Kintama o Mitta

Kiyosato prefecture has a bizarrely Swiss feel about it. From the back seat of a rental car, wedged in with five Japanese students, the scenery appears alpine despite the appaling Japanese pop music and the occasional sign advertising Pachinko or karaoke. The same striking mountain scenery forms the back drop for uniformly ugly concrete towns, designed with practicality rather than aesthetics in mind. A patchwork of agonisingly efficient strips of farmland fills the limited area of flat space amongst a drab suburbia. How these people remember which house is theirs is a total mystery.

Allowing myself to momentarily believe that I am on one of those all too familiar four hour drives towards a european ski resort, I zone out and feel strangely comfortable considering. It is the Autumn 'World Wide Wing's society' road trip to enjoy 'Autumn viewings', 'On-Sen' and drinks party (described poetically in the handout as '8pm until the night never end'). I am snapped out of my day dream by a chorus of Japanese noises expressing awe and wonder (which sounds absolutely hilarious by the way), because for the first time since I got to Japan, the illusive 'Fuji-san' had appeared, framed by a flame red valley of autumn trees. This all sounds gushing, I realise, but there is honestly something truly breathtaking about this mountain, the symbol of Japan. Despite the cabbage patch, jungle surrounds of my dorm in Yokohama, it is easy to think of Japan as being one big city; all neon lights, robots and odd sexual practices. In reality, it is 73% mountains, so really.. these sorts of views should be common place. The array of noises coming from the front of the car at every turn in the road would suggest differently.

We stop for lunch beneath another awe inspiring view, and Joei (the trip's illustrious leader) runs through the schedule. Its On-sen next. On-sen is typically japanese, and definitely a 'try everything once' sort of activity. Hugely relaxing, hugely sociable...but also hugely naked. Its not the most english of passtimes to go for a nude bath with three hour old friends, but 'when in rome'... As with the halloween costumes, Japanese people double take when they see a group of westerners in an abnormal situation. Nude would be one of these. The jacuzzi cleared out pretty quickly once it was filled with awkward westerners...so it had a bizzarely similar resemblance to our late night train rides back from karaoke. But a more naked version.

The Inn we stayed at had a rural, late-night-low-budget slasher film vibe about it...not helped by the fact that we were the only guests there. A kindly old lady (also a bit B-Movie style scary) and her equally kindly old husband had put on a huge meal for all thirty of us which I whiled away with a trio of girls consumed by a totally pedestrian anglo-japanese fusion chat about beans. Food finished, more photo ops, more peace signs...and on to the 'drinking party'. Unsurprisingly, there were drinks. Singing, dancing, shouting, laughing drunken japanese people are, if its at all possible, more amusing than their sober version. The night ended with a few passed out japanese guys and a made-up song called 'kintama o mitta'. Roughly translated as, 'I've seen your balls'.... in gratitude for the day's earlier on-sen experience.

I was angry when I woke up. My bed in Yokohama, as I've mentioned before, is about as comfortable as sleeping on the street, but the beds at the inn were worth their weight in gold. I was only granted three hours sleep in it though, as I was rudely woken by an overly chirpy Japanese lad at 8 o'clock. Unfortunately I couldn't remember the Japanese for 'get bent' in time before he went off to ruin the next room's morning. It was time for the next activity. Needless to say, the banter in the car was considerably less than the previous day. Having made some noodles and done some wandering around, the final stop was Suntory Whisky's distillery. This made everyone feel a little bit sick, and after the tasting session, fall asleep in the car. Luckily, in a very japanese style, the designated drivers were duty bound to wear a very embarrasing looking sign around their neck so they didn't get merry and end up in a ditch.

My zeal for all things Japanese has been topped up, by a weekend sejourn to the country. A strictly japanese withnail and I style romp through rural Japan has, however done nothing to soothe my endless hatred for asian pop music. It has literally no redeeming qualities. You might think to yourself, don't throw the baby out with the bathwater...there must be at least one good song. Trust me, after an agregate of six hours of it (with backing vocals from my road tripping crew) I can safely say, there isnt.