Every visitor to Japan has seen them, and almost as many have used them. They are ubiquitous, commanding every street corner it seems, and Japan’s convenience stores, or combini as they are known here, have proven to be a rags-to-riches retail success story.
“This was the first pope,” says Tran Van Hoan, pointing to a dog-eared photograph. “He died in 1933. Or 1934.” “And this,” he says, producing another sepia-coloured snapshot, “was the last pope. He was forced away in 1956.”
On a feverishly hot September day, Tran is fanning himself with a handful of old photos and explaining why the huge, regal chair in what is surely the kitschiest church in all the world remains empty. It is the pope’s chair; and the pope is gone.
According to legend, Susano no Mikoto, brother of the sun goddess, first brewed sake as part of a cunning plan to rescue a beautiful princess from the eight-headed serpent of Lake Yamagata. Lured by the delicious liquor, the serpent left its lair and drank, whereupon Mikoto slew the intoxicated beast and freed the young maiden. His supernatural brewing techniques were passed on to the Japanese people, who have been producing heavenly sake ever since.
