What the... Liv's traipsing Canada and America, and he decides to put up the last two days of his Japan series? What the buggery?
Well, as it happens, I've been wanting to finish this for a long time - since
I got back, even. What with the chaos that is my usual life, however,
I was always busy with something else. For me, these action-packed overseas
trips, oddly, are some of the most relaxing periods of time that I get - and
they afford me the rare opportunity to sit down and actually do some of the
things I enjoy and want to do, but don't have scheduled in advance. Aside from
that, with Ash out having new adventures in Japan (well, probably not, but
potentially...), a fellow could get jealous if he didn't redirect his own
reminiscing into another entertaining NWTJ post. Besides, I can hardly expect
people to stay tuned to my Canadian postings if I earn a reputation for not
finishing the job, so I figured the best way to show my commitment to giving
you all a thorough accounting of my travels... was to finish the Japan posts
first. 
Besides, this Japan holiday was really something else. Particularly now that
I've seen another two countries (besides my own) within the space of a few
short months, it makes me appreciate all the more how incredibly concentrated
the Japan experience was. Every day was like a new and different holiday,
with a variety of novel sights and sounds all its own. I confess, also, that
there a few nuggets I have been saving for this final wrapup post: impressions
and stories I never did share, even when discussing my time in Japan, and some
stuff even Ashnil hasn't heard. So hold on tight, and listen close, as I take
you back on a journey to the recent past...
Day 16 - In which Liv goes up the wrong elevator
We awoke this morning to the hauntingly beautiful opera refrains of Will
Smith's "Boom, Shake the Room". I think repeating it several
times, my head echoing the words as I heard them slowly start to penetrate
my sleep-numbed mind, really made me look at this piece of rhythmic poetry
in a new way. If art can truly be judged entirely by its ability to be
interpreted in new and thought-provoking ways, then Will Smith's halting
attempts at pop-stardom can only be described in the same way as everything
he's done since 1994: "Fresh".
It wasn't this fresh sound that truly awoke me, however, so much as Ashnil's
primal, angry snuffling at noticing it. By the time he actually awoke,
mind
you, I was well and truly out of bed and almost finished preparing to go
out
(I'd had to hike the volume on my iPhone-beatbox way up, too)... but that
before-time in which he wasn't quite awake, but just twisting his body
into new shapes while snorting like a truffle-hog is one of those bizarre
memories of Japan that will stay with me forever.
Incidentally, if "Boom, Shake the Room" can't wake him, I don't know
WHAT he uses as an alarm clock back at home. Probably he just hooks the
little hammer on an old-school alarm clock straight up to his head.
 Our
breakfast-journey this day took us back into the depths of Whitey's, where
we again followed the strange series of landmarks that would lead us to
the station. Down at the big red arcade, first left at the greenish
fountain, up the orange
tunnel incline, right at the blue flags where the sararymans like to hide
and slurp their noodles, up the stairs with the white sign, past the
affectionately
termed "snot girls" (a series of young ladies cheerfully handing
out packets of tissues every
morning), down the smaller tunnel with the yellow sign, and then off to
the left.
If they painted things consistent colours, I think I would be lost all
over again.
Figuring our chances for gorging ourselves on delicious Japanese baked
goods were about
to come to an end, we took the train deeper into Osaka and immediately
sought out the traditional train-bakery. You know the one I mean: the one
that's always wafting the scent of fresh deliciousness right down the tunnel
you always have to walk through. The squinty yellow bastards have it all
planned out!
Since it was my last chance and all, I let them get away with it. In fact,
despite gritting my teeth at the thought of the curry-melon-bread
earlier, I repeated my scientific method of holding up various breads,
examining them closely, and comparing them to half-remembered episodes
of Shakugan no Shana, trying to decide whether these, at last, were the
famous Melon Bread. By the Ancestors, I was definitely going to have at
least one. Eventually,
I made my choice.
Given that her own melon bread was a scant centimeter across, I decided
to spoil Shana-tan and
let her have the first crack at it. She was so happy, she hardly knew where
to start.
In her opinion, it was certainly a kind of Melon Bread, but nothing to
write home
about.
Eventually, several baked goods later, we moved on to our real objective.
Where were we going, you ask?
That's a good question.
See, we were looking for a place called Den Den Town. It had been billed
by Ashnil and the guidebooks as "Osaka's answer to Akihabara".
