Transvestites and Tekken: The Ferret Does Four Rooms in Japan

Prologue (and how we ended up here for twice as long as planned)

The story of my travels around Japan are perhaps best accompanied by the story about how I got here, or more precisely, how I fucked up. Travel plans set, it was to be a voyage spanning both a reuniting with my father in Singapore followed by a jaunt in Tokyo; planned, primed and packed, it was only at the airport that disaster struck. Caught completely unaware, I had only 5 months left on my passport, one month less than what was required to enter the country.

Panic set in, there was no chance of catching the flight. Plans dashed, hope sprang forth as we frantically devised a plan to rectify the situation. A lucky chance appointment to have a passport made within a day (with all the required paperwork completed in the span of a few hours) thwarted by the decision that due to a 2mm lift on the laminated page, the passport was declared damaged and thus ineligible for use or renewal (bullshit, I've been to more than a dozen countries across three continents with this thing).

More phone calls to receive a refund on the tax on the flights I could no longer receive, more research into what could be done and discovery that Japan, unlike most of Asia, doesn't give a shit about a 6 month grace period. With that we were away, scavenging for the cheapest flights as soon as possible, finally settling on a pair of tickets for under £600, provided we agreed to stay a week longer than planned. More last minute scavenging for hotel rooms and with that we were away!

Yes. This would prove to be a very expensive trip.

1. The backwards manner of smoking in Tokyo had me incredibly confused for the first few days; the notion that smoking on the street is prohibited but smoking inside many restaurants, coffee shops and bars is permitted the complete opposite of what I'm used to in the UK. The thing is, it actually works surprisingly well. Many indoor smoking areas were in certain locations or even in separate rooms, and smoking spots are littered about the city centre where it's most heavily enforced. As a result, much of the city air remains surprisingly clean and rarely are you forced to breathe in second hand smoke. Too, it feeds into their consumer culture, often deciding to have a quick drink or a coffee as much for the smoke break as for the drink itself. Whilst hardly a perfect solution for every location, in the busier parts of Tokyo it goes a long way to keeping the site feel clean, and certainly in places like central London I can see a similar system benefiting in much the same way.


2. You can't quite understand how many shrines there are in Kyoto until you experience it. You literally can't walk to the shops without passing two? Three? Directions are given in the form of "turn at shrine x towards temple y". We had to walk through a shrine to get to our little hostel/ryokan (stumbling into their annual "Moon Festival" at one point). I can also tell you with absolute certainty that "temple fatigue" is definitely a thing. After seeing so many, the draw of the unusual architecture begins to wear thin and one tends to look much like the other. The constant presence of kimonos on the other hand—not to mention the occasional shrine maiden—was always something that made me grin.


3. So naturally this chronicle required an update on the toilets of the world, and all I can say is why the fuck is the rest of the world so behind on this essential of daily life?!?! The toilets really do have a dozen buttons on them, and why is this not a thing everywhere? Wash your hands in a sink that fills the septic tank (for the eco-conscious) and wipe your ass with a BUILT IN BIDET! Harder, gentler, hotter, colder, to the back a bit a bit, now up, oh and massage my ass whilst you're at it, then dry it with warm air... heated seats... Fuck it has a built in DEODORISER for those really stinky shits. There may be some bad teeth in this country but their asses must freakin' sparkle. God damn…


4. Charlie succeeded in locking me out of the room for our first day in Kyoto. After he spent two hours stumbling around drunk at 2am, asking random taxi drivers for assistance, he managed to finally find the ryokan (traditional Japanese guest house) and pass out. Myself on the other hand, partied long into the night with random Japanese women, stumbling out at first light. After my phone died, I too spent the best part of two hours stumbling around, asking a friendly Japanese guy to borrow his phone to get the right location, only to finally discover Charlie had locked the door... and he was not going to wake up. After hearing his rumbling snores through the paper thin walls, I made the decision to head for the communal lounge until the staff arrived to wake me up and give me a spare key. I tried to give it back later but she told me to keep 'just in case'.


