Disclaimer 2-- I claim to be a badaud, gaping my way through Japan-- but my colleague here has his gaping game down much tighter than me!
A night out in Shibuya
It is really hard to write about the cultural differences here. I have not been in the country long, and I'm very much in a bubble of academia and I have so many observations and opinions on everything but don't want to be disrespectful. I've heard long term expats griping and moaning about the travails of living in Japan and it bugs me. So I'm going to try my damnedest to be somewhat objective and sensitive, though gods know that's not my default setting (ok, one subjective insensitive statement: JAPANESE LANGUAGE KEYBOARDS ARE THE WORST!)
Yesterday a chum and I went to a swap meet at a velodrome, and shut it down Trexlertown because Keiokaku track has a water feature.
Wa.
It also had the kind of swap meet that would make my vintage nerd friends lose it in every possible direction. There was Campy, there was Dura Ace, there were ancient, perfectly preserved tubulars being vended by ancient, perfectly preserved guys. There were wonderful 70s manga about Bike Cowboys-- a closer look revealed that they were in fact about two boys who rope cows off lovingly drawn lugged tourers. It was really crowded. The old head Japanese bike scene may not be huge, but it is passionate.
My people!
We met a very nice British dude with a righteous foldie (you can't quite tell, but the handlebars swivel in and are height adjustable).
Imagine the squeaking...
He also had one of these excellent chainrings that I've never seen in the wild:
See the hand?
Inside the giant, immaculate building adjoining the velodrome were rows and rows of betting keirin enthusiasts:
There wasn't even a race that day.
They were all elderly men, silently chain-smoking. I was reminded of the British races from novels, with the toothless bookies named Nigel.
Also, well dressed. Betting is legal and respectable.
There were screens everywhere (apparently there is a race somewhere in Japan just about every day) and packs of anxious gentlemen surrounding each one. Anxious, elderly, smoking, drunk gentlemen. It was surreal.
'Blendy' coffee, ice cream and beer.
There is something surreal about being here in general, whether its the 85 degree days with sunsets at 5.30, or the oversized crows or the incredibly well synchronized high school athletic team that sings past my window at six or the complete lack of trash AND trashcans.
I think a lot of the things I like best about Japan are entirely reliant on people following the rules. I was gaping my way through the subways with their wonderfully well organized walkway graphics and sliding barriers and I pictured a horde of screaming New Yorkers destroying everything in about three minutes. Apparently the penalties for things like jaywalking and littering here are draconian, but there are never any cops around so it must be largely self-policing. When I accidentally break the rules (dozens of times a day I imagine) I am made aware of my transgression with nervous smiles and chilly bows. I have particular trouble remembering which side of the sidewalk to walk on, not just because it's different from home but because I am accustomed to barreling down the middle all oblivious because I'm an A-MER-ican, dammit.
I suppose it's right to do my best, to accept that I won't ever blend in and just try to experience as much as I can as an outsider. I'm going to go hiking this weekend and trees and lakes and birds are universal and I'm looking forward to that very much.
The above is not to say that people haven't been friendly-- everyone I have spoken to, from every country, has been exceptionally patient and kind. But there is pervasive strain in the air that I can't quite put my finger on. I may never.
And then I am walking down the lane and come upon a view, like this glowing building, and it is amazing.
Golden hour
Oh, and there is school too. But that's another post. Anyone know if you can reprogram an apostrophe key to go back where it belongs?
-Isis
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