As such, given the past evening's fruitless online search for properly
saucy co-ed hot-springs nearby, I decided this was probably the next best
way to spend my day. Judging from his pre-emptive drooling (over electronics
but not hot springs?), Ashnil agreed. We both liked Akihabara a lot; so
Den Den Town it would be. Apparently, a very popular place called Namba
walk was right on our way, as well. Excited, we grabbed a map and rolled
out!
This is where the trouble began. You see, not only was it difficult to
tell where we were going, but it was raining terribly. Namba walk - billed
as a fashion center, and the perfect place for 'people watching' - appeared
to be deserted. Well, not entirely deserted: one man, clearly dedicated
to being hip beyond all reason, was gamely dancing on in the rain,
while watching himself in a big mirror.
Now, random knots of breakdancing youngsters seem to be extremely
fashionable in Japan. You see them everywhere, and they have an amazing
sense of community about them. Besides, the guys are good. Real good. But
this dude wasn't like that, exactly: alone and jivin' to his own beat in
the rain, with only a remarkably waterproof beat-box and his own reflection
for company, he wasn't even breakdancing. I'm not sure what that was.
Anyways, it was so bizarre that I just had to stop and watch for
a while, if only on the off chance he would suddenly stop and just tell
everyone (in English) exactly what he thinks he's doing over there. Or
fall on his face.
Perhaps that's what the guides mean by 'people watching'. It was eerily
fascinating, in an Ashnilly sort of way. I mean, we did stop and watch
some of the dancing each time we went by. Of course, that mostly just made
it 'person' watching for most of the day, notwithstanding that we did later
get to see an actual breakdancer - a female one, in fact, in that awkward
phase just before her breasts become too large for her to comfortably spin
around upside-down while wearing a loose shirt.
In light of the part-breakdance part-bellydance style that she was evolving,
let's just say the guidebook's choice of the term 'fascinating' was on
the money with that one.
Beyond that, though, wandering Namba Walk, we didn't see a soul about.
Even the fashion stores we did see were not terribly exciting. This was
Osaka's fashion center? It was mostly just a big ol' highway with seedy-looking
food joints on the side. Moreover, the map didn't match up at all. We began
to wonder where Namba Walk was exactly, before we realised: it was in the
Osaka Underground.
Almost completely by chance, we eventually stumbled over a tunnel entrance
going down which happened to be labeled "Namba Walk" in a way we could
actually read.
At any rate, the so-called 'people watching' there proved reasonably unsatisfying
also. I did see some dudes who made my flesh crawl, and there were a couple
of girls wearing tight T-shirts with words they probably didn't understand
on them... but given that I didn't have Ashnil's lifetime of stalker-skills,
my attempt at people-watching was reasonably fruitless. Ash, by contrast,
apparently saw a great many hot young things, and enjoyed the trip greatly.
Either those are X-Ray glasses he wears, or he just has a wider spectrum
of hotness (or youth?) he likes watching; either way, I eventually dragged
him outside to go find Den Den Town.
Of course, by this time, we had pretty much decided that our map was useless
to us (not least because of rain damage). Naturally, we picked up another
one. What struck us, however, quite immediately was that this map didn't
line up with the first. Nor, in fact, did it line up with that of the flustered
seven-eleven owner who tried to explain to us that we had walked five blocks
in the wrong direction.
Nor did any of these three seem to match with the map we picked up next
- notable for actually having Den Den Town on it prominently. This was
a good thing because neither the storekeeps, nor the locals, nor even the
poor snot girls, had any idea what we meant by "Den
Den Town".
We figured perhaps it was called something else here... but there it was,
large as life, on this next map. Despite the fact that the map didn't look
anything like the others, we felt validated. It was a real place. Or dimension.
Later, we realised this map depicted the third layer of Osaka, Upper Osaka,
practically a whole 'nother city raised high above street level.
We were carrying about five maps, and hopelessly lost, by the time we
realised we had walked past the same lingerie store three times. This we
mostly realised because every time we did walk past I made the same off-colour
crack about buying Jinman some crisp, lacy panties (and Ashnil got the
same horrified I'm-picturing-it look on his face).
