May 18th, 2001

Kyoto, Japan

Konichiwa, all! Hello from the TRUE concrete jungle, Japan. The good ole US of A ain't got nothing on this place - where else can you: saunter downtown on 20ft wide black marble sidewalks, practice the latest dance steps on a video game, and bleed your wallet dry faster than a vampire on speed? My first impressions of the place? Well, you have to first know what I encountered on arrival.

Since I only had a week (and even that was straining my budget, in this country where cab rides START at $5 - a night's stay in SE Asia), I was planning on spending the entire time in Kyoto staying with a good friend, Brendan. So first location: the airport. I think it was Heinlein (or Asimov? not sure...) who wrote a story about a planet entirely covered by buildings and streets, without an inch of green remaining. He probably got the idea from Japan. (This must also be the inspiration for, and ultimate goal of, Bush's energy policy...) Kansai airport is basically a man-made island connected to the mainland by a bridge or two. (I hear these things cost the earth to build - that would explain the surprise $26 departure tax when I left a week later.) On the plane's final approach, you see only grey and black down below, as though the color has been literally sucked out of the air by all the technology. Kind of a reverse Ted Turner-old movies thing.

Of course my experience with customs didn't help 'color' my first impression too well either. A very nice and polite young customs lady decided that this dirty hippie straight out of Bangkok HAD to be carrying something stronger than aspirin and spent 15 minutes with me, searching my bags thoroughly (the hard plastic back inside my pannier probably screamed false bottom to her) and showing me pictures of all types of pills, pot, and paraphenalia to make sure I knew what she was looking for. (And giving me a chance to 'confess' also, I guess.) All this was fine and dandy until she pulled out my toilet bag and 'discovered' a plastic bag filled with loose vitamins and Ibuprofen pills. Oh, boy. "Excuse me sir, can you come with us please". So I was marched down length of the terminal, security in front AND behind, to a little examination room. For customs guys who now suspected me of carrying, they were firm but almost unbelievably polite! (Since I knew I had nothing to fear and they were still being incredibly polite, I was feeling secure enough to actually enjoy the experience, and debated long and hard whether to SUDDENLY AND URGENTLY DIVE DOWN TO... tie my shoes or something, just to test these guys reactions. Well, maybe next time...)

In the little exam room, I was surrounded by about 6 guys, all still being extremely polite (none spoke much English, about the only detail that concerned me a bit) as they did a body search (hey, that's not my pocket, buddy!) and then laid a test kit on the table. One of 'em crumbled an ibuprofen into a little bowl, dabbed a drop of test liquid on it, and since it didn't turn blue or catch fire or whatever it was supposed to do, I was pretty much free to go. And go I did. Interesting experience - my buddy Brendan was greatly surprised, as Japan has until recently maintained the reputation of being pretty lax about such things. The times they are a-changin', I guess.

And the train ride between Kansai and Kyoto, a journey of close to 2 hours, doesn't expose you to much in the way of woodlands, either. You basically pass through 2 major cities on your way in and see more green in your hand when you pay for the ticket than you do out the window on the ride. (Ok, that'll be the last reference to money. Well, maybe...) But Kyoto was much more environmentally welcoming, especially near Brendan's place. The city is surrounded by low wooded mountains and his apartment sits literally at the base of a beautiful hill at the north end of town, almost as though he'd searched hard for a place that most reminded him of living in the Rattlesnake neighborhood of Missoula. Even arriving at night, I was struck by the similarities between here and Montana, from the surrounding mountains to the cool pine-scented air and the 'civilized' first-world feel. Ah, cool air - what a wonderful thing! Having not felt anything like it for about 5 months and by now missing home quite a bit, Kyoto was almost painfully familiar to me in many ways. So close and yet so far, still!

B's apartment is a shoebox (about size 5 pumps, I believe) consisting of two rooms with a shared kitchen, bathroom (with Japanese-sized squat toilet), and coin-op shower. But it's quaint, comfortable, and best of all, cheap. Tatami mats on wooden floors, sliding screen separating the two rooms, shoes stored in little cupboards at the common entrance, and tons of little features designed to make it seem more spacious than it is. Somehow we managed to fit, fairly comfortably I might add, 3 guys and all their crap in it for a few days. And an added benefit to the crowding was that you never had to get up to get anything: everything is always within arms reach of at least one person!

Since Porter wasn't arriving for a day or 2, Brendan and I hit the town Saturday night together. Figuring the news of our imminent arrival had already hit the streets, we were surprised at the lack of screaming fans at the first club - ah, they must be waiting for the arrival of the big P. But we soon got over our hurt feelings and made our way to the bar for some liquid courage for me (those of us who are dance-impaired, like myself, need a little booster now and then) and settled down to watch some Japanese dancing. There's a relatively new craze called para-para hitting the scene there - all the latest songs have set dance movements that everyone tries to memorize and then perform together on the floor. Brendan says its all part of the group-consciousness thing here, and I have to agree. It's about as far from being individualistic or unique as you can get. Dancing the same moves with your buds is one thing, but trying to unite the whole country simultaneously smacks of Big Brother. The moves are somewhat reminiscent of break-dancing stuff from the early 80's, though the music tends to blur the similarities a bit. Basic para-para instructions: take a Chipmunks song, back it up with a typical dance-beat, and crank it up to 180 bpm. Then tack a 'robot' dance routine to it, at that same light-warp speed, and you've got a decent idea of para-para. Mmmm-hmmm! Makes you wanna go dancing right now, doesn't it? When the three of us get back, we're gonna try and introduce it to Missoula.

