Strait to Sumo

I, Jason, just returned from a weekend in Tokyo sans family, the highlight of which was attending sumo at the Ryogoku Kokugikan for the final weekend of the Grand Tournament, or what’s known as the Winter Cup. It was fantastic – both the sumo and the peacefulness of traveling alone. Even though Tricia loves to say that traveling with Jonas is “lots of fun,” and it is, we both agreed that we needed a brief vacation that didn’t include navigating naps or weathering fits (Jonas, not Tricia) or lugging around Jonas’ “cage” (what many Japanese parents refer to as his portable crib. An aside: Jonas climbed out of his crib over the weekend while I was gone. Tricia put him in there for time out for punching the buttons on the heater, which he knows not to do but can’t resist doing as they make a delightful beeping noise. Moments later, she hears a loud crash and a Jonas crying. We think he used his Curious George doll, which is as big as he is, as a stepping stone to freedom. And what better doll to cause mischief than Curious George?). Anyway, this was my weekend.

If I were gong to stay in Japan for an extended period of time, I really could get into following the ins and outs of sumo. There’s plenty of drama, and the highlight of this tournament was the return of former champion Asashoryu, who was suspended for blowing off a summer promotional tour, citing injury, only to be caught running around in a charity soccer match in Mongolia. Media reports claimed fans had turned on the big Mongolian following the faux injury debacle, but he seemed to still hold sway when I was there. Here is a clip taken from my seat, near the top of the arena, of the action.

When I bought the train/hotel tickets for Tokyo, I asked the travel agent whether she had ever seen sumo. She cocked her head to the side and gave me that quizzical, askance Japanese look that means, “You’re crazy.”

“Oh, no. I think it’s mainly for the older generation,” she said.

“Like me?” How old did she think I was?

“The older generation,” she said. “And foreigners.”

She was right. Old timers and gaijin and little else filled the arena – for example, in my row there was a lone Japanese guy, a British kid in his early 20s, a girl with blue hair who seemed American, her boyfriend, and a group of six Australians. Well-connected and wealthy Japanese sat in the lower levels, where four-person boxes go for $450, and I have to say, many of them appeared to be of Takako the travel agent’s “older generation.” Before I left for Tokyo, I polled several coworkers of comparable age to me to whether any of them had watched sumo in person, and not a one of them had. They claimed it was too expensive (not true; my ticket was $20), that it was too difficult to get a ticket (not true; I bought mine the day of and walked right in). My friend Nomi told me his father, who is close to 70, loves sumo and went every January. As for himself, he never once went with him, although he said he would have loved to go. I didn’t press him any further.

Other than sumo, I didn’t take many pictures on this trip Every time I came across something oddly and distinctly Japanese, I’d think, “That would be a great picture. I don’t have the guts to take it.” It must have been that old Midwestern modesty taking hold. For example, within Akihabara, a mecca for electronics and manga geeks, there are these things called maid cafes, which as far as I can tell, are pretty much cafes where girls dressed as maids call you “lord” and serve you coffee and cake. There’s nothing expressly elicit about them; I’d consider them more of Japan’s answer to Hooters, although, and this is absolutely true, I have never patronized either.

Anyway, on numerous streets, girls would be standing around in their skimpy maid outfits, freezing their bare legs off while handing out leaflets that guided all the otakus and tourists to the cafes. Now, it’s cold in Tokyo. Not Akita cold. But chilly enough that you might want to wear, you know, pants while standing outside for hours. On one street, two maids were positioned among the crowd, smiling, handing out leaflets, their bare legs, from about mid-thigh down, being warmed by a pair of 3-foot-tall electric space heaters, which required electric cords to run all the way from the street, across the sidewalk, and up the stairs to the maid café. That's dedication and ingenuity.

I did take a number of shots of these girls, allegedly bullied high school kids who have become semi-famous for hanging out in a particular area of Tokyo and dressing up in costume, also known as cosplay, seemingly for no other reason than to be photographed by tourists.