Angry Bambi and Too Many Crackers

The Japanese have an uncanny knack for making the undesirable desirable; fashions, tweeny pop bands and near-rabid animals to name a few. The typical cute animal is small, fluffy, usually white and docile enough to fit inside a seasonal costume but Japan have found a way to make a few hundred wild deers into loveable real-life bambis.

Everyone has heard of Kyoto and all its historical significance but what everyone  hasn’t heard about is Nara, a town about an hour from Kyoto where deers rule the roads. Huge signs line the streets, paths, duel carriageways and bypasses highlighting the likely possibility of a stray deer holding up traffic. It’s a far(ish) walk from the station but bear with it because it’s definitely worth it. Make sure you don’t fall for the first pools of over-fed, under-exercised, lethargic deer you come across though , they’re reserved for the eager children and tired salarymen dads.

That is until you weave your way through the masses and find your way to the holy grail that is the Todaiji Shrine. A huge orphanage for scraggily deers, it sits surrounded by a  park that stretches for miles. And Bambi and the rest of his crew have free reign. A Daibutsu, giant Budda, is enclosed in a hand built, beautiful, black and white, wooden building, the largest wooden building in the world.

Everything in it from the trees in the parks to the little wooden boat drifting on the lake to the deers themselves, are sacred. The deers are treated with more respect than most people give to their parents. The legend goes if you bow to them, they bow back in return of a cracker. Except this legend really is true, whether it really is because they are religious deities or just very clever animals who’ve realised a little nod here and them there gets them more food, they do bow and not just a flick of the neck. It’s a full Japanese bow, a full lowered neck and a bend at the knee.

Like extremely obedient children, they flaunt their way around the park bowing and eating, bowing and eating. If you’re lucky, or unlucky depending on how you feel about wild deers, you’ll get a relatively strong head butt to the back as they peer pressure you into feeding them. Feed one and they flock around you, usually lead by a matted haired, alpha deer.

It’s a surreal feeling being surrounded by animals that were once thought to be the extra-terrestrial messengers of God, especially when they’re begging for food like very terrestrail ill-cared for animals. But don’t despair, if it comes to it you can always throw your crackers in the opposite direction and run. We did…

 

Karaoke Queen

It’s a weekday evening, you go out for casual drinks with colleagues. You’re a professional now and after-work drinks are a sophisicated affair; teachers discussing techniques and hobnobbing as the educated adults they are. Wrong. An escalating spiral of happy hours, 280 yen beers, 9% lager and karaoke ensued.

Much like UK karaoke, Japanese karaoke requires an open heart, a drunken mind and a dodgy repertoire. However unlike UK karaoke, which consists mainly of hammered housewives reliving 80s pop gold and chubby dads doing their best Meatloaf  impression, all huddled around a plug in karaoke machine,  Japanese karaoke is a much more dignified affair. Decorated like a Vegas casino, a gold trim reception desk and crystal lined lift doors greet you as you trot your way over the marble finished floor. Into the decadent lift and you’re escorted to your leather lined, sound proofed karaoke room. Nine floors of glass walled karaoke rooms looking out onto the LED lit skyline.

 

With no actual bar, you telephone down to reception and they bring them straight to you.  Like royalty you sit in your fancy booth, singing not so fancy songs drinking watered down, hand delivered cocktails.

So you missed the last train because Izakayas are the places where self restraint dies and bad ideas take over. You suddenly remember that you have a great voice, you’re an A* rapper and you have a deep passion for power ballads.  Karaoke is your calling and you just follow the tune.

 

Smackdown Thursdays

Watching fat men with man buns and adult nappies grapple is not the most ordinary way to spend a national holiday but in Japan I guess anything goes. You walk into the arena, a Japanese MEN, and are surrounded with rows and rows of enthusiastic Japanese families, tucking into their rice like popcorn at the cinema. The peasants seats were surprisingly comfy, especially when compared to the ‘box’ seats. No, not VIP boxes raised above the stage fitted with a butler and complimentary refreshments but a roped off square at the base of the ring. With only a thin cushion for support and hours before the show is even over, it seemed more like torture. Cramp, numb legs, achy back, crumbs everywhere and the potential risk of phyiscal injury due to the highly likely event of falling sumo. Although you imagine the view would be much more impressive, the smell would take some getting used to.