Though this was pretty entertaining, Brendan and I soon found ourselves in the western quarter of the dance club (meaning with the 'other' group of people who can't dance), boogying down with a group of Russian women. All fun and games until Brendan steals one of the women away from a drunk dude, prompting much discussion and gestures towards Brendan by him and his friends on the sidelines. Brendan, of course, was happily oblivious to this (being in the arms of the beautiful Julia) leaving me wondering how much damage we 2 could inflict before the 5 of them jumped all over us, should they decide that's the way they wanted it. ("Hey! Back off! I know karate - and 15 other Japanese words!") Nothing came of it, though, and despite the fact that it was 4:30am and LIGHT outside, fachrissake, Brendan managed to talk 4 women (and 2 other guys - way to go, B!) into going back to his place for an after-hours party. My hero! Must be the Irish blood in him.

Back in the shoe box, after quickly emptying the one bottle of wine we had, I did a beer run to keep the party fueled. Only in Japan can you, at 5am with all the stores closed, pull as much beer as you need (or can afford, at $2.50 each?) out of a neighborhood vending machine. Vive le Asia! So in this little 2 room apartment, we managed to squeeze out a great time - Brendan chatting with Julia; me chatting to Marina, the only redheaded Russian I've ever met (hell, the ONLY Russian woman I've ever met, for that matter); the Japanese guys chatting to each other and ignoring their women.But of course, the party quickly wound down - you can only keep it going into full daylight for so long without pulling out inhalable rather than drinkable substances. After the usual exchange of numbers and promises to see each other again tomorrow (today?), we dropped to the floor for a few z's. Whattanight!

If you haven't realized it already, Japan is quite a curious mix of old and new, east and west. One of the most curious things to me is the behavior of the sexes at different times in their lives, especially with regard to women. In their youth, the girls are quite forward and lively, usually much more so than their male peers (which is probably the case all over the world). When the 3 of us ventured out to the tourist sites, it wasn't unusual for groups of schoolkids to approach us for English practice, and the leaders of the groups would quite often be the girls. As they grow up, graduate, and enter the workplace and society as mature women, they assume quite a subservient role to men. Until recently it wasn't uncommon for men to take custody of their children in divorce cases, and women are much more likely to be housewives than their western counterparts. (The divorced wife of the current prime minister hasn't SEEN her children since their divorce took place many years ago, and this isn't considered unusual.)

But a significant change takes place once they reach 'elderly' status: the women become quite vocal and demanding, shockingly so to us westerners now used to the 'polite' Japanese! At a crowded parade we went to watch, we were literally shoved along from behind worse than I've ever encountered in any crowd situation. And it was the 'little old ladies' in the crowd who were responsible, pushing HARD and elbowing folks out of the way. One was wheeling a bike through the masses, and turned often to glare and snap at people who expressed any displeasure with the action, as ludicrous as it was under the circumstances! We spend a good bit of time wondering about it and postulating various reasons, but didn't end up understanding it any more than before.

The food in Japan is quite good, especially if you like rice (no, I'm serious!). You can get bento boxes in all supermarkets and convenience stores that look like high-class tv dinners (is there any such thing?) with separate compartments for rice, fish, chicken, noodles, sauces, etc. The presentation for everything can be exquisite: incredibly decorated little desserts in neat rows, seaweed 'bows' and wrapping on rice and fish morsels, and everything has its own special package surrounding and protecting it, often 2 or 3 layers deep! Japan is the nation of packing material. Pears and apples each have their own foam surrounding; gifts are wrapped, taped, and bagged for you; and EVERYTHING gets a plastic bag, sometimes 2, when you leave a store. Doesn't matter whether you have 20 items or just 1 - it gets bagged. If you tell the clerks 'no bag, please', you just end up confusing them mightily.

Now back in Thailand, I miss Japan quite a bit. More than just being able to see good friends again (no small thing for me!), I also miss the politeness, the western feel (at least in comparison to the rest of Asia), and the ease of getting around in the society. I'm wanting home soon. (And I miss Marina too, but we'll save THAT particular story for another time!) Mom is here with me and we're currently on the island of Ko Tao, relaxing in the sun. I just haven't had enough vacation, I guess!

Sayonara until next time.

Mark-out

Me in a typical pose lately.	Brendan and Julia
Me, Marina, and an unidentified (or unremembered Russian.	Typical Japlish.
High-rise parking in space-challenged Japan.	Hmm, what can we do with this extra 8 feet of space over here? I know - we'll build a house!
Typically enthusiastic schoolgirls practicing their English. Nixon is big over here.	Practicing the latest dance steps for para-para in a shopping mall video arcade.