Budget Trouble

Japanese Street Scenes

Preparations for the mikoshi procession in Utsunomiya:

Blind Date - Japanese Style

I’ve been reading about omiai - お見合い (arranged blind date) on the net and scratching my head. One of my close friend arranges omiai and seriously, the stuff on the net and the reality couldn’t be more different. But I guess, this is exactly what happens when articles on wikipedia are written by people who have never seen the actual process in real life and instead base their entries on fancy “scientific” research, books and other second-hand materials. I’ve always thought it was only the case with travel entries (regurgitated, out of date guidebook info), but apparently, it’s a common wikipedia disease and other topics are not immune either.

Anyway, we were supposed to talk about omiai. And if you want the official cultural, historical and social anthropology info, by all means, go to wikipedia. But if you want to know how omiai really functions these days, keep reading.

My friend is something called “nakodo” - 仲人、which basically is a fancy Japanese term for a matchmaker. Last weekend she set up a blind date for two total idiots, and despite her best efforts, the match didn’t work out.

The woman was a 36-year old pharmacist. A typical vapid, shallow, high-maintenance Japanese, who selects her friends based on the number of Gucci bags they own and the stores they shop at. Her attitude towards her fellow human beings goes a long way toward explaining why at the age of 36 a pretty woman like her is still single. She’s also dumb as a doornail. For the blind date she showed up at a hotel in a totally different town, about an hour away from the actual meeting place. Well, at least it was still in the same prefecture! And really, I’m kind of nervous that this person works as a pharmacist at a major Tokyo hospital. I can only hope that her ability to fill prescriptions is better than her ability to read email and follow directions. When she and her Gucci bag finally made it to the right town and the right hotel, the guy and my friend had been waiting for her for over an hour.

She eventually showed up, sat down and fully expected to be treated like a Gucci bag carrying queen that she was.

How about the guy? Imagine a 40-year old never married engineer. Yeah, I know, the word “geek” just doesn’t quite say it, now does it? Zero common sense, zero social skills and zero pretenses. But a rather large bank account. Well, you can’t expect refined social graces from an engineer who spends most of his evenings jerking off to internet porn. No job, no matter how well-paying, and no bank account, no matter how sizeable can make up for a total lack of common sense when it comes to dealing with vapid, high-maintenance Japanese women. But I guess he liked what he saw (or was really desperate for some live action as opposed to a blow up doll) and wanted to meet her again. Needless to say, she, through nakodo (the matchmaker), said “no”.

Then why did they agree to meet in the first place? Because, at their age, chances of finding a partner using more traditional means are slim to none. The woman’s only requirement was “a good job and lots of money”. Things like ancestry, social standing and other useless bits tend to get thrown to the wayside when a woman, no mater how pretty, is approaching 40. When women are in their late twenties, they want the 3 Hs: height (tall guy), high salary and high education. But the older they get, the more willing they become to meet someone, anyone, with at least one of the Hs – preferably high salary.

Guys are even less picky. For many, a living, breathing woman is all they ask for. Preferably a woman with no children or ex-husbands lurking in the background.

But sometimes, even with such pared down requirements, the date doesn’t work out. The woman may say she’ll be happy with a guy who makes a lot of money, but in reality she wants someone who also looks like a movie star, treats her like the 8th wonder of the world, worships her on his knees on a first date and oh yeah, is hung like a Shetland pony. I told my friend she should try to match this bimbo with a foreigner – there are plenty of white guys out there who are obsessed with this kind of Japanese woman.

But in the meantime, it looks like we (yes, we, because now it has become a joint effort) are going to try another engineer – good job, good salary and yeah, he is taller than her. And I’ve seen the pictures – the guy’s not butt ugly and doesn’t make me want to poke my eyes with a sharp stick.

So, as you see, wikipedia can quote highly regarded cultural references all it wants, but real life is something else entirely.

When a Cheap Person Goes Shopping in Japan

Some people say I’m cheap (as in “she doesn’t like to spend a lot of money” and not as in “red lipstick, fishnet stockings and a push-up bra”). Personally, I’d prefer the term “budget minded” or “frugal” but whatever. I can live with cheap.

I’m cheap because I’m also chronically poor. And if you are poor, it’s only logical that you don’t have a lot of cash to throw around. Why I’m poor is a whole another story. My husband says that perhaps if we traveled less we’d have more money to spend on other things. I nod in agreement, and then we both come to the same conclusion – we’d rather travel.

