One of my reasons for moving to Japan was to find stories to write about, which I did…for a year.
After my first year in Japan, the unusual became the usual, and I struggled to find topics and stories interesting enough to post.
I recently moved to Sapporo in northern Japan after four and a half years in Tokyo. Things are much slower up here, and I left a lot of good mates in Tokyo.
I’ve found myself often reminiscing about my time down south. While recalling those memories, I realized that I have many noteworthy stories – and most of them I can’t share.
However, here are three short tales that I can disclose from my time in Tokyo:
Oktoberfest in May
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If you’ve never heard of this event, you can take a good guess from the name as to when this famous festival happens. Not in Japan, though.
Oktoberfest in Tokyo takes place from the spring to the summer in parks around the capital; stalls at the event sell German beer and snacks. There’s no admission fee and no limit on attendees.
The beer on sale is outrageously priced – one drink costs around 1000yen ($10). In addition to the steep price, there’s a 500yen “deposit” for the glass to make sure you don’t nick it. (Many enterprising sorts brought in beer from the outside and poured it into the rental glasses).
Despite those gripes, the event itself is a lot of fun. In the last few days of May, the temperature is already hitting 30 degrees in Tokyo. The daytime is rough, but the evening is pleasant—ideal weather to be drinking outdoors.
During the two nights we went to Oktoberfest, the same German band performed. They played famous tunes from their homeland, such as Mambo No. 5 and YMCA.
After the festivities had ended on night two, my mate Lewis and I had one more convenience store beer by the train station.
An elderly man ambled up to us; he was wearing a brown blazer with a shirt and a bowler hat. He started spouting the little English he knew in our direction. His embarrassed wife followed behind him, profusely apologizing. The older man told us that his wife had an art exhibition, and clearly, he helped himself to the free wine.
He then started talking about Donald Trump, a natural conversation to have with a Scottish and Englishman. The elderly man went into his jacket pocket and pulled out a laminated picture of himself with Trump from about thirty years ago.
It made me wish that I had taken a picture of myself with Boris Johnson when he was campaigning on Uxbridge High Street in 2014.
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Attacked by a three-year-old
In my time teaching English, I’ve taught all ages ranges and various types of lessons.
While I’m confident teaching most levels, there’s one group so fierce and tough to teach that they make the most hardened teacher call in sick the day before: Kindergarten.
In Tokyo, I worked for a large English Conversation School chain. On Saturday mornings at my school, we had a weekly kindergarten lesson. The lesson was rotated between four teachers, so we would only teach them once a month.
The company provided us with a “Lesson Management Plan” – or “LMP” for short. The LMP broke down the 40 minutes of the lesson into stages: “Warm Up”, “Practice”, “Wrap Up”, etc.
When teaching kindergarten kids, you might as well rip up those LMPs before entering the door; the LMP’s never factored in the kid crying, refusing to enter the room, spitting at you and various other incidents.
My most hazardous kindergarten event happened when I was new to teaching the little ones. In this group, there was a tiny three-year-old girl who we will call Usagi.
It was Colouring Time. It had been a typically chaotic lesson, and I was enjoying the reprieve that Colouring Time provided. While getting the next CD ready, I felt a sharp jab at my leg. I jumped up and saw a grinning Usagi holding a pencil like a spear. Now, I’m quite patient with kids, especially those as young as three, but not ones with stabbing tendencies; I snatched that pencil from her hand and let out a sharp “No!”
Infuriated at getting her weapon confiscated, Usagi rolled her fist back as if she were Mike Tyson looking for the KO and then struck my already wounded leg. She landed a few more haymakers before the Japanese staff member by the door witnessed this beating. The staff member hastily entered the room, Usagi fled under the table.
Thankfully, I never had any more kids with such a penchant for violence. I got better at controlling the kids in the kindergarten lesson, but I always kept my guard up for any errant shots.
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| Standard uniform for a kindergarten lesson |
Spoon Lady
It was a Sunday evening in April; the cherry blossoms were in full bloom; pink petals covered the city for two weeks. Everyone was in a joyous mood.
However, that night we weren’t interested in seeing some flowers, we came to rock.
My friend Kosuke was moving to Australia the very next day. His band were playing one last concert; I brought along some other friends to give him a fitting send-off.
I met two of my mates outside the venue, a nondescript corner of the swang Meguro district. We walked downstairs. I managed to get discounts for my mates and myself as I was “with the band.”
Despite the venue being intimate, you would think the concertgoers were following social distancing a year before it was a thing. There were about fifteen people there – and ten of them were Kosuke’s work friends.
We watched Kosuke’s band perform renditions of Sweet Child O’Mine and Paradise City. During their set, my other mates who attended a cherry blossom viewing party (i.e. drinks in the park) rolled in.
After Kosuke’s band finished, we were all ready to hit a bar with him and his bandmates, but the headline act was up next.
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| Note: The headbanger on the bottom left |
A shaven-head woman who had been standing in the corner, moved to the front of the stage. The final band of the night came out; they looked noticeably older and had more of an edge on them than the boys who had performed earlier. The frontwoman took the mic a few moments later, wearing a timely-selected cherry blossom adorned hat and dress.
The band started playing, and the shaven-head woman took advantage of the sparsely-filled hall and rocked out with reckless abandonment.
After performing some tunes, the frontwoman dashed to the back and came out wearing a giant spoon costume.
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I was a few beers in by this point, and my friends who came from the cherry blossom party had drunk into oblivion. We all felt like we were watching a prime Bowie.
The frontwoman had one more costume change left in her when she came out donning a comparatively demure set of angel wings.
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After the show, we went to drink with Kosuke’s band for a suitably mental rock n roll after-party. Sadly, Spoon Lady didn’t join us.
Thanks for reading everyone, I’ll try to crank out more blog posts in the future!
