The Japanese 'Camping' Phenomenon
26 November 2002, 05:22
Not long ago, we accepted an invitation to go ‘camping’ with our friend Rieko in Tanzawa, a retreat on the other side of Mount Fuji. We thought we were going on a casual, tent-based camping trip in the wilderness, maybe fire up some billy-tea with our damper. We were wrong. Very wrong.
When we arrived at the ‘camp’ site (‘Well Camp’), we discovered that the tents of Australian camping folklore, had been transformed into (very well-equipped) cabins, and the group would be split into 3 - men in one cabin, women in another cabin, children in the third. The group (Japanese love groups) consisted of 22 people, including 9 children, all of them burdened with the Japanese camping notion of being ‘excessively prepared’.
Within minutes of arrival, the preparation began. All 13 adults (excluding us because we were ready just to light a camp-fire by the river and be done with it) began a well-oiled production-line; tarps went up; gas stoves were lit; tables were laden with food; wood was chain-sawed into oblivion (oh - the serenity!) and makeshift lamps were dotted about the site. All for one night of frivolity. We hadn’t seen this kind of display since Willy Wonka’s oompa loompas.
Now, one of the finest traditions of the Australian camping experience is forgetting something, be it a bottle opener, tin opener, the tent, but these guys had it down to a fine art. Matt and I just stood there, mouths agape, wondering where the hell we had landed. Not that we were complaining. By 4pm, the sun had gone down, the beer and wine appeared, the kim-chee nabe (like a spicy hot pot) was bubbling and by 6pm we were all soused.
The highlight of the evening was undoubtedly gate-crashing the kids party for a pillow fight and chasey (hey, we never pretended to be adults). Things started to get out of hand, however, when they wrapped Matt up like Mother Theresa and paraded him throughout the campsite.
The following morning, after a slap-up breakfast (including percolated coffee - what the?), we stopped in at the Nishi Tanzawa onsen, a steal at 700yen for two hours. Like most onsen, it was divided into two - one for the girls, one for the boys (recurring theme here?). There was a bath inside with blissfully warm water (I find most onsen too hot to soak for long) and an outdoor bath which was almost unbearably hot, but was framed by hundreds of maple trees overlooking the river. I opted for the ‘hanshin’ soak (bottom half of body in the water, top half out of it) which, although supposedly very healthy (yeah, like natto…) had the unfortunate effect of transforming me into a red and white candy cane.
One aspect of Japanese culture I do love, is their penchant for getting their gear off in front of strangers. The Japanese are not remotely self-conscious about their bits hanging out for everyone to see (as long as they are of the same gender). Very liberating.
Permanent Link | Q
23 November 2002, 18:58
Q: Why did the chikan cross the road?
A: To escape the foreign female wiping the platform with his face.
“Chikan” is the Japanese word for “pervert”. The literal translation of “chikan” is, quaintly, “skirt chaser”. The skirt chaser of urban Tokyo legend preys on hapless women (Japanese and foreign alike) in order to get his “rocks” off. This could be as harmless as peering down one?fs top in the (vain) hope of glimpsing titties, or as aggressive as “rutting” against a woman’s backside.
Strangely (and thankfully) these incidents rarely escalate into rape, although the Japanese predilection for being shamed probably means that if they did, no-one would hear about it. And although these perverts can strike anywhere, at any time, their preferred locale is a crowded train where the bump and grind of a stuttering subway allows them to administer a decent bump and grind of their own. In Australia, if that many people were crammed into one tiny, moving space and women were being groped, there’d be a minor Armageddon. Punches would be thrown, women would be shrieking in protest, there would be wailing and gnashing of teeth…
Now, it occurred to me the other day, after having a conversation with a former ex-pat who has had quite a few chikan experiences, that I have never been on the receiving end of one and as such, feel, well, kind of left out. It’s not that I am begging to come home and discover that those suspicious white spots on my dress are not washing powder, but all the blonde bombshells in this city have tomes of juicy anecdotes about chikan and I have none. Nada. Zip. I want to be the one with heroic tales of stepping back on the chikan’s feet with my heels and taking out a toe, or administering a spectacular 180-degree reverse double-twist in the pike position head butt. Instead, I am forced to live vicariously through the chosen ones.
Am I an unattractive target? Is my bum so big that they’re worried their rocks will get lost? Or is it the “you f$#@k with me and your rocks are chicken meat” death stare that I’ve perfected?
Permanent Link | Comments [3]Show me, Shoyu...