Therefore, we decided to go in a completely different direction, and try
to follow map number four. It turned out that no road existed where the
map seemed to be leading us, however, and we ended up stuck in a department
store, unable to find an exit until some friendly store girls, mystified
by our situation, were kind enough to lead us out directly, and point us
toward Den Den Town. We followed their directions exactly, and ended up
back at the lingerie store.
In retrospect, perhaps they were hinting at something?
Regardless, it was evening by the time we actually decided we'd found
Den Den Town: we had spent the better part of the entire day walking circles
around Osaka. A further surprise was to come, however: Den Den Town seemed
to sell nothing but cabbage, neon tubes, spinning emergency lights and
old vinyl records. Having spent all day trying to get there, let's just
say we were underwhelmed.
So, well, I did what I had done back in Akihabara to find all sorts of
entertaining out-of-the-way nooks and crannies with hidden treasures, girls
dressed as maids, and good prices. I ducked into an alley, and headed up
the first elevator I saw.
With Ashnil getting edgy beside me, we visited a number of unmarked landings
with locked doors which didn't look very much like shopfronts. I reminded
him pointedly that we had used just this method back in Tokyo to find all
of the best merchandise, and that he should just trust me. He replied that
he would stay in the elevator and let me check the other floors myself
if I really wanted. I rolled my eyes, punched the next floor button, waited,
stepped out, cast a last dismissive glance at my cowardly companion, then
lit up when I saw what looked to be an actual store on this level, and
walked in the door.
Ten seconds later I was back in the elevator, furiously punching the 'down'
button, and praying to Buddha (or whatever the God of Japan is...) that
no-one had
seen me enter. With Ashnil getting steadily more worried, I leapt out of
the elevator, hooked his arm in my umbrella and dragged him out of the
building, glancing back often and refusing to stop moving or answer his
questions until we were well away from that entire neighborhood.
What I saw in that room I still haven't shared fully with anyone, although
some folk have pieced together from my partial descriptions that I had
stumbled into some kind of a tucked-away, hush-hush 'love-hotel supplies'
store - or, more precisely, their showroom. You have only to look at what
is considered 'mainstream' for love-hotels in Osaka (who proudly advertise
that their facilities include schoolrooms with chains on the walls, torture
chambers or unicorn-themed orgy halls) to get some idea of what sort of
thing these people would consider illicit enough to hide away at the top
of an unmarked elevator in a no-name part of town.
I really was terrified that they would follow me, do things to me, for
spying on their secret activities... and so I grabbed Ashnil and I ran.
Every cloud has a silver lining, however. Our headlong dash brought us
out of the side-streets and off the side of the apparently "not to
scale" map
we were following... well outside the hellhole we had mistakenly believed
to be our destination, and right into the middle of the real Den Den Town.
As disturbing as the circumstances of our arrival may have been, we were
elated to be there. Den Den Town glittered around us, every bit the nerd
paradise we were
expecting,
and much much more.
As evidenced by the fact that guidebooks seem to consider it a tourist
attraction just to stand and gawk at them, Osaka-siders seem to think differently
to most Japanese folks, and Den Den Town was a perfect example of this
thinking in action. It was rather as though someone here had heard of Akihabara
in Tokyo and decided "we need something like that" without ever bothering
to go look at the original. Therefore, just as Akihabara was the center
of Electronics and Manga Culture in Tokyo, so too Den Den Town was the
center of Elecrtonics and Manga Culture in Osaka; but where in Tokyo, 'electronics'
refers to laptops, iPods and fancy watches, in
Osaka it means bootleg auto-parts, neoprene and power-drills. Manga Culture
in Tokyo means cute little figurines and comics with big-eyed girls. Manga
Culture in Osaka means honest-to-goodness art galleries displaying wall-to-wall
manga-style art.
 Quite
simply, they had taken every definition and expanded it, with the result
that Tokyo's nerd paradise had here been reborn as a place so eclectic,
so colourful, and so incredibly passionate about it all, that it was truly
inspirational for us to experience.
People occasionally joke that a city was 'built on rock and roll' or some
such drivel... but here in Den Den Town every brick, every tile, everything
had been laid down for the same purpose. It was somebody's dream, a lot
of people's dream, and it was self-sustaining. A place to escape from reality
and shop-'til-you-drop
yourself into another world, your every indulgeance feeding the living,
breathing monster that had grown into Den Den Town.
 The variety was amazing. Back in Tokyo, we had been astounded when small
stores full of stuff we enjoyed would turn out to go up some eight storeys.
