Sumo Wrestling

Sumo tournaments at Ryogoku Stadium, Tokyo

Tourism versus culture

When you think of Japan, certain things spring to mind; cherry blossom, kimono, mount Fuji, temples, samurai, geisha, sushi, manga and sumo. For one reason or another these things have become symbols of Japanese culture. I knew relatively little about Japan before I moved here and found it next to impossible to visualise where I would be living. All I had were stereotyped visions which had been imparted to me over the years through books, films and photos.

Of course upon arrival, those clichéd impressions were swamped by the realities of this previously unknown country. Japan proved to reveal itself to be so much more than I could possibly have expected and in many ways surprisingly different. For example, the sheer scale of Tokyo surpassed anything I could conjure up in my mind's eye and Kyoto was not a bit like the guide books had described.

"Essentially an unchanged city.... Kyoto is the ancient capital and is the best one-stop place to enjoy the traditional sights of Japan with a wealth of temples and shrines, wonderful old shops and town houses, and countless beautiful gardens."
Selvedge Magazine Issue 16

Instead it was a modern city with pockets - essentially the Gion district and scattered shrines, temples and zen gardens, in which the more traditional spirit of Japan continues.

However, in spite of the revelatory nature of new experiences, amazements and disappointments, the stereotypes endure. The reason for this is that they tend to be true, at least to some degree, and for the tourist these are things to be sought out. Actually I think there are two kinds of tourists, or travellers. Some people (including myself at times I must confess) feel they must tick off every sight mentioned in their guide book thus returning home safe in the knowledge that they have 'done' Japan or wherever it is they have visited. The other kind (who perhaps get a far richer and truer sense of a place) are content to sit in a local cafe and listen to the foreign conversations of strangers or some such activity left unmentioned by 'Lonely Planet'.

As for me, I try and combine the two. There is something rather pleasurable about seeing something you have only read about. It is like seeing a painting in a gallery for the first time but that you know so well from pictures or TV. It is something about experiencing the 'real thing' that allows you to imbibe a sense significance.

Anyway, enough philosophising. So what of my experience of the typical Japanese culture? Well I left too soon to see the cherry blossom, although I did see a single early blooming plum tree from a train window. I saw countless kimono - the most stunning of all being an exhibition of them at the Itchiku Kubota museum. I climbed mount Fuji. I saw a new years grand kabuki play with warriors in samurai armour. I visited countless temples and shrines. I spied on geisha at a private function in a garden in Kyoto. I ate raw tuna. I bought Japanese manga for my brothers and I went to a sumo tournament.

Although watching fat men wrestle was not something that particularly appealed to me it was something I could return home safe in the knowledge I had witnessed. I mean it is just so Japanese. In Japan sumo wrestlers are highly respected and admired. They are like celebrities and the best are very wealthy. In a country where people tend to be short and slim, I wondered if these obese giants were esteemed mainly because of their awesome size.

The fights go on all day everyday for a number of weeks and is televised on NHK. We had reserved tickets for the balcony which were the cheapest seats. They also proved to be the best in my opinion, as they were real chairs not cushions with a little railing around. (For us westerners sitting on the floor for ages gets rather uncomfortable.) No, I was very happy with our cheap seats. The most expensive ones are right next to the ring - a place I really would not want to be. We saw several fights when sweaty sumos crashed off the stage and into the audience. I certainly woudn't want to break the fall of one of them.

The early contests were often over in seconds - one fat lump pushing the other out of the circle a moment after five or six minutes of riling, false starts, salt throwing, sweeping and thigh slapping. So the fights at the end of the day were the best. This was when the professionals battled it out. By this time most of the initially placid audience had eaten their pre-ordered bento boxes and quaffed a bottle or two of sake and were now shouting and cheering.