But every so often, even if you are a perpetual traveler, you need to buy stuff. And every so often, even a perpetual traveler needs to settle down for a while. And with settling down come additional expenses like spoons and sofas and skillets and even an occasional cake pan or two. (I refuse to live out of packing boxes and sit on milk crates – been there, done that and I’m too old and cranky for that kind of life now.)

So yeah, every once in a while even a chronically broke tightwad needs to go shopping.
And where do tightwads like me go shopping in Japan? To the Off Center, of course.

In the beginning there was Book Off – a used book store. There’s even one in New York, on 41st Street between 5th Ave and Madison. They have used books and other media (also in languages other than Japanese), all in pretty much excellent condition. I know because I sold them a truckload of my stuff when I was leaving town.

There are Book Offs in other cities in the US and also in France, Canada and Korea.

But I think it’s only in Japan where Book Off became a whole “Off” institution.
There’s “Off” everything now – from clothes to furniture to electronics and pretty much whatever else you can think of in between. All used, all in excellent condition (if not, junk is clearly marked as such), and all cheap.

Last week I went to my local “Off” center, no reason - I was in the neighborhood, that's all, and bought three dresses, which just happened to be new. They still had the original tags on them – that’s pretty common in Japan. Japanese ladies like to shop and then never even wear the stuff they've bought. After one season they realize “oh crap, I won’t be caught dead in those old rags”, get rid of them and promptly go shopping for new, more fashionable things.

Well, I don’t mind wearing last season’s styles. Besides, I still have clothes from fifteen seasons ago, so last year’s is practically brand new and fresh off the runway to me. And the dresses are simple and black, anyway. And black never goes out of style.

Anyway, they cost me the equivalent of 15 bucks (US), they fit and I look nice in them. And that’s really all that matters, right?

To balance my addiction to the local Off Center, the next day we went to the outlet mall in Sano. They had advertised massive sales, but in reality, while the sales were indeed there, only some of them were of the 75% off variety. Luckily, they were at the stores where I normally shop for on sale stuff anyway: French Connection UK, Columbia Outerwear and a few others.

FCUK was this season's Sano sales winner, hands down. Their pants are lovely, black, fit nicely, and damn, they were only 3000 yen! I'm not going to say how many pairs we've bought, OK? - I need to preserve my tightwady image. LOL!

Still, I am not sure I would go to Sano just for ordinary not-on-sale shopping. Nah, definitely not. Cheapskates like me normally shop at UniQlo and for other needs visit the Off Center or 100 yen stores. Yes, we’re THAT cheap in this house!

Sleeping in Airports – Vancouver International

When it comes to sleeping in airports, Arlanda in Stockholm is a total Club Med. Quiet, plenty of soft seating without annoying armrests, and now that Rest and Fly is there – also with showers. At any given night, the whole place looks like a refugee camp with people sprawled on every available surface surrounded by mountains of luggage. Security guys on night duty always very thoughtfully step over them, careful not to disturb the sleepers.

In comparison, Vancouver looked like a total ghost airport the night I stayed there. Quiet, with plenty of soft seating (some with annoying armrests unfortunately), with vending machines (you don’t get that in Stockholm) and free internet (you don’t get that in Stockholm either). And no people. At all. Anywhere.

My flight from Toronto was slightly late and when I finally got my luggage, it was already 1:30AM. I didn’t have a hotel booking, because I was hoping for a greater delay, but unfortunately, by airline standards we arrived practically on time (because really, one hour late is like nothing).

I loaded my stuff onto a baggage cart (free in Vancouver) and set on in search of a suitable sleeping place. I didn’t have to go very far. Found my perfect soft bench right in the domestic arrival hall. I checked my emails, went to the bathroom (nice big bathrooms where you can easily take your luggage cart too, not to the stall, but to the general space – not like at Arlanda where you have two sets of stupid doors), got a Coke from a vending machine and settled in for the night. A security guy asked me if I was waiting for the bus. I said that no, I was waiting for a flight. He wished me a pleasant night and left me alone.

In the morning, around 5AM, a chatty bunch of Filipinas turned on their noisy cleaning machines and did their best to wake me up. A few nasty words of Tagalog came in very handy and again I was left alone.

Still, even at 6AM when I finally got up from my bench, the airport was awfully quiet. The international terminal was dead. Even the newsstand was still closed. The domestic side was slowly waking up, and the only place that was buzzing was Tim Horton’s – of course...

