as the industry seems to call it, mini golf, because there is such a thing as the American Mini Golf Alliance and the US ProMiniGolf Association (pro?). Then again, a simple search also turns up the World Minigolf Sport Federation and Miniature Golf Association of America, along with the Professional Putters Association (professional?). There’s clearly a lot I don’t know about miniature golf.

In North MB, you drive by Hawaiian Village Mini Golf, Hawaiian Rumble (home of the Mini Golf Masters tournament), Mayday Golf, Professor Hacker’s Dinosaur Adventure and Professor Hacker’s Lost Treasure Golf, among others. In Myrtle Beach proper, among others, there’s Broadway Grand Prix, Captain Hook’s Adventure Golf, Jungle Safari Mini Golf, Jurassic Mini Golf, Popstroke, Red Dragon Cove Adventure Golf, Aloha Mini Golf, and one that was truly hard to miss, Mt. Atanticus Minotaur Golf.

Visit Myrtle Beach says there are over 30 mini golf courses in the area, their faux oddities rising near major thoroughfares – artificial landforms, cartoonish pirate ships, weird sea creatures and so many dinosaurs, at least in my memory. Had daytime temps been anything less than 90° F. or so, we might have picked one and putted some balls around for a lark. Or, failing that, I might have spend time on sidewalks outside their fences, taking pictures. There’s a coffee table book in all the Myrtle Beach mini golf spectacle, or at least an extensive Flickr page.

We decided instead to spend our limited amount of daytime outdoor time at Myrtle Beach’s actual beach, which is bordered by a boardwalk.

Late that Sunday morning in June, the boardwalk wasn’t particularly busy. Could have been the heat dome. I figure the place is hopping around spring break time, or the month after Thanksgiving, for instance.

Any boardwalk with its salt is going to include a Ferris wheel in the vicinity. Officially, it’s the SkyWheel Myrtle Beach.

We decided that the $40+ for the two of us on the wheel would be better spent on lunch. It was, at tourist prices at a restaurant-bar open to the boardwalk, but not completely sky high. Then we found our way to the Gay Dolphin Gift Cove, whose fame preceded it. That is, I read about it online before the trip.

As a souvenir emporium, four stories stocked with gewgaws and gimcracks, the Gay Dolphin doesn’t disappoint. A store of that name has been on this site since 1946, though Hurricane Hazel destroyed the original in 1954, along with much of the rest of Myrtle Beach.

Things I never imagined would be for sale, or even exist, are for sale there.

Not just small items, either, but sizable ones. Maybe this shark is for sale. It must be, just at a price I’d never want to pay.

Same for these figures.

Looks like the list price for the man-dog in formal wear is $3,000. So yes, more than I’d care to pay. We weren’t much in the market for souvenirs anyway, but I will say this for the Gay Dolphin: it had a large rack of postcards. New cards, but also vintage, mid-century cards for all of 50 cents each. I bought a bunch. Good for you, Gay Dolphin.

Daiso USA

Posted on June 9, 2025 by admin

Retail comes and goes. After we visited Jo-Ann’s – where I bought a single item, an olive-theme doormat for our deck – we went a short distance to something new. Newish, that is, to North America, but well-established in Japan: Daiso.

We hadn’t noticed this particular northwest suburban location before. Back in February, we visited one in Tokyo, which was my first time at the chain, though I’d written about it before. Worldwide, there are about 6,000 Daiso locations, with only 150 in the U.S., and even those are fairly recent arrivals.

The store has an impressive amount of inexpensive goods, and a more imaginative selection that you’d find in a dollar store. Better designed, too. Things cost money in Japan, naturally, and sometimes quite a lot, but that country doesn’t share the notion, common here in America, that if you don’t pay a lot, you deserve crappy design.

Socks and clocks, among many other items.

Also, an unusual pricing structure.

I didn’t buy one of these, because we have one – an odd souvenir from the Bluegrass Inn during a stay in ’08. More recently I used it to swat moths.

Mangled English, no extra charge. An authentic Japanese touch.

The End of an Era? No.

Posted on June 8, 2025 by admin

Recently I was thinking about the closure of Jo-Ann stores, for reasons that will be obvious shortly. Seeking more information about the retailer, I came across an article published at a site called dengarden. The headline says, It’s the End of an Era: Joann Fabrics Has Officially Closed All of Its Stores.