The beginning of each contest is marked by a parade of all the wrestlers followed by the sponsors holding banners advertising things like Bulgarian yoghurt (yes one of the pros is Bulgarian). There is a different referee for each fight who stands on the edge of the ring holding a fan in his right hand . As each pair of sumos enter the ring and take their positions there is immediately a face-off of egos. Each fighter is trying to psyche out and intimidate the other. The more aggressive one will then stand up and walk to his corner, slapping his body. Once in their corners, they grab a towel and wipe their faces. They then take a fist of salt and toss it onto the stage. After which they assume their crouching positions behind the line again and repeat the whole rigmarole a few more times. As one backs down, the other gets more and more angry until suddenly they go for it.

I must say that it was actually more exciting than I expected, although as a sporting even it is rather strange. However, I think the most interesting part was seeing the Japanese losing their cool and getting really worked up about each fight. It is so rare to see them express strong degrees of emotion in public.

Although sumo wrestling attracts tourists it is not put on for their benefit, on the contrary. Thus for me, what was key to my experience of traditional Japanese culture is that it still remains Japanese culture. It has not yet become a commodity for tourism.

Going Native: from Bento to Onsen

Strange cuisine and curious bathing habits

I met my friends at Hachioji station at about 2pm. They were all far more organised than me. They all had food to eat on the train except me. I scanned the station for a shop selling edible food but of course Japan being Japan, I couldn't see anything that appealed. One of my companions suggested I try a bento box from the kiosk near us. Bento and trains seem to go together I noticed. JR posters advertising rail travel always show happy families sitting in trains tucking into bento boxes. In fact the only time you ever really see Japanese people eating outside of restaurants or their homes is on the trains. Not the regular trains of course - you often don't have room to breathe let alone lift a chopstick, but on the express trains that you have to reserve seats on. Anyway, with two more weeks left in Japan I thought I had better try one, so I pointed at a picture that didn't seem to have too much meat in.

Bento boxes are to Japanese people what sandwiches are to the Brits. As an eating experience however they are very different as I was soon to find out. At 2:29 the cellophane was peeled off, the sachet of soy sauce placed upon the arm rest and a hand went across my face to shade the sun from my eyes. Mountains were coming into view and the city dissipated into scattered houses and farm land. I took the lid off the box and pulled the chopsticks from the side of the box to which they were stuck. There was a portion of very glutinous pink rice with red beans and black sesame seeds in it, some slices of pickled ginger, a yellow chestnut, a tiny portion of black beans in a paper dish, a piece of tempura something, a meat ball on a stick, some salmon with a green plastic garnish, a bite-size square of omelet, a chunk of boiled carrot, one mange-tout, a tiny, squishy potato, a mushroom, and of course a rectangle of the most repellent and pointless foods known to man - a grey, rubbery jelly made from gelatin and charcoal. Yummy. Wow that is a lot of words to describe a minimalist lunch. I picked at it with intrigue more than enjoyment.

It was a golden Sunday afternoon when we arrived at Isawaonsen. The snowy summit of Fuji-San could be seen in the distance. The town itself was very odd I thought. It sat on a plain in the middle of nowhere. Mountains poked up from the land in the distance. A few roads, a river, lots of new buildings and not a soul around. It was like a ghost town. The roads were silent and the car parks empty. We followed the river from the station to our ryokan (which I hoped would be cockroach free unlike the one in Kyoto.) I saw a white crane and a giant carp swimming upstream. It was so nice to inhale some fresh air.

Our place of residence for the night looked very authentic from the outside. A stone path led us past a bamboo garden with a pond and up to the entrance. Inside, we were welcomed by the smell of incense and five suits of samurai armour. We took off our shoes and were ushered to a table in the lobby where we were immediately served bowls of green tea by a Japanese woman who took an immediate liking to Jason. We were then escorted down a corridor by the shuffling kimono and shown to our room. Plinky-plonky music played softly over speakers - as you would expect. The room was tatami and could be divided into three by flimsy sliding doors made of wood and paper. In the main room was a low table and four legless chairs with cushions on and moveable armrests. We also had a small bathroom, a fridge full of Asahi beer, sake, chu-hai and orange juice and a huge telephone made of wood.