Here in Osaka, those same stores were just as tall... but they had multiple
storefronts, each with some eight separate stories of their own. Some of
the unique ideas we came across, like the manga art print gallery (selling
limited edition prints by famous artists or production houses), were even
more interesting, breathing fresh life into the same ideas.
Where Tokyo had had a rack of realistic toy firearms, Osaka had municions
stores so chock-full of realistic military hardware, uniforms, kevlar,
etc., that they looked like army supply stores. Where Tokyo had a variety
of kits
of cars and sailing ships to put
together, Osaka had entire fleets of battleships from every era, exquisitely
handcrafted, and entire hardware stores full of tiny precision instruments,
minuscule versions of the auto-parts outside, airbrushes, special paints,
schematics, kits, motors, electronics, etc., for you to design, build and
paint your own model cars. It was incredible. A million different new potential
hobbies, interests and projects poured into my head, the tools of the trade,
books, project ideas, magazines and examples laid out in neat rows to capture
the imagination.
And, of course, there was all the familiar stuff: figurines, comics, blah,
blah, blah, everything to feed your Anime obsession... it's just that all that
stuff was overshadowed, almost, by the sheer number of other pursuits on offer.
Where Tokyo was more consumeristic, I would say that Osaka focused on more
creative pursuits: building figurines rather than buying them, for instance.
The art dimension of manga rather than the most popular comics of the moment.
At any rate, we wandered Den Den Town until late at night, encouraged to leave
only by the fact that even though we only had to find the closest railway station,
we were still going to have a heck of a lot of trouble finding our
way home.
We did find the station eventually, although I would be lying if I said
we didn't get lost again on the way back. It just didn't particularly matter
that we were lost, since any station would do for our purposes, and no
amount of confusing maps could keep us from one of those since they were
everywhere. The station we did eventually end up in was a fascinating place
all on its own: quite unexpectedly, it doubled as an art gallery.
 No
Manga art this time, but long walls of replica paintings, apparently created
through the use of some sort of advanced printing process to transfer original
paintings onto thick ceramic tiles. Why ceramic, I have no idea - I wouldn't
even have known about the ceramic part if I hadn't read some of the plaques.
The originals of these paintings hang in a famous art gallery somewhere
in the United States, but thousands of commuters walk past them every day,
here, just as part of their commute to work. That is as baffling as it
is brilliant, and I think more train stations ought to do it. What harm
to throw a bit of education to the masses, eh?
Speaking of which, although we got back late at night, there was one thing
left to see - and that was late-night Japanese edutainment. We got back
to the hotel pretty worn out - in fact, I was too tired even to make my
usual eyebrow-raising suggestions regarding the saucy storefronts that
surrounded us. We weren't too tired, however, to flick on the TV, and what
we saw would change our conception of learning forever.
In Japan, people need only turn on their television set in the evening,
and they can learn anything their little hearts desire, from science through
history and foreign languages, by means of the hijinx of a whole lot of
cute girls and animated 3D pandas, or from game shows which - rather than
reward knowledge of random trivia, or good guessing - reward one's knowledge
in a particular subject area. I was amazed. Hilarious as it was to watch
English-speakers say completely different words (which would be spelled
the same in Japanese) and see the poor Japanese people unable to differentiate
the words, it was clear this was a potent educational tool. They even show
university-level lectures in the various sciences, as well as presenting
scientific papers on TV at certain times! Instead
of going in to school or uni every day, wouldn't you rather sit down for
some TV in the evening and have a bevvy of attractive young ladies and
giant pandas
teach you whatever you need to know?
I know I would.
Day 17 - In which Liv loses his umbrella, but saves a girl's life
Today, being the high-flyin' travel-hounds that we were, Ash and I decided
to have our breakfast in Himeji. I kid you not: such is the awesomeness
of bullet trains, that we could decide on a whim to go eat breakfast in
the shadow of Himeji Castle, if we so chose; and it didn't cost us a thing!
We were intending to chow down on more delicious crépes, as on our last
trip to Himeji, but some closed stores and the alluring pull of baking-scents
(those sneaky Japanese!) assured that in time we substituted this idea
with a new and better idea of devouring a sizeable quantity of delicious
baked-goods.