A human- or machine-written head? It doesn’t matter, there’s a cliché that needs to be retired. End of an Era, eh? I remember thinking the same thing when the last Radio Shack bit the dust. Or maybe not.

The company is – was – Jo-Ann Stores. What will customers do without it? “Big-box retailers like Michaels and Hobby Lobby offer a decent selection of fabric and craft materials,” the article says. “Online shops, from niche sewing stores to large marketplaces, have stepped in to fill the gap. Many small, independently owned fabric and yarn stores are also gaining attention as shoppers turn local.”

The closure might be a hardship for those who lost their jobs, but for everyone else, this barely qualifies as the turn of a page, much less the end of an era.

But I quibble. A few weeks ago, at Yuriko’s request, we went to a nearby Jo-Ann store to look for bargains. Rather, she did.

I went to witness the retail dissolution in person. The place had that Venezuelan store look, assuming the reports about that nation are still correct.

Even toward the end of a store’s existence, there can be oddities.

I didn’t buy it, even at a steep discount. Will I regret my decision from now on, until I reach my deathbed? Nah.

Japanese Food

Posted on June 2, 2025 by admin

Take a pork cutlet, a nice thin one but not too thin, dredge a bit in flour, dip in beaten egg, coat with panko, and deep fry in light oil. Serve sliced so that the pieces are easier to manage with chopsticks, and with a brown Worcestershire-y sauce (but better, I think). Add a bed of lettuce, and sides of rice, miso and Japanese pickles.

A modest dish, but there’s nothing quite like a good tonkatsu. It is an example of salaryman food. Of course, other people eat it – a lot in my case, since the happy day sometime in 1990 when I had it for the first time. But in the lunchtime domain of male office workers in dense Osaka, the Kitchen of Japan, tonkatsu is a familiar regular (and in other parts of the country, too). They are little works of fragrant and delicious art whose purpose is to be eaten for the pocket money that their wives allow them for lunches.

Naturally, I sought it out during my recent days in Japan. This one is before the application of sauce. It’s the legacy of a Japanese adaptation of a European, specifically French dish, back in the 19th century. A detail from the Meiji era.

Another popular adaptation in Japan, spotted among the office towers near Osaka Castle. Doughnuts have long had a home in Japan.

Yes. It was time.

Another day, during a solo wander in the streets near Midosuji Blvd., I took rest at a small coffee shop, part of a large chain.

Doutor Coffee has some 1,200 locations in East Asia, with a concentration of 900 or so in Japan and others in Taiwan, Malaysia and Singapore. I expect most of them are franchised locations, and many are along underground pedestrian ways near subways or train stations. Mine was so close to a subway station entrance, you could hear the soft beeping of the electronic tickets and the slightly louder clank of the turnstiles if you decided to pay attention.

Mostly, the place was quiet, with people setting themselves in front of their laptops or fiddling with their phones. I joined the laptop users, pecking out emails or parts of whatever article was due next.

Considering the strong dollar (in February, anyway), the tab for milk tea and a warm chocolate croissant came in less than double digits in US dollar terms. But a refreshing beverage and a tasty snack are only part of the deal: you’re also renting a place to sit.

But not a place to smoke anymore. I was a little surprised, considering how consistently tobacco smoke used to linger, or sometimes billow and swirl, in public spaces in Japan 30+ years ago. That shift oddly reminded me of visits to Preservation Hall in 1981 and 1989 (minus the jazz, of course). The first time, the jazzmen played in a room lightly clouded with smoke. Eight years later, the air was clear.

Return to the 400 Block of Main, Bloomington

Posted on May 13, 2025 by admin

Now that Ann has finished ISU, I expect two things: solicitations for donations will start, which she will probably deal with by ignoring them, and it will be much less likely that I will go to Bloomington-Normal, just as I haven’t been to Champaign-Urbana lately. With that in mind, I suggested a post-brunch visit on Saturday to the 400 block of Main Street, downtown Bloomington, home of 2 FruGALS Thrift.

The block is also home to Ivy Land Bakery (we bought cookies there once, and didn’t regret it), Exquisite Body Arts (I didn’t get a tattoo there, and don’t regret that either), the Velvet Daisy Shoppe, Merlot and A Masterpiece, That Dapper Pet, Megli Voice Studio, McLean County Democratic Headquarters, Wilson Cycle, Crossroads Fair Trade Goods & Gifts, and Bobzbay Books.

Nice book store, but no postcards that I could see.

