Since I’m moving to Japan in precisely two weeks, I thought it would be appropriate to look at what I wrote about the wonderful and mysterious land of the rising prices, on my first trip way back in 2002 (reading my old writing, I get annoyed with my too-liberal use of brackets… aw crap.)

-To Japan-

Early morning on April 25th I drove to the airport with my Mom, Dad, and friend Skye, a student from China (originally on exchange to St. Mary’s) who would be participating in the same exchange program as me. After a bad taste of 80`s rock, typical of an unnamed Halifax radio station, the news came on: seems that scientists have discovered evidence to back up the phenomenon of “Spring Fever” — the theory that says males are more aggressive in pursuing females in the Spring season — typically thought of as an old wives tale. They said something to the effect that male hormones actually increase involuntarily in the spring season. “Good,” I thought to myself, as we pulled into the airport parking lot, “not even on the plane yet, and already I’ve got an excuse ready.”

The flight to Japan was longer than I would ever wish to have been on an airplane. All 20-or-so hours that we flew were in daylight as we were flying west, the sun following us the entire time. It was, needless to say, not exactly conducive to sustained sleep. I was reminded of the words of a favorite travel writer: “there’s nothing like a good night’s sleep; and that was nothing like a good night’s sleep.”

-Multiculturalism-

My first night in Tokyo was a multicultural gathering if I ever attended one. Skye and myself stayed with Skye`s Chinese friends who had come to Japan to study Japanese, in their typical (read: small and cramped) downtown Tokyo apartment. There was Shao Ming, Winnie (her English nickname; I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how to spell her Chinese name) and Xu Zheng. Both Shao Ming and Winnie were fluent in Japanese, as they had been studying for over a year in Tokyo, while Xu Zheng had arrived weeks before and could speak very little. Neither Shao Ming, Winnie, nor Xu Zheng knew a lick of English to save their lives, save “Hello” (or rather, “Harro”). Then there was Skye, from China, who spoke English very well, and me, Oh-Canadian me, with a year of Japanese study at St. Mary’s under my belt (this, by the way, translates into very little in actual Japanese conversation) and English that (according to Mom) could use some fine tuning.

As a welcoming gesture, our Chinese hosts had cooked a feast worthy of about 15 people: chicken, cooked fish, raw fish, beef, pork, rice, salad, and some sort of miniature squid (for the record: good taste, bad texture). The Chinese also treated us to Korean-made Sake (a traditionally Japanese wine made from rice) and, strangely enough, Italian Red Wine. By the end of the night, I had learned a handful of new words in Chinese, notably: “Gan bei!” (“Cheers!”) and “Gom eir” (“Pal”), to be used in conjunction — “Cheers, Pal!” I also believe I may have learned how to say “I’m too drunk to stand up” in Mandarin Chinese, but, alas, the translation escapes my memory.

-Karaoke-

It has been said by some that, along with efficient cars and electronics, Karaoke is Japan’s most significant world export in the last few decades. The word “Karaoke” comes from combining “kara,” from “karappo” (if said fast in Japanese it sounds like you’re saying, appropriately enough, “crap”), meaning empty, and “oke,” an abbreviation of the English loan-word for orchestra, “okesutura.” Invented some 20 years ago as a form of cheap entertainment and nursed by Japanese businessmen into a multimillion-dollar industry of Karaoke bars, speaker cabinets, and microphones, Karaoke is now serious business in Japan. Not to mention the off-shoot “Karaoke Boxes:” For those of you who haven’t had the pleasure, these are establishments where the customer (likely a Japanese salaryman and colleagues after work) pays to sit in a small room to sing along to a song whose words appear on a television screen and highlight as the music plays.

I visited one of these “Karaoke Boxes” in Tokyo, the second night I stayed at Shao Ming`s. Me, Skye, Xu Zheng, and Shao Ming crammed into a small room with a huge, booming stereo and a TV for about 25 dollars an hour. Our Chinese hosts sang a few traditional Chinese songs and a few popular (or so I was told) Japanese hits I’d never heard before, while me and Skye belted out songs by the Eagles (“Hotel California”), Michael Jackson (“Bad”), and Queen (“We are the Champions”). Later, at Skye`s request we also performed an Eminem song and, much later, a Dido song — “Thank You,” which, coincidentally, everyone did after we stopped singing.

-Tokyo Disney-

A few drinks in, during Karaoke, Xu Zheng decided he would take Skye and myself to Tokyo Disney Land (or, as the Japanese call it, “Tokyo Disunee Raando”). I was told it was a smaller version of the one in Florida, which I’d never seen but had wanted to go to since I was a kid, so I decided to pay the $50-or-so American it cost to get in. Splash Mountain was great and even better was Space Mountain, although I had enough of those two after a few, stomach-churning rides. On the Splash Mountain ride, the little fuzzy characters singing a Japanese-language version of “Zippidy-doo-da” were funny and yet slightly disturbing at the same time, but apparently I was the only one who thought so. In the early afternoon, walking from one ride to the next, I actually saw for the first and only time so far in Japan, an authentic Buddhist monk, dressed in complete garb, head shaved and all. In Disney Land. Tokyo Disney Land. Strange enough.