 Thereafter, we
hopped back on the train and headed down some local lines to a lovely little
place called Tatsuno, in Hyōgo prefecture. This should by no means be confused
with the oldcity of Tatsuno, in Hyōgo prefecture, which despite having
exactly the same name is (of course) a completely different place.
Tatsuno had the feel of being a quaint little village, despite actually
being a remarkably large town with all the amenities. Upon alighting here,
we had the acute feeling of being in the middle of nowhere. We certainly
knew what we were here for: Tatsuno was celebrating the Sakura Matsuri,
which translates to "Cherry Blossom Festival", and we had decided that
there could be no better way to cap off our trip to Japan. What eluded
us, however, is any idea of where we were going. As it happened, the town
had not gone to the trouble of putting up gigantic billboards saying "IGNORANT
FOREIGNERS GO THIS WAY"... or if it had, they'd probably spelled it
more like "知らない外国人がこの方向に進まなければならない！", which didn't really help
us any.
Luckily for us, the Sakura Matsuri attracts a sizeable population of Japanese
natives (in fact, we were some of the exceedingly few gaijin to
be found there), resulting in a reasonably obvious marching-ants trail
of happy Japanese people. Given their infectious good cheer, however, I
did want to make sure we were not inadvertently being drawn into a sign-holders'
convention, so I spent half a minute in furious concentration, and managed
to string together the sentence "Excuse me, madam, but my friend and I
are looking for the Cherry Blossom Festival." I lacked the skills
to finish the thought, so I followed that up with an exaggerated shrug,
and more than a little vapid confusion on my face. The stooped old lady
I targeted with this little gem of communicative ability replied by giving
me a toothy grin, exclaiming a torrent of curious sounds which may have
been a suggestion that we follow her, and
waggling her cane
excitedly in my direction.
We took this as confirmation of sorts, although we eventually moved on
to following the line of people, given that the old lady didn't exactly
have much hustle to her, and we didn't have a week of festival to look
forward to as she did. Putting on some speed, we struck deep into the heart
of Tatsuno, a pair of wandering Samurai eventually serving as suitable
proof that we had gone the right direction. After a bit of a photo-op,
we continued up the hill towards the temple and its majestic surrounds.
One thing I should mention about Tatsuno was that unlike in the various
big cities we had been touring, there was little to see here that wasn't
distinctly Japanese in its appearance and flavour. From the houses to the
various walled complexes to the school we were able to peer into from high
above, everything looked like it had been puzzled together from old Japanese
movies and anime backdrops. More-so even than in Kamakura, we had the feeling
of having stepped right into the idealized picture of urban Japan we were
familiar with from a hundred different stories - except that it wasn't
idealised: everything was exactly the way it was portrayed in their imagery,
down to the beautiful neighborhoods, the cherry blossoms, and the neat
little gardens full of tiny trees. It made the whole place feel warm and
familiar, like an old shoe full of merry yellow people.
Well, no, probably not very much like that at all.
The Sakura Matsuri was in full swing by the time we got there, even though
we arrived fairly early. Families here went well beyond our Australian
"shrimp on the barbie", using portable gas stoves and a variety of cooking
implements to throw up great clouds of savoury smoke. Fathers and mothers
cooked up a storm of sizzling seafood delectations as their extended families
lounged on big blue tarps and watched the cherry blossoms bloom. All around,
children and adults in fancy, multi-coloured armour raced this way and
that, assembling into units, barking orders, and generally organizing into
a massive parade that blanketed the entire shrine area, filling it with
smiling children, colourful clan banners and a few remarkably unexcited
Japanese horses who, presumably, had seen it all before.
 Here,
Ash and I essentially parted ways. It wasn't something we discussed, but
mostly a function of differing priorities. I, for one, wanted to try out
every ice cream flavour and eat a squid on a stick. Whenever I saw Ashnil
wandering about, it was with his massive camera hanging at crotch-height,
the telephoto lens extending suggestively to just about double its length
whenever he caught sight of a pretty young girl. I wisely stayed away.