5. Yes, I would quickly learn that there would be another night-time terror to vanquish in order to maintain my sanity. Charlie snores REALLY loudly. Flat on his back it's easily enough to wake me up, causing small vibrations in the walls. My only hope is a kick to the shins in the hope that he’ll either roll onto his side or wake up, giving me another opportunity to fall asleep before the sound of a thousand construction workers returns.


6. What began as curious amusement at all the vending machines became awe as we stumbled up a mountain, sweat ensuring underwear was going to morph into our crotches, and along the way were big lights offering water at reasonable price. The world needs more vending machines; where you’re never far from a quick thirst quencher and at some places, face recognition software gets used to recommend you something (for those indecisive moments. I suspect Charlie's ginger hair confused it though, as it didn't want to recommend him anything). Some even offer soju, beer, cigarettes and so on. Basic essentials of daily life. Sadly (for us), most of these required a TASPO card, short for "Tobacco Passport", which is essentially a card with a chip built in that you can use to verify your age (only available to Japanese residents, though the occasional passer-by was nice enough to lend me theirs. And one bar girl). There may be an honour system in place in stores where you can just press a button on a screen saying "I promise I'm old enough to buy this" but the Japanese aren't stupid. Too, whilst I saw no panty machines (either they're a myth or Kabukicho, the one place I might have expected to find one, have removed them all), they do have vending machines that sell a sort of fruit juice (lemon, lime or grapefruit) called Chu-Hi. 9% vol. Special brew move aside, I'm getting fucked on lime flavoured alcoholic rice-based moonshine.
   
   Note: Upon returning I found out that the used-panty central is Akihabara and quite legit. Schoolgirls making some quick cash by selling their used underwear—extra money for skid marks!


7. Due to the ad hoc manner the trip was booked, I stayed in a total of four hotels. A ryokan, a love hotel, a gay love hotel and judging by the snortle at the request for a room with two beds, what I can only assume to be a honeymoon hotel. Just a really budget one. To be fair, at this point we almost were behaving like an old couple, complaining about the others snoring, Charlie's occasional inability to prevent himself peeing on the bathroom floor (hey, at least it wasn't a fire hydrant) and flipping coins as to who gets to shit first. It was the one in Shinjuku, where we spent the most of our time, that I really should have seen coming; the walk in bathroom the size of the bedroom, the impressive sound and lighting system with controls right next to the bed, the bars with names like “Campy” and the unusual advertising posters featuring more half naked men than usual. Yet, it wasn’t until I perused the streets near us solo—Charlie having gone back sleepy at this point—that I entered a club occupied by less than a half dozen people and had it spelled out for me: “You’re in the gay district honey,” says the barman, supplying the obligatory hand flick required for such a statement. The humorous name of the hotel, CITY N.U.T.S., was as it turns out a joke that went both ways. Yes, this was Tokyo’s gay district; an area most locals walk around rather than through, and we had booked over a week in one of the love hotels in the area.


8. As a side note, you would be amazed how many transvestites there are in Tokyo. Not just in this little area, or the cosplayers like the “bearded maid" spotted strolling around Harajuku, but just walking around in general. That nobody really seems to give a shit and, whilst likely keep their distance, offer a "live and let live" attitude is really quite admirable. Also, they are nothing like the freaky Thai ladyboys that you can't tell. Grooming seemed to go out the window, all their efforts devoted to getting their hair right and fitting into that dress to spend more than a passing glance at the hair on their legs and going “fuck it.” Often noticeably taller and bucking that skinny boy trend with muscles, suffice to say most of them really aren't very convincing. Gintama wasn't exaggerating…


9. A short stroll from our hotel in Shinjuku lay Kabukicho, a Blade Runner-esque hub of scum and villainy with an uncomfortable number of children making a beeline for the arcade nestled amidst the mostly questionable looking bars and sex shops; the yakuza casually strolling around their turf in sharp suits, readjusting their sharper looking hair using a compact mirror as best as they can with the fingers not missing, and their tattooed women you know it would be a good idea to avoid (likely being Yakuza floozies); the occasional uncomfortable looking police officer not daring to even tell people not to smoke on the streets, let alone touch the women offering passers by anything from "massag-ee" to the less obvious "handjob? Blowjob?" It is in this land that I find myself oddly mesmerised by the collision of Tokyo's underbelly and those out for the night, with a sprinkling of Japanese businessmen who *cough* are probably there for something else.


