A few months ago, my fellow teachers and I renamed our new hometown from Hikari to Shitari, due to the non existent nightlife. The streets are literally dead after 9pm and the only people who live here are senior citizens and children. Small by Japanese standards, the city is still roughly around 30,000 people so you would think there would be a few decent bars, but we haven't even been able to mind one measly club.
Then two weeks ago, my boss invited us to a Japanese beer garden on Saturday night. It was my Saturday to work and admittedly I thought all of day of an excuse to get out of it, but never came up with one good enough. We walked to the 'beer garden' which had a beautiful view of the Inland Sea. To me, a beer garden has always been a big striped temporary tent at a rodeo or festival, consisting of rows upon rows of tables, drunks, and a smokey haze upon entry. Most Japanese beer gardens are on roof tops of buildings overlooking the city but this one was inside a large Italian restaurant with a buffet of food, an entrance fee, and unlimited beer and food. The only thing similar was the smokey haze upon entry. We stayed a few hours and got a good buzz, before we decided to move things to 'Stage Two' (the bosses exact words). We wandered over to the Jazz Bar. It was about 9:30pm on a Saturday night when we entered and the place was deserted. After a few drinks everyone started parting ways to catch trains home (the last trains leave around 11pm...I told you it was the middle of nowhere!). Eventually it was just Tomas and I and and the Master (bartender). Suddenly in walked a group of three. One of the girls could speak English quite well and began translating for us with another newcomer. The new guy found out I was from Canada and started telling me how he had spent a week there 10 years ago. He stood up abruptly and left, and I figured he was going out for a cigarette. Ten minuted later he's back with a photo album he had run home to get. I politely flipped through it until I got to the last few pictures, which were of him in bed...with a man. Tomas turns to him and asks him what they're all about. He looks at them and says 'Oh! That was my lover. I was gay, but I'm happily married now...to a woman!' And he holds up his left hand and points to his ring finger. Suddenly he stands up and leaves the bar again, taking everything with him. We didn't think he was coming back but suddenly he walks in again with bags from 7-11 that he hands to the Master. The Master opens them and lifts out enough cakes for everyone in the bar. He hands one to each of us and goes around pouring a shot of Tia Maria on everyone's. Soon after we finished, Mr. Happily Married gets up and leaves again, this time never to be seen again. His seat is replaced soon after, however. It doesn't take long before the new customer strikes up a broken conversation with the only gaijin's for miles around. Turns out he's a magician, who's also happily married. Do you see a pattern here? Surely it can't be Tomas, as he's not exactly the David Beckham the boss says he is. Obviously I won't be finding out if the myth about Japanese men is true, not in this town anyway! We sat while he did card tricks for us, but couldn't have been too good as even in my drunken haze I saw him mess up a few times. He gave me a card with his website on it: Hono Bono Magic, Mr. Mane. I have yet to find the website however...eventually we meander home through the empty streets stealing figs on the way...
Last Saturday we went out again, this time to the bosses condo which overlooks the Nijigahama Beach. In my six months here, I have never seen Shitari so packed. It was the biggest event all year in the city; the annual fireworks celebration. We had a barbecue which Bruce, the new teacher/retired ex-sniper had cooked for us. When we got there at 6:30pm he was already hammered. By the time the fireworks began at 8:00 and I had half finished my box of wine, I was well on my way as well. The fireworks lasted for exactly one hour, finishing at 9:00 on the dot. Tomas, Bruce, and I decided to continue the party at the Irish bar near the station, taking two of our adult students with us. We stopped at 7-11 on the way to get a drink for the 30 second walk. The parking lot was filled with Japanese teenage rebels with orange hair and sparkly Hello Kitty outfits (for the boys) and yukata (for the girls), drinking grape Fanta and bragging about the time they came 2 minutes late to class. After walking through the crowd yelling 'Kampai!' about 30 times we arrived at our destination. Bruce was dancing with the locals and we were having a great time. Atsushi asked to see Bruce's bullet wounds and he showed them to us, but after that the mood seemed to change. Bruce eventually passed out in his chair and suddenly he fell right out of it. Some of the locals ran over to help him up and we got him sitting again. They kept asking 'Are you OK? Are you OK?' until suddenly all hell broke loose and Bruce opened his eyes and knocked the Japanese man closest to him out, sending his glasses flying. Suddenly, the table was thrown over, glasses broken, salsa on the walls, and Tomas held up against the wall by an ex-Marine sniper, capable of doing who knows what? Poor innocent Masako jumped up to get the tiny barmaid, as if she could do anything. I tried to pull Bruce off of Tomas but could feel his muscles flexing, the bloode and adrenaline coarsing through his veins, and knew it was pointless to try. All the while the Japanese fools (no racism intended, but they were getting annoying and only making matters worse) were behind me, yabbering away. I don't know what I said exactly, but I finally felt Bruce relax and managed to get him sitting down, but Tomas wouldn't let go of his wrists for fear he would hit me. I can't remember the words that were said, but all I remember is looking into his eyes and seeing sadness and pain, like I've never seen before. Suddenly he was hugging me and telling me he wanted to go to the beach. We got our things together, paid a ridiculous amount, all the while muttering gomen nasai to the barmaid and when we were ready to go, Bruce was again nowhere to be seen, his phone and glasses sitting on the table. After searching around the station and beach we found him passed out on a set of stairs, convinced him to get up and crash at out apartment, only to have him sit down on on of the chairs at the train station, where he remained until we left him there at 6:20am after refusing to get on the first train home.
Although these nights out have not been the best of my life, I did meet a few people who will stay in my mind for awhile. But the most important lesson learned is, it's not the bar or the city you're in, but the people that you're with. You'd think I'd have figured that out after two years in Drum!
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