I wasn't really sure when the actual parade would start, and the ways
were soon clogged with parade-marchers to such an extent that I figured
it had to be happening soon, so I took advantage of the lull to pick myself
out a good vantage point. My initial thought was to head up to the temple and
watch the parade from above, but this did not work out so well given the
temple being off-limits due to parade preparations. It did result in some
fine photo-op chances, however, as I got to watch the Mysterious Shiny
Temple Thing™ get hauled out for our parade-viewing pleasure. While I'm
not exactly sure what the deal is with that, I did know from a weird Japanese
cheerleading game for the DS that it was quite the honour to hold the big
shiny thing, and that everyone in the procession behind it has earned that
honour in some way. Behind it marched a variety of temple types with what
looked like foxes on sticks, and a bunch of high school students in uniform,
who presumably were some sort of honour students, prefects or SRC.
Behind them, around them, above them, and just about everywhere the ground
was firm enough marched Liviu, getting some quality parade photoes from
a variety of angles; then eventually realising that they were just getting
into position, and the parade
hadn't actually
started yet.
Not for the first time this trip, I cursed my lack of wide-angle lens.
There were so many people in so many colours and costumes absolutely filling
this temple complex to the brim, that it was unfortunate I couldn't get
a picture that truly captured the vastness of this celebratory parade.
I did, however, do what I could to get a whole lot of quality pictures of
the event - which I'm happy to share with anyone who's interested. Many
of these, I got by climbing up precarious slopes, hanging on by the hook
of my
umbrella, and taking panoramic or zoom shots of parts of the crowd. I'm
sure many of the Japanese families around me figured I was either crazy
or a journalist, or both, but it did net me some nice photos. It also allowed
me to evade the crush of native Japanese photographers, who numbered in
the hundreds and surrounded every photo-worthy target thickly, their gigantic
cameras and massive extendable lenses more over-the-top even than Ashnil's.
I felt somewhat overmatched by the thousands of dollars of camera equipment
every one of them seemed to be carrying, but I doubt if many of them got
half as many good photoes as I did just by perching as high-up as I could
go.
 It
wasn't too much longer until the parade was in full swing, and the people
began to move out. Having gotten quite enough overhead shots, I decided
to maneuver my way into the path of the parade and get some shots of them
marching past. Unfortunately, I quite failed to understand just how many
Japanese folk were attending this parade: despite the fact that the path
they would follow wended its way through just about this whole section
of Tatsuno, nevertheless every single nook and cranny was jam-packed with
camera-wielding Japanese folk, each of them fiercely territorial and with
giant-er camera equipment than mine.
Thus, I didn't really end up able to take a great many quality photoes
of the parade going by, but I did get to watch in amazement at just how
many people made it up: the parade proceeded by age-groups, with each age-range
of children grouped into a different clan group, with a different flag
and differently coloured uniforms. The kids were led by fancily-attired
Samurai who were leading them in a repeated shout of what sounded like
"IT IS OOON!" or maybe "GET IT ON!". I still don't
know what they were actually saying, but they sounded very excited about
it. The marching adults, by contrast, were not terribly cheerful. With
an air about them of having done this a million times and gotten terribly
sick of it all, they shouted their catchcry with visibly reduced enthusiasm,
which may explain why they ushered all the children out ahead of them.
Behind those fancy soldiers came the procession of Shiny Temple Thing™
bearers, their accompanying green-clad temple types with the fox-tails
on sticks, then the school children in uniform, a variety of drums and
things, and finally the Samurai on horseback.
 This
procession marched its way through town in a winding path, ending their
mighty parade at the foot of the castle-like town wall which led to a raised
traditional garden which was chock-a-block with picnickers and cherry blossom
trees. Here the Japanese photographer types clustered most thickly, gathered
to snap Miss Tatsuno (the winner of today's beauty competition) and the
entirety of the parade, as they gathered beneath the city wall.
Here, not even my trick of clambering up to high places could secure me
a good vantage point free of crazy Japanese photographers, because even
the high places were being camped by old men with super-expensive cameras
- nor, I realised, did I still have my umbrella to hang off things with.
At some point, I must have left it hanging on an awning or a tree somewhere back
at the temple. And so, I was left vying with the masses to stake my claim
to a perch somewhere with good vantage. This took a bit of work and a lot
of clambering, but luckily my much smaller camera and much lighter build
allowed me to eventually wedge myself up on a high perch right in front
of the gates, squashed up against a couple of old men, a woman who looked
like she would've liked to get down if she could find a way out, and a
number of children who - like me - occupied the very edge of the crumbling
masonry, and jostled each other alarmingly.
