TManTrek.Com: Terry Lynch's Trip Around the World

Even though I visited three cities in Japan, I named this edition for the simple fact that when you leave Tokyo its strangely similar to famed departures from Las Vegas. Your exhausted, can't piece together the last few days, and are pennyless.

After 12 hour flight from Auckland, 8 hour layover in Hong Kong, and an additional 3 hour flight I finally touched down in Osaka, Japan.

After realizing I was the tallest person in the airport, I quickly realize something else about Japan. The effort to provide services and comfort in this country in unprecedented to anything else. One of the most enduring Western Notions about Japan is that of the Japanese courtesy and rigid social etiquette.

Many people e-mailed me asking how to get over the language barrier. In Auckland I purchased a phrase book thinking that if I attempt to speak Japanese the effort would be appreciated (even though I was completely butchering the pronunciations). As it turned out, all I had to learn was ego wadakimasu ka? (do you speak English). The typical response I received consists of the following:

• Hold your thumb and index finger apart just far enough to hold a cigarette. Then, in your best Mr. Miaggi voice say "A Rittle" - meaning a little.

And my best advice when a Japanese person is speaking to you in Japanese simply stand at attention as they are speaking, nod and slightly bow in quick successions while shouting Hai! (yes). Trust me, they think you understand them completely and both sides win.

I didn't stay in Osaka very long as I hopped on the train for Hiroshima. Not knowing it at the time, but I actually booked a ticket on the famed "Shinkasen" or the Japanese bullet train. The word actually translates as "new truck line", which hurdles its passengers through Japan's mountainous landscapes at an alarming 180 mph. One definitely pays for this luxury, but you realize Amtrak is in the stone age after riding this thing.

Why Hiroshima? That is a question I got quite frequently. I guess its from all the readings about this place on an American perspective that clouded my thinking. I wanted to see first hand on what became of the first city affected to become victim of the A-bomb, and how they react to round-eyes visiting.

August 6, 1945:, the Enola Gay dropped "Little Boy", and at 8:15 am they first Atomic Blast over a civilian population occurred. The population of Hiroshima at the time was around 350,000, and after the initial explosion and fallout afterwards around 140,000 people were dead. Scientist predicted nothing would grow here for 75 year.

My arrival to my first Japanese traditional inn was quite an eye opener. As soon as I entered the doorway I was greeted by a surely inn keeper who quickly shouted at me, pointed to my feet, and pointed to some tiny sandals. I soon remembered Japanese tradition is too remove your shoes upon entering one's home, temple, or Dojo. My roommate in San Francisco, Chris Ryan, had a Dojo but we never took our shoes off. So I labored trying to put the sandals on and walked upstairs to my room.

Wham! I whacked my head seeing that the door to my room couldn't cope with my 6'2" frame, but that was a precursor for smaller things to come. My room was a perfect square estimated 7ft x 7 ft. On one end was my bed which consisted of a three inch mat covered with a sheet and blanket along with a sign stating "Please no smoking while in bed". On the other side of the room, was a foot-high table complete with Japanese tea setting. Dropping my bag, I made my best attempt to get into the "Seza" position to enjoy my tea. Seza is completed by tucking your legs directly beneath you usually on a pillow. However, after my legs fell asleep, I decided I could enjoy the tea standing just as well.

The Hiroshima Peace Memorial is Hiroshima's main attraction as its situated almost directly underneath where the bomb detonated. The museum's theme is a simple message, which is driven home with the force of a sledge hammer. It has models of the city before and after Aug. 6, 1945 to show the magnitude of destruction. There was also an explanation on why the U.S. decided to kill innocent people (this is the museum's language). Their main explanations is that the U.S. developed a weapon of mass destruction and wanted to use it.

Perhaps the most gripping attraction is the actual former entrance of a bank which has been cut away and sits in the museam. Apparently, there was a patron waiting for the bank to open when the bomb was dropped. The concrete on the steps and walls turned white from the immense rays and heat. They body (which I assume disintegrated) casts a dark silhouette on the wall. Sixty years later you can still easily make out the figures size and position.

Another interesting aspect of the Peace Museam is noticing the Japanese youth. The sport Tommy Hilfiger gear and the latest Nike shoes, all while having conversations arguing East Coast Rap versus West Coast Rap. It reminds me of how quickly cultures can change and adapt in a mere sixty years.

Walking back to my hotel I realized I was ridiculously lost. Looking like Clark Griswald with map in hand, I was approached by a young Japanese man on a bicycle who asked me in broken English if I needed help. I pointed to my hotel in my guidebook, he quickly assessed the situation and had me follow him. The man actually walked with me for over thirty minutes while looking my the hotel. Upon arrival, he thanked me over and over for allowing him to speak English with me; Random acts of kindness.