A few minutes later, the extremely hospitable woman in the kimono returned. She gestured for us to take a seat at our table and proceeded to go about making us more tea. From a lacquer box she took out bowls and saucers and placed them in front of us. In the middle, there was a plate with some cakes wrapped in yellow and brown paper and what I was later to discover were vile dried plums which tasted extremely salty and sour. As she poured the tea she asked Jason what his name was and then praised him for having a name that she could pronounce. (She had a guest yesterday who was called 'Keith' and she had found it very difficult to say.)


After tea we changed into our yukatas. They were tied with a strip of purple cloth and on top we wore funny little jackets with big sleeves that you can put things in. The main reason we came here for the weekend was to try 'onsen' which are Japanese hot springs. They are indoor as well as outdoor and vary in temperature. I have seen pictures of people sitting in steaming outdoor pools in snowy forests and so was rather hoping it would be like that, but it wasn't. Actually, I must confess that in a way I had been dreading this trip because in Japan, everyone bathes in onsen naked. Although I wanted to experience all that Japanese culture has to offer, my everso English disposition was holding me back. For months my co-workers had been trying to talk me into it. They have absolutely no problem about being naked in public but it is just not something that I feel comfortable with. Anyway, I finally agreed to the trip and spent a number of weeks trying to convince myself to get over my fear - without success may I add and now the day of judgment had come.

Erika and Miyoko were ready and stood in two-toe-sock feet, wash bags in hand, smiling. "So are you coming then?" "Er, hmmmm. Right...." I followed them upstairs. There was a spacious changing room. In the middle were shelves with wicker baskets on. That is where you put your clothes. They explained that you can use a 'modesty towel' if you want but no-one wears swim suits. Ever. So after you change you have to enter the onsen room and shower. You must sit on a little wooden stool to wash. They supply soap and shampoo and wooden buckets for rinsing. Then you plunge into the hot water and soak for ten or fifteen minutes. I went to a thermal spa in Budapest a while back and that smelled strongly of sulphur but this one didn't. It was also empty, whereas the one in Budapest was chock full of Hungarians - in swimsuits.

Anyway, they couldn't convince me to join them. It somehow seemed even more peculiar to get naked with your co-workers. If it had been with strangers that I would never see again, perhaps I could have dealt with it. So I chickened out, for the time being, and went back to the room for a cold beer.

At six o'clock on the dot, the woman in the kimono knocked on the door to tell us that dinner was served. Usually guests eat in their rooms but we were taken to another private room to dine. When she slid back the door a feast was revealed. At another low table in the middle of a simple tatami room was a colourful array of little dishes and foreign looking foodstuffs all exquisitely arranged.


Over four independent gas burners cooked a selection of wild mushrooms or wine beef (for the non-veggies) on a big brown leaf. We each had a tiny cup of sweet sake to start. It was bewildering to begin with. There was so much food and so many bowls and plates I didn't know where to start. It all looked very beautiful. There were sashimi platters with slices of red raw tuna, wasabi, orange salmon and a giant uncooked prawn with big black eyes garnished with a yellow chrysanthemum flower. (Despite my best intentions to be adventurous I still haven't tried raw fish. I know I should but it feels one step too far for a vegetarian.) To my left was a bowl of thick udon noodles which were later added to our individual bowls of bubbling nabe stew.

