Golden Week: Part 2

Hello and welcome back. Part 2 begins... now!

I've been thinking about what sort of post I wanted to write for part 2 of Golden Week. I considered doing a post in the same style as the last one but, to be honest, I think the last post was a bit long. There was just too much there.

This time, I'm going to relate a single encounter to you. It is, in my opinion, the most noteworthy encounter of the trip. But it also highlights the strange things that kept on happening to us. Just imagine that nights like this one happened every night and you won't be too far off.

Part 2 began when I caught the 6:20 train from my town on Wednesday evening. About three hours, two transfers and a bullet train ride later, my friend and I arrived in Fukuoka. Unfortunately, we arrived just after the reception desk at our hostel closed. Fortunately, we had anticipated this and the kind hostel people gave us the code for the front door to let ourselves in.

We settled into our room and, much to our pleasure, discovered that the hostel had left us a map filled with recommendations. There was one particular spot, marked as both a bar and a three-star recommendation, that we decided was our best bet for a good night. So off we went to the common room to round up our fellow hostelers.

Sad to say, but we only managed to get one companion. All the other people were stinky no-good losers and they all had extra long nose hairs, too.

I kid, I kid. Their nose hairs were perfectly normal.

So off we set with our single (awesome) companion. Along the way was much talk and merry-making. Stories were told, impressions were made. In the end, we decided that we were all super cool and were obviously destined to hang out together and become super friends.

We arrived at the bar and were told, first thing, by a balding man in his fifties who was obviously rather drunk, that the kitchen was closed. This, however, was quickly followed by the addition that drinking was perfectly okay. As we ourselves were perfectly okay with just drinking, we happily sauntered over to a corner table and ordered three beers.

This is when things began to get interesting. You see, we didn't simply receive three beers. We received two normal sized beers and a third beer which was the size of the other two beers combined. They came with an instruction from the balding man, too. To decide who was to drink the Great Beer, we were to janken. The winner would be crowned winner, champion, olympian god, and owner of the Great Beer.

Naturally, I won.

But it didn't end there. Barely halfway through our beers (or a quarter of the way through for me and my extra large beer), the balding man appeared again. This time, he had two women with him. One was about the same age as him, the other was maybe ten years younger. At this point it became quite clear that the balding man was, in fact, the owner of this fine establishment.

The conversation went something like this:

Balding Man: "Hello! This is my girlfriend!"

Woman #1: "Nice to meet you."

Balding Man: "This other woman is much better looking though, don't you think?"

Woman #1: "You asshole."

Woman #2 chuckles.

Balding Man: "You know, the dontaku matsuri is tomorrow, right?"

We acknowledge the existence of said matsuri and establish that, in fact, we have come from Okayama to see it.

Balding Man: "Okayama! We love Okayama! A transexual friend of ours dresses up every day like Momotaro, but as a woman, and performs on the street! You should see that!" (Note that Momotaro is the symbol of Okayama)

Woman #2: *ignoring the obvious surprise on our face* "Can we join you at your table?"

Sure, we say. The balding man disappears and the two women explain that he is going to bring us something to eat. They then ask if we want anything in particular to eat. We are confused, as the kitchen was closed, we'd thought.

Woman #2: "Psh. They'll make something if we ask."

Woman #1 agrees.

We express the fact that we are not particularly hungry and actually came here just to drink. Neither woman seems to hear us.

Woman #2: "I know what you should get! Shrimp! It's totally my favorite dish of all time ever."

Woman #1: "Yeah! Let me go ask them to make it."

She then ran off, somewhere beyond sight, to make her queries. We talk with Woman #2 for a little while. Not much important was said, but it was conversation and conversations are always fun. In the meantime, we finish our drinks and order another round.

Soon, Woman #1 returns. She is holding a bowl and in the bowl are three shrimp. But these are not normal shrimp. These are large, grey prawns, and they are alive.

Well damn. We all take a mental step back. I remember my brother talking about the drunken shrimp he had eaten during his time in China. Apparently the shrimp would be paralyzed by the liquor and be mostly unable to move.

Well, I think, maybe I could handle that. And maybe I could have, if we were eating drunken shrimp.

These were different. How do I know they were different? Mostly because they were moving. A lot.

After much freaking out on the part of myself and my fellow foreign friends, Woman #2 picks up the shrimp and starts ripping the shell, legs and tail off. As she does so, I can see it flexing and squirming. Each tug makes it quiver and I'm crawling backwards into my seat just thinking about the pain it's in.

Woman #2, of course, can't understand what we find so disturbing about the thing and just keeps going. Finally she finishes her gruesome task and offers the still twitching and very much alive shrimp to us. My friend takes it. As he dips it in the wasabi, though, it twitches and he drops it on the table.

"I can't do it, man. I can't." he opines, quite understandably.

In the back of my mind, however, is the drunken shrimp that my brother ate. If he could do it, so could I, I reasoned. So I steeled my nerves and picked the creature up. With its head between my index finger and thumb, I dipped it in the soy sauce, as directed by Woman #2. And then, I put it in my mouth.

I describe it this way, because in my mind I had in fact divorced myself from the idea that it was a live creature. It was simply that there was a series of steps to take and, if I followed them, then I would successfully affirm my masculinity and all the world would praise my awesomeness. Or something like that.

As I sank my teeth into its flesh, however, I was yanked back to reality. At that moment, I felt a quivering between my fingers. It was like the shrimp was giving one final scream, a death shake. Suddenly filled with disgust, I tossed the head of the shrimp into the bowl from whence it came.

A few moments later, I remembered to enjoy the taste of the shrimp in my mouth. It was indeed quite fresh. Quite tasty.

But would I go through it a second time to achieve that level of tastiness? Nope. I left the other two shrimp for my friends. It was also revealed at this point removing the heads from the start was permissible. In other words, there was no need to eat it while it was still mobile.

*facepalm*

Last night at a work enkai, I asked one of my coworkers if this was indeed a normal thing. Woman #2 had acted as if this kind of thing happened all the time, all over the country. Thankfully, my coworker's shocked reaction confirmed to me that this was, indeed, not a normal meal.

The night got better after that.

A few minutes, perhaps a half hour later, the owner returned to our table. He informed us that, of the other customers currently in the restaurant, there happened to be an a capella group. They also happened to be singing. We had heard the singing earlier, but thought it was a recording.

So naturally we wandered over to the a capella group's table and introduced ourselves. And just as naturally, they decided to put on a performance for us.

Happily, and with our jaws still hanging a bit open, we allowed ourselves to be serenaded. And when the song was over, the next natural step was to change our location to the table right next to the a capella group. Then, just to add the icing to the cake, the owner decided to give us all a free round of miso soup.

We stayed there as long as we could, until the staff informed us that the bar was closing for the night. Then, to send us on our way, the owner gave us each two bananas and an orange, stuck a can on his head, and took a picture with us. Why? I have no idea. Nor do I care.

I love Japan.

~Jeffles