Fun Times In The Snow - Part 1

Last weekend I visited Sapporo for the annual Snow Festival. The three days I spent there were so action-packed that I’ve had to break this post into 3 parts. Here’s Part 1, in which I don't quite get as far as talking about the festival itself:

Well!

It started in Osaka. I have a strange relationship with Japan’s second city. The first time I went there was one of the worst evenings I’ve had in Japan. I wandered around on my own in a depressed state, got slightly overwhelmed by the in-your-face sleaziness and then had the most uncomfortable night’s sleep I’ve ever had. Capsule hotels seem like a good idea in theory, but listening to 24 hour pornography and, er, self-pleasuring, from the adjacent booths was not my idea of a restful night’s sleep.

Shinsaibashi at night.

So my memories of Osaka are unkind. Which is unfair really, because it’s not Osaka’s fault that I was a bit low during my visit or that I got lost and couldn’t find the fun stuff. And capsule hotels are still very convenient, even if they can be depressing places that gradually wear down any remaining good feelings you might have about human nature. Hmm.

So this time, I was determined to make the best of it. We knew we had a flight to catch early the next day so it couldn’t be a late evening, but we were still psyched for fun times. First stop was Shinsaibashi for okonomiyaki. I must admit to preferring the Hiroshima version of this dish, but that’s not to say the Osaka kind isn’t awesome. I still get a buzz from watching the fish flakes melt on the surface as they serve it up. We accompanied it with some tasty fried squid, marinated pork and, of course, edamame. I have edamame with almost every meal that I eat in Japan. I am utterly addicted to the stuff.

Edamame - Don't let Pete Doherty try this stuff.

We decided to visit the Amerikamura area to track down somewhere decent for a drink or two. K-Chan dragged me away from a Spanish bar, accusing me of favouring it simple because I like Bradley’s Spanish Bar in London. This was of course true.

In Japan, many of the bars are located out of sight on the 2nd or 3rd floors of buildings. You usually only know they exist because of a sign at ground level. As a result, it is often very difficult to get a proper impression of what a bar is like without actually going in. Couple this with the preponderance of sleazy venues (you’re never quite sure if what you’re entering is a strip club, a speakeasy or a hair salon) and entering these places becomes a kind of pot luck exercise.

On this occasion, we were fortunate. The bar itself was tiny. Eight stools pressed up against a short ledge. I ordered whisky because, to paraphrase Peep Show, this wasn’t the kind of place where you could order a chocolate milkshake. Randomly, the owner had a photo album on the counter of himself and his dogs. Many people would think this weird.

The owner's dog photo album.

We were just about to leave for that early night we had promised ourselves when the two women next to us, who looked to be about 40, turned and introduced themselves. They asked us if we would mind staying and talking to them in English. I’ve noticed that people here will often ask if you mind speaking to them, as if you are doing them a favour. That isn’t really how I feel about it at all-I’m always really pleased to chat to randoms, especially as the people who approach you tend to be quite interesting. I really enjoyed spending the evening with such outgoing people. They had travelled a lot and were both praising and critical about different aspects of their own culture. Equally, they were happy to talk about those things British and American which annoyed them. It was so refreshing to have such an open conversation and it came as a reminder that Okayama, much as I love it, is not the most internationalized city in the world. I hope we will see them again when we visit Osaka in a fortnight’s time.

This is what all photos of nights out looked like before the smoking ban. Yes, that sweater is dreadful. When I bought it I had Stevie Jackson in mind, but I look more like Alan Titchmarsh.

Unfortunately, I got so distracted by the excellent conversation that I forgot to keep an eye on how much I was drinking. Sometimes when you drink too much, there’s something inevitable about how the night goes and the eventual outcome. You know you will ultimately end up wasted but you embrace it and plough ahead anyway. But this was one of those occasions where I had a) No desire to get drunk and b) Did not even realize that I was acting in a way where I would end up drunk. Basically, I downed a medium quantity of alcohol but in a very short period of time. The effect of this was pretty dramatic and ended in me crawling into bed in a sweaty, undignified and doubtless unattractive manner.

I’d just like you to hold that alarming visual image in your head, just for one moment. Remember, I was probably wearing tights. Memorized it? Stored it somewhere safe? Good, then let’s move on…

Part Two to come tomorrow...