-Playing the Tourist-

Driving in a typical Japanese (read: small and cramped) rental car, we toured much of the countryside surrounding Tokyo (you have to drive pretty far to get to any countryside, mind you). We listened to a few mix tapes along the car ride, including a tape of traditional Chinese music ,which I quite enjoyed, and what I believe to be a “Much Dance Mix” tape, circa late-1980s, (don’t ask me where on earth they got it) which was absolutely horrible. After hearing the song “Be my Samurai” seven or eight times in about as many hours, I was convinced whoever sang the song should be shot as a suitable punishment. Make that twice (both kneecaps).

We ended up driving all the way to Mt. Fuji, which is, by any means, a ways from Tokyo. When I asked whether we would climb it, I was laughed at; no, we drove for hours upon hours to see Fuji Mountain. But I’m not bitter; it was a beautiful mountain. Later we drove (in circles, mind you; the computer guidance system equipped in the rental car was devoid of any sort of timing, assuring us to make turns two minutes after passing the appropriate intersections) to Mount Fuji onsen. For those of you who don’t know, onsen are communal baths, usually centered on a naturally occurring hot spring; these communal baths (sometimes sex segregated, sometimes not) are what the Japanese consider a good time. Many Japanese will take vacations and simply sit around an onsen, sweating it out in water that would likely melt copper. Most foreigners find this enthusiasm towards communal bathing a little strange, and I was no exception. Overall though, it was an interesting and not unpleasant experience. (Those of you that thought they would get an intricate description of the visit will be disappointed — I’m stopping here.)

-Gaijin Zoo-

Ueno Zoo, in downtown Tokyo (is there any part of Tokyo that isn’t downtown?) was not unlike any other zoo, except for the rare giant Pandas and the surplus of Japanese people. There were times, however, that I felt like I was being stared at — most likely due to the fact that the majority of its visitors were not city-dwellers. Kids would occasionally point to me and say “Gaijin!” (a rather rude way of addressing foreigners in Japan, it literally means “an outside person”), and, as a rebuttal, I would sometimes point back and say “Nihonjin!” (“a Japanese person”) to the amusement of the child’s parents. Other times, while watching animals, I felt the stare of many eyes burning holes in my back; if you’ve never been a visible minority before (like being the only Caucasian person in an entire Zoo), it’s a strange feeling that can change your perspective on race and color.

-Japanese Rock Music-

My second night in Sapporo, I stumbled (literally; I had been sampling the local brews — purely from an anthropological perspective, of course) upon a public concert in Udori Park, which is a small stretch of grass and fountains bisecting a downtown street. The lead singer was a Japanese Joey Lawrence look-a-like (complete with torn, acid wash jeans, and dyed, dirty blond hair), who danced like the love-child of Robert Smith (of “The Cure” fame) and Britney Spears — you figure it out. The Keyboardist (the band’s rhythm section) sounded like a cross between a 1989 Billy Joel CD and a Japanese version of N`Sync (that’s my best approximation), with the guitarist screeching out bad 80`s metal guitar solos over top. The result was certainly anything but good (the phrase “barely listenable” comes to mind), but the band played with gusto and it appeared that the audience actually took them seriously; the elderly and the skateboard-toting youth alike, nodding their heads to the beat. To quote the great, middle-aged comedy-writer, Dave Barry: “Rock music is indeed the universal language of the young, and the Japanese youth cannot speak it worth squat.”

A random email sent to a few friends, July 19th, 2002:

So. Here’s an extremely quick summary, as I’m writing from a ludicrously expensive Internet cafe. When my two-month language-study program finished on July 5th, I decided to try to hitchhike my way to Tokyo. The past two weeks, starting from Aomori in northern Japan, I hitchhiked over 1000 kilometers (during two typhoons) climbed 3 mountains (including Mt. Fuji, at almost 4000m, the tallest in Japan), saw a thousand year old temple, slept on park benches and in train stations, and got picked up by a van of Japanese nursing college students (not surprisingly, one of the highlights of the trip). I’ve rocked out with a Japanese bartender (him on keyboards, me on guitar) at 4am while he served me free Canadian whiskey (Canadian whiskey!) in his small-town, hole-in-the-wall bar. I’ve been taken home by complete strangers and given a place to stay, met some of the kindest people I’ve ever met, and I think I may have even managed to communicate a little bit in Japanese. Now, with a week left and way ahead of schedule, I’m about a 20-minute hitchhike from Tokyo; I’m not quite sure what I’ll do now, but be sure you’ll hear the stories later. Needless to say, I think I’m having the best time of my life.

PS Tell my parents and die a slow, painful death.

PPS Seriously though.