JULIA BRIEFING #2

Experimenting with water and electricity | How to order phone juice from a vending machine | Femme fatality

30.11.19

Before we launch into the taboo topics of sex, politics and religion, let’s cross briefly to a weather update. Typhoon season has come to a close, but what the guide books don’t tell you is that this has little bearing on the amount of rain the country receives. And whilst the Japanese government have compiled a very comprehensive earthquake preparedness and response manual, they are yet to issue a public handbook on how to stay dry in the case of torrential downpour. Thankfully Tokyo police have modelled themselves as an alternative educational resource, fitted from head – with clear plastic casings over their visor caps – to just above toe in waterproof gear. It was disappointing to see the force was yet to fashion the latest Tokyo trend of transparent shoe covers. I think the clear zip-up slippers would look rather smart over polished leather.

Fashionable convenience aside, this growing market of water-repellent goods is building a more water-wary population. One waitress at a particular restaurant argued that it would be dangerous to charge a computer in the vicinity of a pitcher. Although I respect the scientific conclusion that ‘water and electricity don't match’, I am not sold that the materials’ aversion to one another is so deep-seated that they cannot share a table.

As a visitor of Japan, the onus is on you to accept the string of rules – and there are many – and the sometimes illogical reasoning behind them. But I will insert a terms and conditions clause to this. Consider the following Japanese language classroom exchange.

‘Sexy-B’ as Madame caricature was so aptly titled – note from the outset that she was not deemed worthy of the customary title B-san – was created by our female Japanese teacher ostensibly to build a scenario around which we could practice the full suite of ‘introductions’. Drawn on the whiteboard with a set of inflated amenities, she was introduced as a woman one is likely to encounter on a night out. We were briefed on the Japanese words for ‘bottom’ and ‘breasts’ before reciting a meet and greet dialogue with none of this new vocabulary. Given the less-than-erotic nature of the exchange, I am a little lost as to why ‘Sexy-B’ was contracted as a learning resource. Perhaps some of the men in my class required a touch of ‘inspiration’ to learn their words, but given the way they awkwardly bumbled through introductions with the still drawing, it’s hard to justify any instructional value. It is a rather sad reflection of the misogyny that persists in Japanese society, especially seeing I attend a school that brands itself as a ‘Japanese school of culture’.

Perhaps more confronting however, was the follow-up conversation with the head teacher in Japanese. Determined to sound the alarm on Sexy-B, I explained in my best broken Japanese that the entire exercise was deeply sexist. Most of my explanation was returned to sender with blank stares, but what did make it through the language firewall was the fact that there existed a drawing I did not like. Sensing the issue hinged on this image, the head teacher asked me to commit plagiarism, redrawing the artist’s work and retitling it as my own. ‘Misogynistic’ as we collaboratively named it, was now ready to be taken away to Google translate. Given I drastically misspelt the keyword however, I am not confident the message was properly received.

In Japanese, even a small slight in spelling, pronunciation, or sentence structure can upend a narrative. Were I to lengthen the ‘u’ and refer to ‘my (insert husband here)’ as shūjin rather than shujin, I would be re-branding him as ‘prisoner’. Thankfully the word for boyfriend – kare – comes with no such complications. I have however been pulled up for confidently claiming that ‘the toilet will use me’ rather than my own desire to use the toilet. It is a small wonder eyebrows are raised towards certain Western practice.

Another source of bemusement was my chosen Autumn outfit of shorts, t-shirt and black leather gloves. I launched the look a few weeks back in Hakone, travelling with my favourite Japanese family. They were not sold on the reasoning that the gloves were prescribed medicine for my ‘chilblain afflicted’ extremities. Instead they preferred to stick with the narrative that I was in fact a spy. It seems however the issue was with the material rather than the gloves themselves. We had no sooner began our descent down Mt Kintoki than five-pairs of white climbing gloves – each fitted with sticky palms ideal for scaling the rocky path – were conjured into being. Preparedness is everything here.

The mountain-top mobile restaurant service was another case in point. I had been advised that I would be having a picnic lunch, which I understood to mean a light spread. What was delivered was nothing short of a Japanese feast – tamagoyaki (mini egg omelets), kinpira gobo (carrot and burdock root salad), and horenso no gomaae (spinach and sesame) to name but a few of the dishes that family member number five, Rina-san, had spent hours preparing. Then came the hot serving – might I remind you this travelled up 570m of elevation – of roast cauliflower and chicken. And finally a side of mushroom soup on the (peak’s unassuming tea-) house.