18 November 2002, 00:45
Was sent a link to this flash commercial (thanks Matt K!) for Kikkoman ‘shoyu’ (soy sauce). Not sure whether this was actually shown on TV, but having witnessed the perverse broadcasting regime of Japan, I would not be at all surprised…
Second star on the right
14 November 2002, 05:31
straight until Ueno (or ‘Diary of a cat-napper’)
Case One:
The Scene: Yurakucho Subway, early morning
The Scenario: I am riding the subway, innocently reading my book, when a girl who has been leaning against a nearby post, suddenly drops to the floor. Everyone around her (including me, kindhearted gaijin-samaritan that I am) scrambles to her aid, thinking she may have passed out from the heat. She stands up, face bright red, spluttering, “Gomen, Gomen” (“sorry, sorry”). Turns out she’d fallen asleep and lost control of her ‘faculties’. She resumes her slumber against the post, seemingly oblivious to the consternation she has caused.
Case Two:
The Scene: Yamanote line, peak hour
The Scenario: I squeeze onto a peak hour train with a colleague, lets call her Greta, and about 5 minutes into the journey, Greta says; ‘Can you hear that noise?’ I listen, can’t hear a thing, until Greta says; ‘It sounds like snoring.’ We look around (everyone looks about as alert as they are going to at 8 in the morning) and decide that Greta is going bonkers. We approach our station, the train clears out, and there, lying on the floor, prostate in a post-shochu-cat-nap is our adenoidally-challenged friend sprawled across the aisle. The dainty “office-girls” are tip-toeing around the soused sod, trying not to wake him.
Case Three:
The Scene: Tokyo Mitsubishi Bank, lunchtime
The Scenario: I walk into the bank at lunchtime, take a number (ah, Japanese banks - the delicatessens of the finance world…) and sit down on the seats kindly provided, along with about 20 other patrons. Everything is deathly quiet in the bank until I realize. Everyone is asleep. Everyone.
The cat-napper is an insidious beast. I’ve seen train commuters compromise their dignity after a napper visit, lolling all over their neighbour, mouths agape in a carp-like grimace. Matthew has, himself, fallen victim to the ‘napper’ on several occasions, waking up at his train stop moments before the train is about to leave the platform. And sometimes moments after…..
The Grog Blog
8 November 2002, 05:51
When we went to Hakone a few weeks ago, we caught an 8am train from Tokyo. By 9am, about 60% of our carriage had cracked open a tinnie. Whether this is simply harmless holiday psychology or a serious social problem is yet to be decided, but it goes half way to explaining why we fit in so well here.
Japan is a land of seasoned drinkers. A bit of an oxymoron, this, as a good majority of these ‘seasoned drinkers’ are catatonic after one aforementioned tinnie. The truth is that Japanese alcohol is sensational shit. And the goodness lasts, long after its drunk. Just ride on any Yamanote train carriage after 7pm on a Friday night and you’ll smell what I mean.
At this juncture let me explain some of the unique alcoholic bevs this land has to offer (ordered highest to lowest by SF [Souse Factor]):
Awamori (and its reptilian counterpart - Habu-shu)
Local Okinawan firewater. The exact ingredients of awamori are a jealously guarded secret, but it involves mouldy rice and frankly, I’ve had enough of mould in this country. Once upon a time an enterprising Okinawan popped a snake (the deadly Habu) into a vat of this mouldy liquor, called it ‘habushu’, and the rest is history. Bloody expensive stuff (10,000 yen + per bottle) however, having imbibed the fabled habushu I must confess it tastes suspiciously like a cross between smelly socks and cheap vodka. And it gets you drunk 10 times quicker.
[SF = 5/5]
Shochu
Liquor brewed from rice, which, ironically, is very expensive in Japan (the rice that is, not the liquor, which is disturbingly inexpensive). Let’s just say the Martha Stewarts of Japan recommend shochu for cleaning tatami mats.
[SF = 4.5/5]
O-Sake
Oh honourable rice wine. Most of the ‘top’ sakes are best served chilled, but there’s nothing like a hot sake on a cold winter’s night. Warms the cockles of the heart and lightly steams the brain-cells. The perfect bev.
Pick of the Grog - Hakkaisan
[SF = 4/5]
Beer
The quality of Japanese beers varies widely. Most beers are up there with the Coopers of the brewing world, but some (not mentioning any names, Asahi Super Dry) have sunk to the stygian depths of VB and XXXX. For some reason, the beer one quaffs inside a karaoke booth seems infinitely more potent than the beer one quaffs outside.
Pick of the Grog - Kirin Black and Yebisu.
[SF = 3/5 outside karaoke bar; 3.5/5 inside]
Happoshu
Tastes like beer. Looks like beer. Not beer. Apparently not brewed according to the beer nazi brewing protocol. And really, who cares that its not beer, at 5.5% alcohol and 130 yen a can???
[SF = 3/5]
Chu-hai
Sounds like a chick’s sneeze and this is the chick drink of choice. Also, the drink of choice for boys who want to get chicks drunk. Chu-hai is shochu mixed with flavoured soda. Peach, lemon, cherry, pear, you name it, you get a flavour of it.
[SF = 3/5]
