Quirk

The past two months have been dotted with exciting adventures amidst the drudgery of routine -- not the least of which was our first evening out ending with karaoke. To me, karaoke epitomizes the quirkiness of Japanese culture as the serious, ritualistic, rule-based society seemingly melts into a free for all fun-fest of singing while snacking on fried chicken, drinking beer and smoking cigarettes with friends or colleagues in a small room replete with a disco ball and LED lighting. Of course it would be easy to assume there were no customs or rules in this venue but alas, even here they exist. For example, it is poor form for even those with the best voices to keep the mike for more than one song at a time. Karaoke is such a common pastime here that the number of karaoke bars are on par with the number of Starbucks in New York City. I do admit that the karaoke experience offers a damn good time, especially when accompanied by a motley crew of international folks – Japanese dude busting out a song in German, French guy singing Oasis, soft-spoken Japanese woman singing a Japanese song at the top of her lungs, and of course me and Nick singing … well, we don’t remember.

The other adventure took us out of Tokyo on the bullet train past Mount Fuji to Kyoto for a two-day excursion in what was once the capital of Japan and is currently a breathtaking dichotomy of new meets old. There is so much to say about this beautiful city that words don’t seem to suffice. Immediately we were struck by the sleek and modern train station juxtaposing itself against the ancient temples, each loaded with its own fascinating history. The entire city seems to be a celebration of Japanese culture intertwined with a bustling modern population and robust economy.

For me the highlight of the trip was when Nick guided us to a hidden gem of a restaurant that was so hip that I instinctively felt that old but all too familiar feeling (most commonly felt while waiting in line for a nightclub in New York City) that we weren’t going to be cool enough to get in. It was tucked away down an alley with the front door hidden behind a curtain. It was another beautiful combination of old meets new – or of traditional kaiseki cuisine (a type of art form consisting of numerous courses meticulously prepared with only the freshest seasonal ingredients) with a hip, modern twist, most notably consisting of the hairdos of all the young guys running the place – pink, blonde, spiky, you name it.

Just by chance, while touring the temples we met the great white ninja of Kyoto in a souvenir shop on what is known as Philosopher’s Path. As we left the shop we had a sneaking suspicion that he was following us … but we had no proof (except the dozen or so pictures we managed to take of him). Mysteriously, the great white ninja must have tracked us back at our hotel room because there were two tall boys of Asahi at our doorstep along with this note …

"Compliments of the Kyoto Shadow (a.k.a The ninja master of the refreshment underworld)"

Coincidentally, our friend Brendan was nowhere to be found during this time. Maybe he was enacting his own version of old meets new, or tradition meets quirk.