On a recent trip to japan, Tim Warrington discovered what it’s like when the sightseer becomes the site.

travel

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tim striking a pose Japanese style.

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Although some may secretly find my appearance monstrous at times, no one has actually verbalised it – until I

arrived in Tokyo that is. During a brief stopover in this mega city

of 35 million people (destination London) I pass a group of chattering Japanese children. I’m en route to my lodgings in the suburb of Tokorozawa, about 30 kilometres west of downtown Tokyo. As I approach, wobbly and jelly-legged from my disturbed circadian rhythms, the hubbub immediately ceases, and the littlest of them points at me and whispers in quiet awe, “monster”.

Welcome to the Land Of The Rising Sun I think to myself. I dismiss the remark as the greeting of a well-meaning child, lost in translation; I mean, at a whisker over six foot, and 95 kilos, I’m hardly enormous. Like many men in their thirties, I maintain an uneasy truce with my burgeoning waistline. I promise to eat salad and veggies more than steak and chips, it promises not to expand exponentially and block out the sun. This accord has served me well over the years, with no overseas travel ever prompting me to resort to a diet of tofu and mung beans, but after two days in Japan, I feel like a fat bastard.

That night we dine at Gonpachi (the Kill Bill restaurant). I’m with my travelling companion Nelle, her friend Alicia and Japanese partner Kazuo, the latter whispers something into Alicia’s ear. She pauses for a moment and then leans across the table, suppressing a giggle and says quietly, “Kazuo thinks you look like Arnold Schwarzenegger.”

As I stuff more edamame into my mouth, I wonder, am I really a behemoth? I console myself with sake, both the hot and cold variety, much to the amazement of Kazuo who clearly appreciates the potency of this rice wine more than I.

The local restaurants are great: the menus are in Japanese, but in most eateries there’s a display cabinet at the entrance containing plastic examples of all the dishes. Also the menus have pictures of the food, so you can order simply by pointing. When the waitress arrives to take our order, Kazuo points to a dish that would emaciate a sparrow. I am not quite so restrained as I am STARVING. I point at several starters and two main courses. As I pause to consider a third, my menu is whisked away by my startled waitress. Her amazement is equaled only by observing the speed at

which I devour my order when it arrives. Suddenly, I don’t feel so well. Unsure if

it’s the raw jellyfish I’ve just consumed or the alcohol, I excuse myself and go to the bathroom. In my somewhat inebriated state, I approach the nearest waitress and muddle my entire Japanese vocabulary consisting of only two words: sumimasen (excuse me) and sudoko (number puzzle). While gesticulating wildly with my hands I repeat, “number puzzle” over and over again. She smiles sweetly, disappears and returns moments later with a pair of chopsticks and then bows. “Number puzzle,” I say and bow in return. She bows again and so do I – this continues for some time. Fortunately, the excessive cow-towing has restored my sobriety and I return to the table, lamenting my decision not to learn at least some basic Japanese. In the taxi on the way home, I vow to keep my phrase book close to me at all times.

The following morning, we all head to Tokyo Disneyland in the Chiba Prefecture – top of our must-see list. From Tokyo station, we jump on the train (JR Keiyo Line to Maihama) and during the 15-minute journey, Kazuo draws our attention with cries of “Fuji-san, Fuji-san” (Mount Fuji). Smog allowing, you can see the active volcano from Tokyo. Even as we whiz past in our pristine carriage, the peak, which stands at almost 4,000 metres, presents an impressive vista. It hasn’t belched lava since 1708/09, so you can climb the track to the summit, if you’re adventurous. You don’t need to be a mountaineer to ascend but given it’s five to seven hours each way, I’m content to admire its beauty from afar. Lost in my thoughts the previous night’s misadventure a distant memory, I begin to feel less conspicuous. And then, just as I let my guard down, the Japanese family opposite smile sweetly and I clearly hear the word ‘sumo’. With thoughts of swapping my shirt and tie for a sumo g-string (mawashi), I close my eyes and slumber the rest of the way.

We arrive early, but already a serpentine queue of locals precedes us to the ticket booths. It’s my fourth visit to a Disney theme park, but the first time I’ve actually felt like one of the attractions. I notice the not-so-subtle camera lenses pointing in our direction and the click, click, click of shutters from all around us.

I return fire, shooting off several stills with my telephoto Canon and as I turn to capture an image of two elderly ladies in kimonos, my viewfinder is blocked by a group of Japanese youths. The contrast is poignant: the old and the new. Young Tokyo fashionistas march to the beat of a unique drum. Clad in tartan and fluorescent colours, with wild-bleached hair, swinging their Louis Vuitton and Prada, they strike a blinding contrast to their parents as they march along giggling, bejewelled >>

Tim-Zilla iS

like many men in their thirties, i maintain an uneasy truce with my burgeoning waistline … but after two days in Japan, i feel like a fat bastard.

timandAliciawithhabitualDisneyfibberPinocchio.

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>> mobile phones heavy with charms glued to their ears.

With Tokyo Disney being East Asia’s single greatest tourist attraction, I wonder why the locals are so curious about us. About 10 million people a year have walked through the gates since they opened in 1983, however, Kazuo explains that Westerners, particularly those who are tall and fair, remain something of a novelty – especially for the younger generation, who are still polite but aren’t as well-mannered as their more mature counterparts. The older generation treats etiquette with an almost religious solemnity, best demonstrated by the Japanese equivalent of “the customer is always right” – “the customer is God”.

By the time we get to the entrance and pay ¥6,200 (about $75) for a daily pass, I’ve already been asked by three groups to pose for photos; we all salute with two fingers raised in victory – it’s a Japanese thing.