10. But once the annoyance at the touts trying to scam you sets in and the lights become a bit too garish, you know it's time to hit the Golden Gai; a collection of izakaya's (small bars with maybe room for only a dozen people) crammed into one small district. In particular, to the aptly named "Deathmatch from Hell," an izakaya run by owner Go where the cover charge is zero (most places charge a fiver to go in), the portions generous, the walls plastered with horror films both mainstream and underground and metal is constantly blasted out at anyone passing by. The second most frequented bar goes to "Albatross" for the friendly girl who worked there and introduced me to Hokkaido sweet sake from her home town, pouring it from a bottle half as big as she was. It was adorable.


11. Being gaijin in Tokyo, you tend to stand out. Standing out even from the few gaijin they usually see thus became something of a concern and the long hair in a ponytail and small beard I've since grown would likely do just that. As such, I considered going clean shaven out of worry it wouldn't be seen as acceptable, and whilst I'm sure I garnered a few extra stares, quite often people approached me wanting to touch it; women in clubs and on the street—even a bikini babe dancing at the robot restaurant—who had never seen it before and wanted to give it a pull like some sort of good luck charm to ensure it's authenticity. It may have been a hindrance, but in standing out also occasionally made me feel like super-gaijin superstar.


12. As it just so happens, Envy—one of the first Japanese bands I really fell in love with—were playing an anniversary concert in Ebisu's Liquidroom (near Shibuya). So naturally, we went along. The level of precision involved was nuts; everyone arrived between 6pm (doors opened) and 6.45. Funneled into a waiting area, then bit by bit into the lobby where you could join an orderly queue for a drink. Then you could make your way to the stage, because when they say the first band is on at 7pm, they're on at 7. The level of organisation is not merely crazy, it's borderline inhuman, like we accidentally stepped into a THX-1138 facility.


13. The truth is that the Japanese really love to queue. Not only at concerts but people were queuing in the "When Marnie Was There" (Studio Ghibli) exhibition for NO REASON WHATSOEVER. We joined the queue because it felt rude to just jump ahead, until the staff came over and ushered us (amongst others) along. Japanese people will queue when there is no reason. Yet, when you feel the crushing weight of three rows of people wanting a drink at a busy bar on a Friday night, suddenly the occasional unrequired queue doesn’t seem so bad.


14. A full day in Akihabara, both adamant we would not spend much. That clearly didn't happen; the flashing lights of the crane games beckoning me to play just once more to win that figurine (I ended up with two ‘Levi’ figures), where pouting and looking longingly is sometimes enough for the staff to come around and readjust the prize to make it easier for you to win; Charlie's card shop; the cafés, idol bars and general cuteness oozing out onto the streets (including a six floor anime-themed sex shop. We didn’t look inside, though now I'm wishing I had just to satiate my curiousity). Whilst I'm dragging him for food at the AKB48 cafe (the Gundam Café looked a bit shit and the Final Fantasy one is booked for ages) and drinks in the Maid Café, he's dragging me to the arcade for Tekken and cigarettes. He refused to play Project Diva with me though. Spoilsport.


15. I also have a day better appreciation for AKB48. Alright, the music is still pretty generic and bad, but I can understand why they're so popular. They aren't the "untouchable idols” only seen on the red carpet or at concerts, but they seem to be very much able to be themselves. The show occurring next door (being played on the screens for us) was more of a game show/variety act with one of the teams just joking around and having a laugh with one another. The argument that they're pushed to work too hard is something of a moot point when you consider those hours are pretty standard across Japan anyway, and there's something about the humanisation of the characters that gives it almost a soap opera feel. No, I'm not a convert but I’ve definitely become an empathiser.