While everyone else was poking around 2 FruGALS, I spent some time capturing black-and-white images. On a whim.

Some buildings.

Some details.

I noticed that the metal relief above 418 N. Main is still there, though the business I saw in 2022 is gone. Ayurveda for Healing moved elsewhere; now Jan Brandt Gallery is there, along with Sync Mind Body Pilates & Reiki.

The relief is called “Meditation on a Ball of String” (2021). I know that because a sign has been added sometime in the last three years to describe it. The artist is Herb Eaton. His studio isn’t far away.

Details.

Fine whimsy. Downtowns ought to have more public art like that.

Tetsudo Wasuremono Ichi

Posted on May 4, 2025 by admin

The sign doesn’t say the winter accessories are ¥300, but rather that they start at ¥300. A critical detail, but even so the items aren’t pricey.

We’d come across a curious shop deep in the heart of Osaka.

Riding into Osaka on a Keihan regional line, we transferred to the city’s subway system, specifically the Midosuji line (御堂筋線, Midōsuji-sen), which runs under a grand avenue of that name, Midosuji Blvd., for a few miles. The Midosuji line proceeds from Umeda to Namba and beyond to places like Tennoji, names that might not mean much to the outside world, but which are old and familiar to me.

My first summer in Japan, I hung out briefly with Bernadette and Lyn, two Kiwis, and Sean, a Californian.

“I tell people at home I can speak Japanese,” Sean said one fine evening at Osaka Castle Park. He’d only been in the country a few weeks.

“Oh, yeah?” said the saucy Lyn.

“Yeah, Yodoyabashi. Hommachi. Daikokucho!”

That was a laugh. He’d rattled off some of the station names on the Midosuji line.

I digress. Yuriko and I went a few stations south, then emerged at ground level and headed east on foot, along another major avenue, though without the ginko trees or skyscrapers or wide bridges of Midosuji Blvd. I had to look up the new street’s name later: Chou-Dori, a literal translation of which would be, Middle Road.

Above Chou-Dori is a major expressway. Built under the expressway is a row of massive buildings, one after another, maybe 10 or more of them: Semba Center, the entire collection is called. Space is at a premium in urban Japan.

Each Semba Center building had entrances on either end, directly in the shadow of the expressway, and each building – at least the half-dozen or so we walked through – was packed with discount retailers, lining each side of a hall that ran the entire length of the building. You want discounters in Osaka, this is the place to come, Yuriko told me. Clothes, mostly, including more than one cloth merchant, but also household goods and decorative items.

At Semba Center Building No. 9, 3-3-110 Senbacho, Chuo-ku, Osaka (to give its full address) is Tetsudo Wasuremono Ichi.

That is, the Railroad Forgotten Items Store. It’s a store that sells items left on JR trains – presumably Osaka-area JR trains, since I know there is an equivalent store in Tokyo. Many millions of people use those trains every day, so it stands to reason that there is a constant flow of many left items, all the time.

JR must have a deal with the store owner, the details of which hardly matter, though I suppose the railroad acts as a wholesaler of items left over a few months (some details are here). I’ll bet really valuable items aren’t sold that way, though. If somehow your Brasher Doubloon ended up in the JR lost and found, it would mean you were grossly careless, someone who found it had no idea what it was, and a JR-favored coin dealer would get to buy it.

Be that as it may, people leave behind a lot of umbrellas. In Osaka, there’s no excuse to pay full price for an umbrella.

The place is well stocked with clothes, too.

Many are the small items. Seems only reasonable.

People lose some odd things.

There’s enough readable text for me probably to figure out what this is, but somehow not knowing is more satisfying as a travel memory.

Tsurugaoka Hachimangu Shrine, Kamakura

Posted on April 27, 2025 by admin

In my experience, most visits to Japanese cities start by getting off a train. Most, but not all. In Kamakura, it did.

Torii (鳥居) gates also mark a beginning. Gate gates, in other words, though a torii is a special kind of gate, either marking an entrance to a Shinto shrine or the road to a shrine. (Most of the time.) Not far from the Kamakura main train station is one such gate.

Past it is Komachi-dori, which leads almost directly to Tsurugaoka Hachimangu Shrine. It’s a pedestrian shopping street, which are fairly common in Japan. Less common is that it has a name, since many streets in that country do not. Addresses are determined by increasingly small subdivisions of the land, a system that takes some getting used to, but which seems to work for the Japanese.