Contrast this exceptionally executed programming to my Saturday evening. I was on orders to cover Shibuya Halloween, and had therefore signed myself up for a Hakone-Tokyo round trip in the one evening. Despite handing over my writing credentials to my erstwhile alias Julia Dean, her separation anxiety proved so severe, she was incapable of performing in my absence. It was therefore on to me to do the miles and make it to the show.

*For information on the event itself, please read my colleague’s review of the Shibuya police production. I will recount the author’s treacherous journey home.

One of the more difficult parts of the Tokyo train system for your beginner commuter is that multiple train routes share a single platform, often only minutes apart. If you’re not switched on, you risk winding up in a foreign pocket of the metro map. Given the rather delirious state I was in following the mountain hike, double-commute and excitement of learning that Japan had its very own Hong Kong protest movement #StandWithThePooh, I fell victim to the ‘wrong train’. 

Shibuya to Hakone is a very simple one stop on the train, followed by an express bus. Opting for the path of least resistance, I decided to measure my stop by number. Unfortunately, this one stop rule falls short if you jump on a train that has no plans to stop at your intended location. The rate of success plummets even further if the commuter opts to travel both deaf and blind. The lack of sensory input resulted in me bypassing a further two lines of defense: the arrival announcement, followed by the succession of station signs. It was not until I had waited 45minutes at a bus stop for a bus that would never come but that Google asserted had arrived twice, and thrown into question the authority of a police officer who had never heard of the Hakone-bound bus, that I realised I was in the wrong city.

Fast-forward to the end of the line, where despite the time registering around midnight, Mitsue-san insisted on collecting me. Naturally the bus terminated earlier than it was meant to, my phone died, and I wound up in an abandoned parking lot without my preferred weapon: Japanese textbook. My hero came in the form of a vending machine, which I swiftly unplugged in exchange for some phone juice. Word did not come until the following day that a number of Hakone’s onsens were closed because the volcano powering them was too active – meaning the water was more optimal for stewing than bathing. I am still convinced I short circuited the underground system by interfering with Japan’s above ground dispenser network.

Mt Kita-dake was another journey that tried its best not to happen. With train lines underwater and mountain roads blocked by landslides on account of Typhoon Hagibis, I mourned the death of hiking plans A-E. Plan F put me on target to Mt Kinpu in Nirasaki, Yamagata Prefecture, at a hostel furnished ‘in loving memory’ of the current owner. Soft toys, garish red lighting, and the offer of a massage aside, it was the photos of the manager that followed you around the room like Mona Lisa’s gaze, that was most disquieting. From one corner of the room she watched you sleep from the saddle of a horse, from another she peaked under an oversized sun hat at the beach, and from the kitchen she feigned disinterest by tending to her vegetable garden.

Moving from femme fatale to femme fatal-(e)-ity, the second woman encountered on the trip was one to watch. Shortly after beginning the hike to Mt Kinpu, she was found stuck on the wrong side of the river and had to be pulled to safety by two men from my own party.

Then came the warning signs of bears, and the graphic tale of Japan’s deadliest massacre. Wikipedia’s advice to avoid a similar fate was to appeal to your etiquette and proffer the bear a simple ‘hey’. Allegedly this is enough to disarm them. I recommend luring them up Mt Kinpu when the mountain is in the thick of an inversion. Popping out above the clouds to a floating Mt Fuji certainly mollified me.

Unfortunately, Mt Kinpu’s majestic respite was short-lived. Given typhoon number 19 had only just come to a close, the last thing I was expecting was the company of number 21 (what became of number 20 remains a mystery) inside the tent. It is worth noting that when packing for Japan I put forward a strong case to bring the trowel, arguing it would be instrumental to the ‘leave no trace’ philosophy. The plea was dismissed. What the judge failed to consider was the tool’s exceptional moat building capabilities. With no line of defense, it was not long before the tent was overrun by water. I am in the process of suing Luke’s court of appeals for water damages.

And so we are back on the inescapable topic of weather. No matter what Japan has in store, it is the water that will throw a wet blanket over your best laid plans.