16. Despite what the stereotype might tell you, it’s a documented fact that Japan has one of the lowest levels of reported rape. I always read between the lines and assumed that it was in all likelihood down to the fact that rape is infrequently reported, but after being here I genuinely can't see how it could be high. The government actively acts on behalf of its people in a way many governments often fail to do; the lost and found rates that remain really high (something like 70% of all lost items are retrieved), the decibel meter on show when pneumatic drilling is going on, the women only trains during rush hours, the requirement that phone cameras always make a noise, and so on. The conflict with the Japanese tendency for ultraviolence, hentai and sexual deviancy within their media—and also, so I've read, within their sex industry which caters for every fetish—shows a level of trust and openness about what most shy away from, and with every desire available to them, I now find it hard to believe that many would resort to criminal measures. Why would they? Why would the man with a schoolgirl fetish involve himself in illegal activity when the legal option is freely available? My negativity about this aspect of Japan would seem to be completely wrong. Instead my negativity is drawn towards the fact that with every desire and whim catered for, the idea of dating seems like unnecessary hassle for many citizens which… ain’t healthy.


17. For our final night living it up in Tokyo, we began with pre-drinks (in my case also a bottle of sake in the room at the hotel) at our local English style pub, Hub, filled with English and Americans hilariously going between shakily trying not to vomit and striking out with the local Japanese. Drunk enough to dance, it was time for Club Atom; a renowned gyaru girl raving hotspot. The only gaijin to arrive, we quickly discovered it something of a sausage fest. Nonetheless we got our groove on and soon enough or gaijin-ness had us standing out with a pair of girls. Dancing the night away, things began to heat up when they decided to stroke our chests; heat up in the sense that the bouncers came to warn us we were getting too close to them.* With three pairs of eyes on us at all times, what began as a fun night soon became an awkward session of being watched like a hawk, and thus time to make a quick escape. A sour note to an otherwise fun night; the only thing that surprised me was that I had a better time clubbing in Kyoto…


18. * Since this was a discovery a few weeks after my return, I felt it best to elaborate on what was really going on. In Japan, dancing is illegal. The legislation was part of a crackdown on the prostitution trade that followed WWII, where crime was getting pretty bad. It states that "dancing of a sexual nature" (paraphrasing) and after 1am is banned. The first part probably made more sense back in the 50s in the days of the robot, and as crime diminished, it largely was forgotten with police giving a blind eye to ‘illegal’ nightclubs. Starting in perhaps 2010 with the death of a student in Osaka, there has since been a crackdown on many establishments (some dozen clubs in Osaka were shut down within weeks of the incident) with police using the outdated law as a legal excuse to to raid and arrest the owners of any of these clubs they suspect are involved in anything illegal or causing disturbances to the nearby populace (noise pollution, drunken behaviour, violence and so on). As a result, a lot of clubs are tip-toeing a line between acceptability and not; many clubs—particularly in Roppongi—have large "no dancing" signs plastered everywhere, and security are heavy handed and strict knowing a single punch-up could see the owner arrested, the place shut down, and the owner charged with "permitting dancing of a sexual nature after hours." So yeah, now you know. Dancing in Japan is illegal. Making it possibly one of the shittiest nightlife scenes in the world right now. Go Japan!


19. As a note on the gyaru girls, for those unaware they are probably the Japanese equivalent of Jersey shore; heavy fake tan, fake nails, lots of make-up and so on. There's a lot of vanity occurring, with the club even sporting a "ladies room" where they can re-curl their hair and apply more make-up. The thing is, the horrific borderline blackface and outrageous excess you can find on a Google image search is NOT your average gyaru—in fact, I didn't see anyone like this during my whole trip, and seems to be something else done for the shock value—and the Japanese on the whole tend to be very good at putting on make-up so it still looks pretty natural. I don't mean this to sound negative on other countries, but fashion is of noticeable importance for both men and women, with a significant portion of Tokyo experts in gorgeous floral dresses, accessories, layering clothes and in the various different styles popular at that time. In a country where the essentials are so cheap, consumerism reigns, whether that be the otaku scavenging Akihabara, the gyaru flooding Shibuya, or the alternative crowd making Harajuku the hive of activity that it is.