Komachi-dori is packed with shops, cafes and restaurants.

Standard souvenirs are widely available. Standard for Japan, that is.

Other places are more unusual, even for Japan. At one shop, you can have a belt custom made.

Who knows, artisanal belts might be the rage now. ¥6000 as of today is a bit less than $42, and in February would have been a little less than $40, and maybe worth it, considering the low quality of mass-produced belts that sell for half that much or so. But we didn’t stop in.

We also took a pass on Kamakura Pig Park.

A place where you can have coffee or tea, and play with “micro pigs,” it seems. I understand there is a trend toward cute animal cafes, often cats. We saw one of those on the street as well.

Tsurugaoka Hachimangu Shrine is a large Shinto complex, founded in the 11th century of the Common Era and getting a boost during the Kamakura shogunate not long after. The grounds include some handsome structures, smaller and larger.

The structures aren’t 1,000 years old, owing to the usual cycle of destruction and reconstruction common to wooden buildings. The Meiji government ordered some of the destruction in the 19th century, when it decided that Buddhism and Shinto had to be separate things. Previously rampant syncretism between the two in Japan had been the order of the day, but apparently that would never do, and so a fair number of sacred sites were thus destroyed, including structures at Tsurugaoka Hachimangu.

The stairs to the main sanctuary.

The “semi-mythical” Emperor Ojin, according to a sign in Japanese and English, is enshrined there as a kami. As far as I can tell, there isn’t agreement on whether such a human ruler of that name actually existed back in the first millennium CE, but I expect a niggling little detail like that wouldn’t bother a kami.

Prayers.

Speaking of torii, these mark the path to a sub-shrine, Maruyama Inari.

Small, but that is presumably all the god of rice, agriculture and prosperity Inari needs, to do whatever it is kami do.

Ampelmann

Posted on April 10, 2025 by admin

Spend enough time as a pedestrian in the former East Berlin – and it doesn’t actually take that long – and you begin to notice that the Walk/Don’t Walk signals aren’t like anywhere else. Green and red, respectively, like everywhere else, but otherwise unique cartoon men in hats.

This is the Walk sign.

That probably would have remained a passing thought for us, but at the Berlin Hauptbahnhof we spotted a store selling goods and souvenirs based on the cartoon man, who has a name: Ampelmann, that is, Traffic Light Man. The postcards were a bit expensive, but I was so amused I bought one to send and one to keep.

I sent the Walk green Ampelmann and kept the card with the Don’t Walk red Ampelmann (see below), who stands in front of various noteworthy structures in Berlin, such as the Brandenburg Gate, the TV tower at Alexanderplatz, and the Victory Column in the Tiergarten. The Walk green Ampelmann card has the same structures, but he’s strolling past them.

We also picked up an fine intangible souvenir when we learned about Traffic Light Man and his robust gait and distinctive headwear. It’s hard to know when you’ll find those, but find them you do if you’re paying just a little attention. Also, he’s a bit of fun on the beaten path — what could be more literally a beaten path than a street crosswalk?

The woman behind the counter told me that the lights were created in East Berlin in the 1960s, and when reunified Berlin wanted to phase them out in the 1990s, Berliners east and west weren’t having it. By then he was no mere traffic accessory, but a small yet vivid cultural phenomenon, star of comic strips, games and radio spots. He was too popular to be erased from street crossings throughout the east. So he remains, a rare beloved relic of the DDR, though I understand his backlights are now thoroughly modern LEDs.

I got an additional souvenir in the form of a bag from the shop.

The story of Ampelmann, first drawn in 1961, is told by the web site of that name, including information about his creator, Berlin resident Karl Peglau (d. 2009), who is described as a traffic psychologist. I can’t ever remember hearing about that profession before, but I’d say that traffic in a lot of places could use professional help. Whatever your job, you could do a lot worse for a legacy than Ampelmann.

The main Ampelmann shop is on Unter den Linden. We must have walked right past it. But somehow we didn’t miss the DDR Museum a little further on, where the thoroughfare is called Karl-Liebknecht-Straße – another relic of East Berlin (before that, it was Kaiser-Wilhelm-Straße).

We didn’t feel like visiting the museum itself, but we did go to the gift shop.

As my wont, I got a few more postcards, while Jay got a refrigerator magnet. This one: Marx, Engels and Lenin. None of them, of course, lived long enough to encounter refrigerator magnets, but I’m pretty sure they would have denounced them as bourgeois frivolity. All the more reason to get some.