There was a small pedestal of various morsels - black beans speared with pine needles, a tiny cake, a slice of ham, some raw shrimp and a miniature daikon radish. There was a plate of deliciously crispy tempura pumpkin, green chillies, fish and mushrooms. Two little bowls of soy sauce of different concentrations. A dish of what looked like brown fish guts. (Not the gustatory experience I get off on.) A slice of baked apple topped with cream and scallops on a green leaf. A tiny petal shaped piece of china with a cube of marinated tofu on it, adorned with a slice of lime. In a pale blue bowl with a lid, was a set egg-custard type of thing with seafood and greens and a revolting flavour to it. All this was followed by white sticky rice, pickled vegetables and miso soup in black and red bowls. Oh, and three strawberries for dessert.

At the end of the meal I decided that Japanese food definitely looks better than it tastes. One comes across some very strange textures and flavours in traditional cuisine. (I remember eating a ball of something once at an izakaya in Shibuya, which was supposed to be a potato but more closely resembled a chewy ball of fat.) Of course it doesn't help matters being vegetarian as this significantly limits one's choice. It did however mean that I was the only one who wasn't complaining of having eaten too much by the end of it.

When we got back to our room the table had been moved and four futons laid out. The others announced that they were going back to the onsen so I decided to call for a massage. In the end, Erika stayed with me which was fortunate as the seventy year old masseuse didn't speak a word of English so Erika acted as translator. Apparently my neck was "as hard as steel, a condition she has never come across before in a woman." All I can say is that now it hurts whereas before it didn't.

When Jason and Miyoko came back we spent a couple more hours drinking and talking. During one trip to the mini bar I saw a cockroach zipping across the floor. With lightning speed - a reaction that surprised even me, I killed it with an empty beer bottle. All the disgust that had built up in me after our ryokan experience in Kyoto came out. I couldn't believe it. I mean, are cockroaches an obligatory part of the Japanese cultural experience?

That however, was not the last of my bad fortune. After sitting for some time on my futon I got up only to realise too late that my legs had gone dead. Before I could regain my balance I stumbled and fell against one of the sliding screens. To the sounds of wails of laughter, the whole thing came crashing down on top of me. How embarrassing. What kind of a place makes walls out of paper and strips of wood? Honestly, it is an accident waiting to happen. Not to mention a fire hazard. Dear oh dear I can't help feeling that I will be glad to get back to my own country where the food is edible, you sleep in proper beds and buildings don't collapse on top of you.

At midnight I made up my mind to try the onsen. The pool was open all night so I figured that in the small hours of the morning it would be empty. It would be a shame to miss out on one final Japanese experience to end the day with. So, I gathered up my towel and made my way to the spa. It was dimly lit and very steamy. There was also the sound of splashing water. I noticed through the glass window, there was an old woman sitting on a stool washing. I contemplated going back to my room but in the end I decided to go for it. All I needed was a little dutch courage and there was only one other person in there. I could deal with that.

Once in the water it was a very relaxing experience. The old Japanese woman did get in the pool too but only for a few minutes and then she left. After that I had the place to myself. The pool itself was lined with wood and behind me was a waterfall that supplied water to the men's pool below. It was so peaceful. After about twenty minutes I felt like I was cooking and climbed out for a cold shower. When I got back to our room everyone was asleep.

The next day I was rudely awakened by my companions who were urging me to get up for breakfast. 8:20 am was a little too early for my liking but given that they would be coming to pack away our futons at 8:30 I had very little choice in the matter. Someone put the TV on. Apparently a female Japanese celebrity newscaster had committed suicide. She jumped off a building. Breakfast was an ordeal. I am not a breakfast person at the best of times and facing what looked like last night's dinner at this ungodly hour was not my idea of fun.

I think a dose of culture stress was hitting me. I picked at some salad with sesame dressing and sipped a cup of green tea. I tried not to look at my friends who were hungrily eating sloppy rice in raw egg and ignore the musty smell of the miso soup in the bowl next to me. It is funny. At the beginning, one is enthralled by all that is weird and wonderful and then after a while, there comes a point when it stops being wonderful and is just plain weird. Saying that, I know that in two weeks time I will be back in Hastings and all this will exist only as memories and snapshots. I think I will miss Japan very much.