20. And of it all it is Harajuku, Tokyo's answer to Camden, that I most fell in love with. Multiple times I made the short trip to see the sights, enamoured by it's ethos of "be yourself". More than the eccentric outfits you can no doubt discover for yourself; the sweet lolita, Gothic, steampunk, j-afros and hip-hop attire, these few narrow streets became the place for the artists. Many of the shops a front for a single designers work and the sellers fans of their style, there's almost a sense of freedom to experiment; a subtler side to the more vibrant outfits that, quite frankly, weren't actually as common as you might genre expected. I'm not to abandon my band shirts just yet, but it's influenced me enough to wonder if it's about time I took a better look in the mirror.

Epilogue

I feel I should leave this last bit with a final note on what I've learned about my time here, because my travels are influenced by the desire to separate the myth from the reality, and I do now know the country better. First of course the obvious ones; they don't all look like the members from AKB48 or Japanese porn and they don't casually walk around making adorable poses (though there was definitely one girl who would drop her pint to imitate the Japanese goalkeeper as he made a dive, emitting a “nyuuu” which was pretty damn adorable); most people you'll see in Harajuku dressed in schoolgirl outfits are—shockingly—schoolgirls; and the place is not nearly the hub of cute weirdness on every street corner. Anime characters are used to promote things, and there are certainly no shortage of high pitched cutesy voices (though that's more or less normal for Japan, they just often have higher pitched voices) but it's not nearly as overbearing as you think. Except perhaps for Akihabara. It is still a big city after all.

Now for the less obvious. Does the clean stereotype hold true? Actually, yeah. I don't think I saw anyone littering and most bins have three options, two for recycling and one for general waste. People tend to clean the street in front of their premises and it seems very much like a combined effort. Someone vomited outside our street in a brief 30 min stop off at the hotel, and could be seem cleaning it a mere ten minutes after that. Are they ridiculously polite? Well... Sort of. Gaijin is still considered something of a derogatory term that's lost a lot of it's impact since we started calling ourselves it not noticing. A lot of Japanese are still pretty wary, and whilst perhaps not unfriendly, there are noticeable stares and many are afraid to even respond to a query or engage in small talk, and there are definitely places that are Japanese only. Much of this can be explained at least in part by the language barrier and learning a little Japanese before you go will get you a long way (even though it's usually possible to understand one another on a basic level, assuming the other participant is willing to engage, as they often very modestly explain how their English isn't particularly good in borderline fluent freakin' English), but rarely will you get the flyers or tissues (though I later learned these tissues have businesses advertised on them, which perhaps makes sense) that get handed out and most street touts will ignore you completely (excluding those trying to scam you ofc). I can count the number of Japanese people I've had an actual conversation with on one hand, and have spent longer talking to random tourists and expats than to anyone local. Furthermore, as my clubbing experience taught me, they expect westerners to cause trouble so circle you looking for an excuse to turf you out again. Short of hitting the expat district (known for being filled with scammers and drunk horny military guys fighting in the street) you very much find yourself being watched. Japanese isolationism is to a large extent still going strong, but perhaps with the younger generations notably more likely to stop and talk, this is perhaps still gradually changing.

Finally, I travel not to learn only about the country in question but to learn about myself, and in that I've succeeded. I've remembered that I can approach people and strike up a conversation, that my navigating skills still suck balls, that I really enjoy hugging people when drunk, and rekindled a love for this side of the world. I've discovered that my casually scruffy look is something that I should probably change, and perhaps most importantly, I've unleashed an unhealthy love for maid cafés and cat ears. Because god damn are they cute.

I <3 Hiroka




P.S. Cookies if you got the film reference in the title.