The Balloon-Blowing Couple on Their Way to Ústí nad Labem, Tokyo Banana World & Three Major Train Stations

Posted on April 8, 2025 by admin

On the afternoon of March 12, a gray, chilly day, Jay and I arrived at the Main Railway Station in Prague (Praha hlavní nádraží) to catch the EC 170 back to Berlin, leaving at 4:28 pm. We were early, and had time to look around the station.

A grand edifice. “One of the final glories of the dying empire,” notes the 2002 Rough Guide to the Czech & Slovak Republics, though perhaps “ramshackle empire” might have been more apt, since who knew the catastrophe of WWI would play out quite the way it did.

“It was designed by Joseph Fanta and officially opened in 1909 as the Franz Josef Station,” the guide book continues. “Arriving in the subterranean modern section, it’s easy to miss the station’s surviving Art Nouveau parts. The original entrance on the Wilsonova still exudes imperial confidence, with its wrought iron canopy and naked figurines clinging to the sides of the towers.”

The grand hall interior is grand indeed.

But largely empty. The crowds were at the more modern lower level, where a long tunnel connects all the train platforms, ticket offices and a fair amount of retail. We boarded our train without any problem and found that our car was nearly empty too. Not many people were headed for Berlin that Wednesday evening.

At one of the suburban stations, however, a young man and young woman got on and sat across the aisle in our car. They had that contemporary Euro-look: casually dressed, visible tattoos here and there, a few studs and earrings for both, and the mandatory beard for the man. They were in a merry mood. Not obnoxiously loud, but making happy-sounding conversations in what I assume was Czech, complete with the universal language of giggling; clearly a couple headed somewhere for some fun. Someone’s wedding, or maybe just a few days off work.

None of that was unusual. Then the woman removed a small air cylinder from her backpack and started using it to blow up balloons, which she and the man proceeded to swat around the car. I’ve been on a lot of trains in a lot of places, but I have to say, that was a first.

That didn’t last long. Soon they got off the train at the last station before the border with Germany, Ústí nad Labem, and the car got quiet again. I hope they continued to have a good time in that town.

On the trip down to Prague on the 10th, in a mostly full car, we had passed the same way going the opposite direction, and it was still daytime. So we got a good look at the hilly territory of the Elbe River Valley south of Dresden, where the train mostly follows the river. A picturesque spot, even in winter.

As for the German-Czech frontier, crossing was perfunctory. Hardly worth calling it a border. No officious or menacing border guards roamed the cars demanding Papers! (Reisepass?) Not in the 21st-century Schengen Area. We were on an Evening Train to Berlin, not a Night Train to Munich. The only indication of entering a new country (either way) was that after crossing each time, our tickets were checked again, electronically, by fairly laid-back workers of the respective railway companies on either side of the line.

The 175-mile trip to Prague began and ended at the Berlin Hauptbahnhof, a massive station that didn’t exist the first time I went to Berlin. A predecessor station on the site had been badly damaged during the war, and the new station wasn’t developed until the 2000s, as Berlin’s fancy new main multi-modal transit center. Besides intercity trains, Berlin S-bahn and U-bahn trains go there, along with a lot of buses. There is also enough retail at the station to qualify as its own mall.

Berlin Hauptbahnhof isn’t an old style, but it is impressive.

One more impressive rail hub on this trip was a continent away: Tokyo Station, the busiest one in passenger numbers in that urban agglomeration, which is saying something. It too is a multi-modal facility, with various intercity rail lines meeting there, along with subways and buses. The Shinkansen from Osaka goes there, which is how we arrived. The structure dates from 1914 and amazingly survived war in the 1940s – and just as threatening – urban renewal in the 1960s. In more recent years, the station was restored to close to its original design.

Under the main dome.

Plenty of retail at Tokyo Station as well. Including some places I’d never seen before. We should have stopped to get something from Tokyo Banana World.

Per Time Out: “Tokyo Banana opened its flagship store called Tokyo Bananas inside Tokyo Station on December 8 [2022], and it’s stocked with exclusive goods. Two of the exclusive products are the Legendary Curry Bread and Cream and Red Bean Paste Doughnut — and yes, banana is the hidden ingredient for both.”

Ex Nippon semper aliquid novi, eh?

Been There, Seen That

By Dees Stribling

Category Archives: Retail