The Japanese have clutched Walt Disney and all of his merchandise to their collective bosoms. With a penchant for gadgetry and anything animated or cute, nothing could be more up their alley than Disney; they simply love it. Before long there are thousands and thousands of people milling about in a seemingly Disney-fied daze and nearly all of them (mums, dads and grandparents included) are bedecked with some sort of costume or headpiece, hat, ears, earmuffs – you name it. A grey-haired man with a walking frame leaves the souvenir shop with a large stuffed octopus hat, tentacles swinging precariously past horn-rimmed spectacles. Determined to blend in, we follow suit and soon I have Winnie The Pooh ears perched atop my woolly hat.

In the souvenir shop I select a pair of XL Mickey Mouse boxer shorts as a holiday reminder. Ordinarily, this would be a simple transaction but once again the language barrier trips me. With three shop attendants serving me, I am confused by the situation. Has my credit card been declined? Have I inadvertently picked Minnie, not Mickey? I am at a loss. The pandemonium grows until I wave my hands, signaling I no longer want the item. As I turn to leave, one of the cashiers points at the shorts, then points at me and puffs out her cheeks like a fugu (puffer fish) – the international sign for fat. Following endless bowing, I exit with my XXXL shorts clutched in my pudgy hands.

Leaving my wounded ego behind in the souvenir shop, we head off and soon realise that we need to queue for everything at Tokyo Disney – from the public toilets, food and most of all, the rides. You can get a priority ticket for most attractions, which acts as a sort of VIP waiting list. You get your stamp for a ride and then see another attraction and when you return, you join the priority queue, which is much shorter. Regardless, we still waited up to an hour for a couple of the more popular rides.

Ever polite though, the locals don’t seem at all bothered by the delays, chatting patiently and shuffling forwards in an orderly fashion. I’m a little less comfortable with the concept and slightly perturbed at waiting 60 minutes only to be strapped into a chair, shaken about like a cocktail, made to watch a short movie I don’t really understand, sprayed with water and then pointed towards the exit.

After waiting half an hour for a table at one of the quieter restaurants, I feel nervous about dining considering the previous night’s carousing. That and the gurgling in my tummy has only recently subsided, so I’m dubious but sustenance is required. I opt for something safe: a clear soup with udon noodles. When the food arrives, Alicia and Kazuo slurp and dribble at their dish while I stare in disbelief. They notice

From top: Language

barrier? No problem, just

point at plastic dishes.

Bottom Left: harajuku

fashions: see and be seen.

Bottom Right: Disney

world: a place where

everyone dresses up.

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my gaze and assure me it’s correct etiquette to gulp your food loudly. I devour my broth like my frenzied Labrador at feeding time and suffer only a minor esophageal spasm as I imagine my mother’s remonstrations for such appalling table manners.

The afternoon is spent queuing for more rides and leisurely wandering about the shops and attractions. The weather is glorious, but

the brilliant sunshine seems purely decorative, as it provides no warmth. Visiting Japan in winter (December to February) is a somewhat bracing experience, so bring as many warm clothes as you think you

would need and then double them. Nightfall brings frost and it’s simply too cold to stay any longer, even though we’ve only seen half the park. One day really isn’t enough to cover the 115 acres and seven different ‘lands’ that make up the theme park.

The return trip is an experience of Guinness World Record proportions: “How many people on a packed railway platform can you fit into a train already full to capacity?” Answer: all of them. The impossibly overcrowded carriage pulls up and a gazillion more passengers squeeze their way on. I’m conscious of my elbow pressing against a lady’s face but I’m unable to move and I smile. She bows. I find myself bowing back; she bows again. It’s contagious and before long, I find myself dipping like a nodding dog. I’m clearly taking up the same space as four Tokyoites, but no one seems to resent this large Western man.

We bid farewell to Alicia and Kazuo and grab the tube to Shinjuku for a spot of shopping. The station there is the busiest in the world but I’m already adapting to the crowds; you don’t really have a choice. Amidst the plethora of department stores and camera shops, I find a quirky stall displaying all manner of strange wares. A faux-fur covered plastic cat’s paw that opens and closes at the press of a button soon catches my eye. The purveyor’s sales pitch in broken English, assuring me of its practicality for “scratching and reaching,” is so ridiculous that I must own one immediately. I can’t wait to veg on my sofa back home, clutching lazily at things just out of my reach with my plastic cat’s paw. As with all purchases in Japan, my precious paw is wrapped and packed to perfection. They even throw in a few spare bags for good measure, presumably in the event you suffer some packaging misadventure on your way home and require fresh wrapping materials.

On our final night in Japan, I am nonplussed at having to explain to the hotel staff that I require neither an oversized nor reinforced

bed. I am used to the stares and comments; it is well meant and harmless, if a little overwhelming at times – at least I know how Gulliver felt. The next morning we catch a

train to Narita International Airport, which is situated an inconvenient 60

kilometres from the city. As the plane takes off London-bound, I marvel at its

ability to rise skyward, given its weighty cargo. I consider the whirlwind 48 hours

we’ve spent in Japan. I can’t help but think this country is like fine sake: it tastes great but

in large quantities can overwhelm, disorientate or even knock you off your feet. And also like the rice wine, I’m sure to feel the effects of Tokyo, long after taking my first sip.

From top: tim and Nelle

enjoying two Japanese

staples: edamame and Kirin

beer. Bottom Left: the locals:

always hygienic, even when

catching a few zzz’s. Bottom

Right: Downtown tokyo

– almost totally destroyed

during world war II is again a

buzzing metropolis. Bottom:

Bandai’s plastic pussy paw...

say no more.

See tokyodisneyresort.co.jp for more information.

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