Shortly thereafter, the parade began to pour into the square in a seemingly
well-rehearsed arrangement. I also got a glimpse of both Miss Tatsunos,
the competition having apparently yielded two winning beauties considered
equally worthy, and got to see the Samurai blowing their conch shells,
and a variety of other little rituals I didn't really understand. Below,
annoying photographers in ugly-ass shirts competed to get in the way of
my framing good pictures, but my high vantage point was sufficient to cut
out most of them, and get a great view of all the pageantry as it happened.
Behind me, the small children - apparently bored - had seemingly decided
that this precarious position was the perfect place to bring out their
respective hoards of Yu-Gi-Oh cards and get some serious trading on. As
such, numerous small boys were laying out their card collection in some
sort of order, haggling like fishmongers and stepping backwards to lay
down more cards without apparent regard for the crumbling wall-top on which
they were standing. A tiny little girl who was maybe four years of age,
meanwhile, leaned out over the edge to watch the other children frolick
below. Her limbs were positively minuscule, and she was wearing what looked
like tiny flowery pajamas; I remember thinking that my mother had a porcelain
doll which wasn't much smaller than her, and being amazed that a real,
functioning human being could be so very little.
Now, if you know me (or have ever tried to teach me defensive driving),
you
know that my brain is always measuring the most unlikely possibilities
about any given situation, and treating them as if they were not just possible
but likely. This isn't terribly useful when I overlook the most obvious
things because I'm focusing on what might happen in some obscure circumstance
(thanks for your patience, Dad...  ), but in this case it did
mean that rather than watching the
parade more
closely or wondering how I might get down (or why the flagstone under me
felt so unsteady...), I happened to be thinking at that precise point
in time: "If that little girl goes plummeting off the wall... would
I be able to catch her?"
Not only was I thinking this, but I had actually freed up one of my hands,
presumably to measure the distance between us or something (who knows how
my mind works? Not I...). Whatever my subconscious thought process may
have been, however, this occurred about half a second before one of the
little boys - the one I thought of as her brother - took a small step backward,
absorbed in his trading-card marketeering, and inadvertently gave his sister
a light shove. Given her feather-weight and dangerous position, this was
more than enough to push her forward in a way that would almost certainly
have made her plummet to her death on the flagstones below.
Except I caught her arm.
It was a simple thing. One moment she was stumbling forward, the next
she was back on her feet, watching eagerly as the people went by down below.
She didn't look at me, nor even smile. She just kept looking down. I
don't think she even realised she had been in any danger. Certainly the
little boy never noticed,
nor any of the old guys with their eyes to Canon or Nikon lenses as thick
as your
arm.
I wanted to say something. Something like "please be careful",
or
"you
could have killed your sister, you little bastard"... but I didn't
know the words. So I just tucked away my camera after brushing it off and
checking it over a little (since it had taken a bit
of a smack against the stonework when I let go of it to grab her). Then
I sat down on the edge of the wall with my legs out over the side, and
edged a little closer to the little girl and her brother. I kept my hands
free, just in case.
 Once
the parade had dispersed, I was free to observe the remainder of the festival.
Back at the temple, a new procession had formed, this time consisting of
the older women of the town. Where the young ones played soldier, and the
older ones competed for the title of Miss Tatsuno, the older ladies of
town had their own contribution to make to the festival. Gussied up in
a Geisha-like style, they too walked in a number of groups, each of which
had their own colour. They carried odd little clapper instruments, and
were walking in a slow, elegant dance, clicking their clapper thingies
at intervals and occasionally producing other small instruments. All around
them, speakers played "Hana Matsuri" (Flower Festival) songs, or played
back the music of a small number of traditional musicians who were performing
in a raised wooden box up by the temple.
They moved very slowly, and I had plenty of time to clamber up into the
woods above the path they took, to try to get some pictures from above.
Unfortunately, this didn't work so terribly well this time around, and
all I got was a splinter in the hand for my trouble. The cherry blossoms
and such weren't really in the right positions to use them to frame the
line of dancing Geishas in a nice vignette photograph, and the mountainside
was so steep that it actually took me some time to get back down.
The Geisha parade ended in a different spot: namely, in the midst of the
traditional festival stalls. This wasn't a huge festival (apparently...
it seemed pretty big to me), so the selection
of stalls was reasonably limited. I did see all the staples, however...
excepting only the goldfish-catching stalls these festivals are supposed
to have. Unfortunately, the fishing was limited to catching bouncing balls
in a cup, which seemed a lot less challenging to me.
