Lynn Experiences Tokyo
It's important to get your money's worth
"Hey, so I found a good deal on tickets. Can you pick me up at the airport on Thursday?"
Lynn came to visit me in Japan during first part of July. I got her email on Tuesday. I frantically made some calls to get her into the place I was staying and get myself out of tutoring. When I met her at the airport, it was well over 100 degrees and nearly 90% humidity. To an Oregonian just stepping off an air-conditioned 747, it must have been brutal.
We wandered around Tokyo for a couple of days, staying in our air-conditioned room until about noon, when we decided we were wasting valuable "culture" time. Then we'd head out, hoping we wouldn't wilt. We saw all the necessary shrines and temples, parks and amusements.
Tanabata was July 7. The holiday is based on a darling love story in which these mythical lovers are banished to opposite sides of the Milky Way. They get to meet once a year on Tanabata. Lynn and I were invited to celebrate the holiday with people from my university's international club, who planned to go out and drink all night.
We met about 50 other people in the square in front of the train station. Lynn discovered that drinking in Japan is often done by the hour. We had reserved a space in a drinking hall for a couple of hours, and paid maybe 20 bucks a head for all we could drink.
Lynn valiantly carried on conversations with people who only spoke broken English, and was entertained by the frat-like Japanese alcoholic culture. It's important to get your money's worth at the all-you-can-drink, so they sang all kinds of drinking songs, chanted at each other to chug some beer, etc. She also got to witness the sempai-kohai hierarchy in relation to beer drinking.
Once that party was over, around nine, everyone was pretty drunk. It was strange to emerge from the bar to find that it was still light outside. Never fear, however, for it was only the first installment. After the first two hours, we went another bar for two more. This place, instead of having a convenient little shelf to place our shoes on, gave us each a white plastic bag. We flopped down at the tables, yelled "Kampai," and started with the serious drinking.
Lynn and I were at opposite ends of the table, propped up against the wall, enjoying the beer haze. At one point, as I was consoling a red-faced friend who had started bawling for no apparent reason, I glanced up to witness Lynn having this conversation: A Japanese guy scooted up to her and said "XYZ?"
"Er, what?"
"XYZ!"
Inconspicuously checking her fly, Lynn replied intelligently, "Huh?"
The guy looked thoughtful for a moment and then cried, "HOOTERS!"
"What?!"
"Hooters! Hooters! Jana taught me!"
He wandered off after that.
When the two hours were up, everyone was lolling around on the floor. (Note: This is why the Japanese drink at those low tables. There is less distance to fall!) Since people don't stay in one spot with their belongings for the entire two hours, and all plastic bags look alike, there was a bit of a commotion at the end of the evening. Everyone was too drunk to see, but we all had to sort through hundreds of white plastic bags looking for our shoes.
Of course there were several people who were no longer capable of putting on their own shoes. Lynn and I helped one kid stand up and walk to the edge of the drinking area. Through his stupor, he somehow managed to convey that his shoes were brown. We sifted through the bags and discovered several pairs of brown shoes, none of which were his. At this time he decided he needed to go to the bathroom anyway. He slipped on two of the left-foot plastic toilet slippers and I carried him as far as the door. After that, Lynn and I were shuffled outside by an older student who was either sober or simply an authoritative drunk. Anyway, in a few minutes the shoe guy appeared outside. Apparently when he was finished puking, he wandered on outside, still wearing the toilet slippers.
We headed back to the train station (as a group, of course) so that people who needed to catch the last train home could make it in time, and to give ourselves a little break before we went to the all-night bar where we would stay until morning. Lynn was surprised by the people passed out on the sidewalk. Some guy had passed out, and his friends just sat down and were having a conversation over him, waiting for him to wake up.
We all stood around the square in front of the station, enjoying the coolness of the evening, watching other drunken college students, eyeing psychotic taxi drivers and blinking at the neon. Then, the older guys in our group stripped to their underwear, and did a little song and dance wiggling beer bottles over their crotches - right there in front of the train station.