All in all, a pleasant airport to spend the night at. The only drawback, or maybe I simply didn’t find them, was the lack of showers. That, and hard to find outlets – my laptop needed some serious recharging, and while there are plenty of places to do it after going through security, in the before-security areas, I couldn’t locate any conveniently placed electrical outlets. I finally ended up sitting on the floor in the middle of the international departures hall next to a pillar with a socket pissing off everybody in the process. Well, it’s not my problem they had idiots design their electrical wiring, OK?

Outlets might be hard to come by, but at least they have art. Or something that resembles art.

Those Kinky Canadians

Flying from Poland to Japan via Canada is dumb. And uncomfortable. Don’t try it, folks. Unless, of course, sitting cramped up for about 23 hours straight, sleeping in airports and being jetlagged upon jetlagged are your ideas of fun. Or, if you plan to travel with a truckload of luggage and want to take advantage of the wonderful scheme that is piece concept – then flying to Asia via North America will be your only way to go.

That was my reason. After packing, repacking, checking the weight of my bags and then repacking again (repeat multiple times over a couple of days until you can no longer stand the sight of your luggage), I finally managed to whittle down my stuff to the most essential 70 kilos.

The decision made itself. Traveling to Japan directly from Europe was out of the question. There was no way I was going to pay for 40 kilos of excess baggage (estimating that I could take 20 kgs as checked in luggage and 10 kgs in the cabin) – at 30 euro per kilo, that alone was enough to make me want to slit my wrists and bleed to death. Or travel to Japan on a donkey.

Clearly, another approach was needed. I started reading up on the piece concept.

This piece concept is a wonderful thing and whoever came up with it needs to be nominated for sainthood. When traveling to/from the US and Canada you are allowed to check in TWO bags of 23 kilos each, plus hand luggage (that’s in economy, you can take THREE bags when flying first class). Compare that to the measly 20 kilos in Europe and other parts of the world and you can see why someone desperate enough would willingly agree to travel for almost 60 hours, including layovers.

Add to that the wonderful Air Canada policy of TWO pieces of hand luggage of 10 kilos each and hassle free entry procedures (no anal probe like in the US) and hello Canada – here I come!!! Surprisingly, the price for the whole itinerary wasn’t that much more expensive than a standard flight to Japan from Europe (via Copenhagen or Helsinki).

I flew on LOT from Gdansk to Warsaw, then after five hours, on to Toronto. There, I had dinner with my friend (who also kindly allowed me to use her shower) and then continued on to Vancouver. And here – surprise, surprise! Air Canada wouldn’t let me check in my bags in Toronto all they way through to Narita, even though I had that route on a single ticket. Apparently, my 13 hour layover in Vancouver was too long for their liking. Oh well, no problem. Luggage carts in Vancouver were free (unlike in Toronto) and I slept on my bags.

And from Vancouver it was just a quick 9-hour and a bit flight to Tokyo. I arrived in one, albeit very tired and almost paralyzed, piece. My luggage got there too. And my dear husband surprised me by showing up at the airport with the car.

I got home and immediately went to sleep. And slept… And then slept some more.

When I finally woke up and began to unpack, I made an amazing discovery. My bras and panties were missing. Somewhere between Poland and Japan they had simply vanished from my luggage.

I know for certain that my bags were searched in Toronto – they appeared on a different belt than the rest of the stuff from the same flight. And who the heck knows what happened to them in Vancouver - I checked them in five hours before the flight.

I have always thought of Japan as the land of hentai. Here, it’s common for western women’s underthings to disappear from washing lines. But Canada?

And it wasn’t even anything Victoria Secret-type fancy. Just normal panties and bras from GAP.

Oh well… I needed an excuse to go shopping, anyway.

My baggage was divided into two bags of a bit more than 23 kgs each (but nobody kvetched about it) and two bags as hand luggage. Technically, they were supposed to be 10 kilos each. How heavy they were in reality, well… I better not say.

I got tired (not to mention rather sick) of the usual mysterious “chicken or beef” in airline meals. (This time LOT didn’t even bother with “beef” – it was either “chicken or pork”) and I had ahead of time ordered a vegetarian meal. Big mistake. The carrots were old enough to have a meaningful discussion about life, universe and everything with me. Still, that was nothing compared to the vegetarian macabre served by Air Canada – disgusting quasi-Indian garbage of very mature chickpeas and parboiled rice.

The same meal was served twice – zero variety and zero actual vegetables. My seat companion said that her non-vegetarian “salmon” wasn’t any better. We skipped the meals and sustained ourselves on crackers, nuts and Diet Coke.