A (Joyously EntertainingThankGodYouAllSpeakEnglish) Weekend In Imabari

The City

Imabari is the second largest city in the prefecture of Ehime with a whopping population of around 176,000 people. Niihama comes in third with a piddly 127,000 – all of whom I’m sure I’ve already seen and flashed while attempting to ride a bike in a skirt up a hill. However, we

can boast a bright, shiny, two-storied mall which, I think, counts for way more than the expendable lives of the 50,000 people who make up the population difference. If you take a look at some of these photos of Imabari’s shopping facilities, I think you’ll know what I mean.

The Food

People were lying to me when they said that I’d never eat Mexican food again in Japan. This statement needs to be qualified a bit for any future JETs. It should read: “You will never again feast on any edible Mexican food that contains anything remotely related to a flavor in Japan.”

With much rejoicing we found a little Mexican cantina-like place that had a certain faux-Mexican charm to it. However, even with the brightly colored woven llama throws pegged up on the wall, the overly expensive bottles of imported Corona and the Hello Kitty in the corner wearing a sombrero and a poncho, I still couldn’t quite accept it as a convincing Mexican restaurant. Perhaps it was the pygmy-sized bowl of four stale, chewy corn chips served with salsa that lacked the smallest spark of flavor. Or perhaps it was the far-too-neatly-arranged nachos (nachos are, by definition, messy are they not?) my friend ordered that were presented with a tiny little spoon. Or maybe it was the quesadillas, whose tortillas were suspiciously Japanese-crepe-like and sandwiched a thin layer of melted bland cheese, lacking the key ingredient (of any true quesadilla)– scallions. I can now say that I’ve experienced authentic – Japanese - Mexican food, which incidentally makes Taco Bell look rather appetizing. And I don’t normally eat dog. That’s not to say that it wasn’t enjoyable. The woman who was running the restaurant with her daughter seemed quite friendly, but if she’s going to run a Mexican restaurant someone needs to introduce her to three words: the first being “crisp,” the second being “tasty,” and the last being “hot.”

Since all Japanese people inevitably describe whatever they are eating as being “oishii!” (delicious) I suspect that is precisely what everyone has told the proprietor since the start of time. People can be eating the innards of swans, the uterine linings of hermaphrodite pigs and they’d still be happily declaring “Oishii! Oishii!” as they gobble it up. So I will jump on the bandwagon and declare that the chewy tacos, too, were oishii!

Imabari also happened to be the site of my very first kimchi experience. Two friends and I grabbed a bite to eat at a little place aptly called “Korea Town.” While the tacos and quesadillas had left me chewing for sometime wondering when the flavor would kick in, until, at last, I realized I was chewing my own tongue, the Korean fare provided a much more obvious kick. If a food can make your nose run and your eyes water it’s obviously got some zing to it.

Japanese people like wooden sticks. Not only do they eat with them, they also flock to restaurant chains that are obsessed with skewering anything that once lived whether it be animal or vegetable. Enter a toriyaki house: With a ‘ping-pong’ press of a button a Japanese minion appears at your elbow ready to do your bidding and skewer various things on a stick for you. Minutes later they appear bearing pigs, cows, peppers, onions and even lovely delicacies such as chicken knuckles, all neatly run through with a pointy little stick and scaled down to a size appropriate for Japan.

The Entertainment

I had never thought of karaoke as being a small group activity. In Japan karaoke places come in various shapes and sizes, and it is not uncommon for a small group of even two or three friends to go after school and belt out a few tunes together. The favorable side of this event is that you will embarrass yourself in front of only a few individuals, who you most likely already know and like. The flip side of the coin is that you will, without a doubt, be forced to sing something ALONE which may cause said chummy comrades to change their formerly positive opinion of you as they hastily snatch the microphone away and drop it into their melon soda in an attempt to dissuade you from doing another brutal injustice to an already heinous Avril Lavigne song.

It was good fun. I got to see my first Japanese boy wearing a girl’s clip in his bangs. Boys do this without any qualms. As we were signing into the karaoke place three high school boys were leaving. One of them was sporting a pretty little clip in his hair that seemed oddly unnecessary to me, as it wasn’t exactly holding the hair out of his face. If anything, it was placed at a saucy angle that seemed to scream “LOOK AT ME. I’M A HAIR CLIP. AND I’M ON A BOY!!!” But maybe that’s just my sexist, insular American upbringing talking. His book bag was gaily decorated with several stuffed animals. He was obviously a Lilo & Stitch fan. But what eighteen-year-old boy isn’t?

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Published:
9.11.06 / 5pm
Category:
what i call life, unschoolish