That evening I stumbled upon a bar while searching for the ideal place to enjoy my last cuban cigar. The place was small and I was the third patron now in the bar. After asking for a local beer "Sapporo", the other couple noticed the my accent.

"American?" the gentleman asked after hearing my order. I nodded.
"You sit here" he bellowed, actually shooshing his wife/girlfriend aside to make room. "I Hiro" he said while placing his hand on his chest. Hiro then extended his business card in ritualistic fashion handing it to me with both hands, and then bowing. According to the ritual of Japanes business, the recipient is supposed to cryptically study the card as if looking for parasites on it, so the whole process can take some time. After I duefully studied his card, which was made up of Japanese characters with no English in sight, I pretended to read it, which was a moot point. I then extended my Chesty Blimps Pilot business card, Terry Lynch, President, in return.

Hiro seemed to be able to read some english, because he paused, looked at me, looked at the card and said "President?". I quickly tried to explain that I wasn't president of a real company, it was just something to put on the card, but it was too late. Hiro pointed to me and looked at his wife/girlfriend, and pronounced in English pompously, "President". The to the bartender much louder, he shouted "President!". Before I knew it Hiro ordered two bottles of champagne that the night began.

Repeated efforts on my behalf went unnoticed, for Hiro was determined to show me the utmost Japanese hospitality. I even went so far as to pointing to my Snoop Dogg T-shirt trying to explain that Presidents of companies do not wear there types of shirts. Hiro's response which was a constant throughout the night was "You nice guy".

Soon after Hiro said "You speak Japanese now". During this time he would ask me questions in Japanese and I would scurry through my phrase book looking for an answer. We began to talk about baseball, Shinjo and Ichiro (two Japanese players in MLB) were the main topics of conversation.

Later, as I grew tired of trying to converse in Japanese, shouting out "Shinjo" proved to be an easy exit. My company would through their arms in the air and cheer, still not sure why. Thanks to their hospitality, and too many Sapporos, I walked back to my hotel sideways that night.

Kyoto

Known as the cultural center of Japan, Kyoto has more temples than Chicago policemen with Mustaches. There are hundreds alone, some the size of small villages while other resemble a dog house (I am not exaggerating about this!). Time was limited so I narrowed mine to three.

One cool aspect about the Kyoto Imperial Palace is that it has nightingale floors. These are made from special wooden planks that actually squeak when any weight in applied to them. The local Shogun installed them in order to detect intruders and prevent his staff from sneaking up behind him attempting to stab him. As my brother Chris would say - Tres Cool.

Upon entering Kyoto I stumbled upon the fact that Westerners can bend the rules where local Japanese response to authority resembles that of Ned Flanders Upon entering Kyoto I realized my ticket expired. I knew the gates exiting the station would forcibly close in front of me upon reading the void ticket. So as I went through the motion, gates closed, and the nearest security guard gave me a "come hither" type of hand motion. Upon walking up to the short but stern individual, pointing to the ticket, pointing at me, pointing at the ticket again (you get the idea). I smiled, and then waiting for a break I blurted out "Yes, I love Japan!". A little taken back, the official started his shouting routine again. This time I interrupted him "And the people are so nice too!". Frustrated, and obviously defeated because of the language barrier, the man gave me back my ticket, sighed, and shooshed me away. Victory!

Before leaving Kyoto I had a chance to partake in another Japanese ritual, the public bath. After a hard day to sightseeing, I entered a bathhouse that you can strip to your skivvies and surround yourself with old Japanese men for only 500 Yen ($4). Basically you sit down on a plastic stool and begin washing yourself thoroughly. After, you can submerge yourself on one of three types of water; hot, scalding hot, and hot!(begeezes) Actually its quite relaxing, except there weren't any Roman slave women feeding me grapes. However, by being the only white guy there I did draw some attention. I am not saying anything in particular, but my Lonely Planet book did suggest that "Westerns should purchase condoms in their country of origin as the ones in Japan tend to be on the small side."

Tokyo

This city is a cosmopolitan metropolis with an intoxicating energy, and I arrived on a Thursday during evening rush hour. The subway network in Tokyo is so vast that it causes locals to travel to the serenity of Mt. Fuji in order to take their own life. The colored route map alone causes visual sensory overload, but the most interesting aspect are the employees standing outside subway cars with broom sticks in order to bulldoze all the riders into the cars. Amazingly, I made it to my destination and was immediately self-proclaimed the smartest man alive.