What you don’t expect are the rituals. The repeated chants, the men (fully dressed) waving incense over the ring, the ranking of the different referees for the different fights and the pre-match cattle march. Giant men, in colourful sashes were paraded around the arena each one gaining a little more attention than the last. Their name and hometown bellowed over the speakers as they carefully make their way round the ring and into their allocated positions. From here they performed a ritualistic dance, most surprising though was how graceful they seemed. Every movement seemed intended, there’s a strange beauty to watching a scantily clad fat man prance gracefully around a sand covered, roped off ring.

That’s all before they even start. They’re not long lasting but the excitement at watching them is contagious. Old Japanese men, usually so quite and tranquil throw their arms into the air, yelling and shouting God knows what. First man to step outside the ring is the loser and by hook or crook they’ll do anything to not be the unlucky loser. You wouldn’t think a person could stand on their tiptoes with their spine arched back, teeter on the brink of losing and then manage to slam their impressive body back into the ring. It’s difficult not to get caught up in it.

Unlike its American cousin, Sumo wrestling compared to WWE wrestling is just better. All round better. No cheesy Mexican stand offs and no pre-decided winners. In Sumo, there’s a sense of honor and a sense of respect. And when you spend all day wrapped up in Tokyo’s LED infused world, it’s nice to sit back in comfy chairs and bask in the tradition. Especially the winners ceremony, were squating down and feet apart the tournament’s winner two steps his way back to full height ready to show his stick handling prowess. A ceremonial stick given only to the champion. Like a baton, it gets twirled and thrown and caught until they’re satisfied that everyone in the arena knows just how worthy they are.

Sumo wrestlers are about as Japanese as it gets. And they want it to stay that way. In a handy little English leaflet at the arena, it states that the Sumo Authority have a quota on foreginers because they don’t it to lose its authenticity. It makes sense though, imagine the stampede, albeit slow moving, if all over-weight Westeners heard they could make a killing just by eating lots of rice and taking part in a few minutes of wrestling a day. Anarchy.

 

 

Meiji Madness

Shrines and Temples in Tokyo are like Tesco Expresses in the UK, on every corner and always busy. And just like Tesco Expresses, everytime you walk past one you feel compelled you go inside for a look around. Even though you know exactly what’s going to be there, the same as what was in the 7 you went in the week before; curious foreigners, a teenage girl selling keyrings and enough wooden structures to rebuild the Amazon

What they say about having too much of a good thing certainly rings true for temples and shrines. The curiousity you feel when you spot your first roadside shrine and the excitment at walking through your first torii gate, an impressive wooden archway at the entrance of the shrine, soon turns somewhat non-chalent. There’s only so much you can take of one thing before the shine starts to wear off, which of course is a shame but just as expected. That is until you find the time to visit the Meiji Shrine. One of the biggest and most popular shrine in Tokyo, it is completely surrounded by its own forest, hidden away from the typical Tokyo traps.

The walk from the first torii gate to the actual shrine gates takes about 10 minutes. Not for nothing though, the trees and windy pathways that disappear into the forest create an almost magical atmosphere which come to a sudden stop when you’re flanked by a wall of sake barrels on one side and a wall of French wine barrels on the other. Donated by France at the turn of the 20th Century to welcome Japan into the ‘modern world.’ Because obviously, only Westerners can declare what is and isn’t civilised and modern.

The courtyard to the shrine is guarded by two very large and very thick wooden doors. You walk through praying you don’t trip up in front of the wardens, in their blue and white uniforms, and the elderly women dressed in beautiful kiminos and wooden sandels. To the left, a wall adorned with beautifully painted kanji characters. Nonsense to us non-reading kanji folk but fascinating to look at nonetheless. A huge tree stands slap bang in the middle with a fence circling around the bottom half of the trunk, wishes, hopes and prayers are written in every language imagineable and hung on the wall.

 

If you’re lucky you’ll catch a glimsp of a bride fashioning a floral kimono and a poor teenage boy walking beside her, his hand aching from holding the parasol above her. Like a royal, she’ll walk throught the yard, parting the crowd and followed by a procession of family and guests. With nowhere else to go you just stand in awe as she saunters by. A drum metres tall is hit and it’s as if the shrine was built to contain sound. The deafening bang reverberates around the courtyard and travels up, through the trees before it finally echoes away into the sky.

Even though it’s a tourist attraction for foreigners and tourists alike, it’s still a working shrine with everyday Tokyoites going about their business, praying, contemplating and escaping the world. Luckily, there are instructions on how you should pray. Throw some coins into the donation box, clap twice, bow twice, make a wish and bow once more. Nothing livens up a tranquil Sunday morning visit to a shrine more, than a group of towering German men taking a break from their stag-do tomfoolery, clapping out of beat with each other and awkwardly nodding their heads.