I'm sure it was an experience Lynn will never forget.
Lynn came to visit me in Japan during first part of July. I got her email on Tuesday. I frantically made some calls to get her into the place I was staying and get myself out of tutoring. When I met her at the airport, it was well over 100 degrees and nearly 90% humidity. To an Oregonian just stepping off an air-conditioned 747, it must have been brutal.
We wandered around Tokyo for a couple of days, staying in our air-conditioned room until about noon, when we decided we were wasting valuable "culture" time. Then we'd head out, hoping we wouldn't wilt. We saw all the necessary shrines and temples, parks and amusements.
Tanabata was July 7. The holiday is based on a darling love story in which these mythical lovers are banished to opposite sides of the Milky Way. They get to meet once a year on Tanabata. Lynn and I were invited to celebrate the holiday with people from my university's international club, who planned to go out and drink all night.
We met about 50 other people in the square in front of the train station. Lynn discovered that drinking in Japan is often done by the hour. We had reserved a space in a drinking hall for a couple of hours, and paid maybe 20 bucks a head for all we could drink.
Lynn valiantly carried on conversations with people who only spoke broken English, and was entertained by the frat-like Japanese alcoholic culture. It's important to get your money's worth at the all-you-can-drink, so they sang all kinds of drinking songs, chanted at each other to chug some beer, etc. She also got to witness the sempai-kohai hierarchy in relation to beer drinking.
Once that party was over, around nine, everyone was pretty drunk. It was strange to emerge from the bar to find that it was still light outside. Never fear, however, for it was only the first installment. After the first two hours, we went another bar for two more. This place, instead of having a convenient little shelf to place our shoes on, gave us each a white plastic bag. We flopped down at the tables, yelled "Kampai," and started with the serious drinking.
Lynn and I were at opposite ends of the table, propped up against the wall, enjoying the beer haze. At one point, as I was consoling a red-faced friend who had started bawling for no apparent reason, I glanced up to witness Lynn having this conversation: A Japanese guy scooted up to her and said "XYZ?"
"Er, what?"
"XYZ!"
Inconspicuously checking her fly, Lynn replied intelligently, "Huh?"
The guy looked thoughtful for a moment and then cried, "HOOTERS!"
"What?!"
"Hooters! Hooters! Jana taught me!"
He wandered off after that.
When the two hours were up, everyone was lolling around on the floor. (Note: This is why the Japanese drink at those low tables. There is less distance to fall!) Since people don't stay in one spot with their belongings for the entire two hours, and all plastic bags look alike, there was a bit of a commotion at the end of the evening. Everyone was too drunk to see, but we all had to sort through hundreds of white plastic bags looking for our shoes.
Of course there were several people who were no longer capable of putting on their own shoes. Lynn and I helped one kid stand up and walk to the edge of the drinking area. Through his stupor, he somehow managed to convey that his shoes were brown. We sifted through the bags and discovered several pairs of brown shoes, none of which were his. At this time he decided he needed to go to the bathroom anyway. He slipped on two of the left-foot plastic toilet slippers and I carried him as far as the door. After that, Lynn and I were shuffled outside by an older student who was either sober or simply an authoritative drunk. Anyway, in a few minutes the shoe guy appeared outside. Apparently when he was finished puking, he wandered on outside, still wearing the toilet slippers.
We headed back to the train station (as a group, of course) so that people who needed to catch the last train home could make it in time, and to give ourselves a little break before we went to the all-night bar where we would stay until morning. Lynn was surprised by the people passed out on the sidewalk. Some guy had passed out, and his friends just sat down and were having a conversation over him, waiting for him to wake up.
We all stood around the square in front of the station, enjoying the coolness of the evening, watching other drunken college students, eyeing psychotic taxi drivers and blinking at the neon. Then, the older guys in our group stripped to their underwear, and did a little song and dance wiggling beer bottles over their crotches - right there in front of the train station.
I'm sure it was an experience Lynn will never forget.