 In
exploring this section, I was able to enjoy a variety of interesting festival
foods. In particular, Japan appears to have four key flavours of ice-cream
to our three. Every ice cream brand or place worth anything at all in Australia
will at the very least offer Chocolate, Strawberry, and Vanilla. In Japan,
however, this must-have list includes one other flavour: Melon.
If you've never had Melon ice cream, I can only say that I have no idea
why it doesn't seem to be mainstream anywhere else. The moment you eat
Melon ice cream, you can't help but think "Of COURSE. This flavour
was MADE for ice cream". It was basically like a cross between rock-melon
and cantaloupe, except even more cool and refreshing.
I also got to indulge another culinary-wish-list article. You see, beyond
the McHottuDogu and Takoyaki I had already had, there was one other must-have
item I simply had to try. I would go so far as to say that it was part
of my reason for trying so hard to find a festival we could attend (because,
according to Ash's comprehensive guidebooks, there actually were no festivals
within the period of our visit). This, of course, was the Squid on a Stick.
This must-have culinary item is pretty much what it says. It's a squid.
It's on a stick. Basically, they baste it in all kinds of fabulous spices,
cook it on a hot-plate for a while, then
shove a stick through it and marinate the heck out of it. Without meaning
to brag, I am quite the squid connoisseur. The moment I put it in my mouth,
I knew I was dealing with quality.
That was before I tried to chew it. Chewing, you will find, is a whole
'nother matter. It's not easy to chew a squid, on or off the stick. Gnawing
at it kept me busy for a while.
 As
to the rest of the festivities, there was plenty to see. Mostly, of course,
the festival is rather a sedate one outside of the parading: people sit
about on big blue mats and eat a whole lot of seafood (with or without
putting it on sticks first). There were a variety of interesting cultural
antics in evidence, however. In particular, there was one large knot of
young men who - as I was wandering by trying to bite through my squid -
began engaging in some manner of masculine ritual which consisted of tearing
off their shirts, grabbing what looked like a bunch of large wooden clubs,
and proceeding to laugh uproariously as they beat the hell out of each
other, then picked each other up and crowdsurfed to the booze, where each
of them would down a heck of a lot of alcohol, and the beatings would begin
again.
I can't say for certain whether this was some kind of tradition, or just
everyday college-male idiocy.
Outside of my cultural observations, I largely just wandered the stalls
looking at trinkets, and explored around the town itself. Tatsuno was home
to a variety of intriguing tourist hot spots, such as Tatsuno Castle, and
the (apparently famous) Tatsuno Light-Coloured Soy Sauce Museum. There
just wasn't enough time in the day to see them all, but what I did wander
of the town was very interesting. Not long after, however, it was time
to find Ashnil-san and head on home. By the time I had muscled my way through
that squid on a stick, the time had come to leave here, and prepare for
our flight home.
It was with trepidation that we returned to the confusing walkways and
sleazy surrounds of Osaka, looking with an almost motherly fondness at
all of the weird sex stores and tucked away shrine thingies that surrounded
our Hotel. Now that we were leaving, every stone, every street-sign, every
brightly-coloured catgirl hooker, hit us with a profound sense of loss
and nostalgia.
It was that kind of night.
Our packing was over quickly, and dinner was plain but delicious. Soon,
we began to feel the reality of the situation: our sojourn in this distant,
bizarre country had come to an end. Tomorrow, we went home, flying back
to Australia.
Accustomed as I was to sampling every drink on offer in Japan's wacky
vending machines, I pulled out some of my last few Japanese Yen, and
bought myself yet another completely incomprehensible drink-bottle. Tonight,
it was an "Alligator", which was some kind of melony energy
drink with an aftertaste like spring onion, which came in a green, scaly
glass bottle. It was to be my last bizarre Japanese drink. Just one more,
for the road.
It was disgusting, of course. Completely disgusting; but that didn't
worry me. In that place, at that moment, for that brief piece of time:
it tasted like liquid gold. |
Big Japan Finale
Lunzo: That post must be as long as each of your other Japan blogs. I did read all of it and the insight into the Livman thought process was simultaneously interesting, enlightening and a little scary.
GrubLord: Yeah, the finale did turn out a bit long... that's why it took me so long to finish writing it! 