I met up with Brad Pavlowski, brother Brendan's good friend and president of World Link Japan. He also owned the couch I spent the next week on. Brad enjoys Japanese culture, but also likes the business opportunities in Japan.

While at restaurants, I would ask Brad what to order and he would have me order in Japanese. This typically consisted of "Take your top off", or something of that nature.

Brad has a 500 sq ft apartment (his TV alone takes up 15% of this) in the Roopongi district of Tokyo. Roopongi is a fickle beast, which lures you into her bars and nightclubs and doesn't allow you to leave unless the sun has risen...or you don't have anymore money. Some of the bars there open at 9 AM to cater to that crowd that even still don't want to call it a night. The average time Brad and I got home was 6 AM.

Since I was Brad's first (only) visitor in 10 years, I think he was eager to show me the scene. The first being a number of expat bars where Brad would point to a women typically talking to an unsuspecting American guy. "See her" Brad would say, "That's a guy".
"And her.......and her.....and her", it was an endless trail of she -males. Coming from San Francisco I thought I had some radar for this, but I had no idea.
"Great" I told Brad, "Now the entire time in Tokyo I will suffer from extreme paranoia when talking to a women."

The next evening a Japanese women struck up a conversation with me at a bar. I kept on excusing myself, going to Brad and asking "See her, guy or girl?". Brad's typical responses included the following: "I dunno, why don't you ask him..... or her" or "girl, definitely girl!", then he would call me back a few minutes later to say "Guy definitely a guy".

That same night, (actually 8 AM) Brad and I were heading home from the bars. Brad stopped momentarily into a coffee shop, while I was standing outside on the sidewalk. A Japanese man in a suite walked by me and said "%&@* Geijin!". Puzzled, and having no idea what he was saying, I said "Excuse me" in Japanese and waived him over. Just then Brad entered the scene. I asked him to translate what Geijin meant. "Gaijin", is in fact the Japanese word for foreigner, or specifically anyone who is not Japanese. Sometimes it has a neutral connotation, but in this case it was used in a negative fashion.

Brad then approached the chesty jap, got to within an inch of his nose while whispering profanities in Japanese, and then proceeded to slap him twice in the face! This caused the man to run away. Brad, Protector of the Universe, later told me that Japanese men don't react to shouting, but rather close contact, whispering, and then a slap fest.

That weekend at a party, I was introduced to Lynn Matsuoka. Lynn is something of a celebrity in the sumo world as she does sumo television commentary and specializes in artwork depicting sumo wrestlers. It was not the fact that being a women in this role catapults her fame, but the fact of being a Western women (if not the only one) that is something of a rarity. During our initial conversation, Lynn thought I really need to experience a sumo match so she invited myself and Brad to an event the next day.

Because of her connections, Lynn was able to gain us access to the locker room in order to meet the famed Yokozuna Musashimaru. This wrestler just won his 12 championship; after winning 10 matches he had achieved the title of greatest grand champion. To put it bluntly, he is the Michael Jordan of Sumo, but just slightly larger.

Yet he has something else in common with Michael Jordan, apart from them both being champion's in their own sports; Musashimaru is an American! He hails from Hawaii, where as my brother Brendan, the defensive linebacker can tell you, there are some huge dudes. (Brendan played Football at Wisconsin, which played Hawaii). Musashimaru also held the honor of carrying the American Flag as he led the USA athletes at the 2000 Olympic games in Sydney.

Anyway, back to the world of sumo: the locker room is set up in a traditional Japanese fashion. There is a main walkway down the middle with raised woven mats on either side (which you must remove and place your shoes).

At the apex of this sits the grand champion. One of the benefits of being Grand Champion is that everyone kisses your ass, and you spend a good deal of time accepting gifts from corporate sponsors. Actually, while Masashimaru sat there, another lesser wrestler was massaging his foot, (an apt symbol of dominance). After posing for a few photos, Masashimaru actually struck up a conversation with us which caused many sponsors and well -wishers to fume and quietly wait there turn.

Afterwards, Brad and I decided to watch some of the matches outside. As the crowd sensed Westerners in the stadium, we were immediately given Food, Beer, and Sake by our neighbors.

After a couple nights in Kabuki-cho, where Brad told everyone we were American Baseball Players, and a couple of job interviews on my part (my parting words were "We'll see what happens in May") I am off to China. Beijing - Xian - Shanghai - Hong Kong should make for an interesting combination of political, traditional, and economic landscape in a communist country.

Sumo photos
Tokyo Story
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