A shout out to the madness among us

I love Japan. I love living here. I particularly love the fact that I wasn't raised here, as it allowed me to flourish and develop into the well-rounded, kind of balanced individual that all connected with me love.
My day to day life, however, puts me in touch with the result of a culture that demands conformity to the mould. There is what is expected. If you follow that, you end up in a good job. You work every hour that God gave you, and retire at 65, only to be struck down by dementia in your early 70s. Why? I really think it is because you have no memories in your head to keep the brain going. All you have is a lifetime of work, and memories of that cannot sustain mental cognition. Call me mad, but that's my take.
What happens if you don't follow what is expected of you?
Maybe you end up as a 40-year-old woman, working hard, but getting a pittance while listening to your Prime Minister bang on about how they are going to raise wages, etc, etc. Trying to work out how you worked so hard when you were young, but ended up on the wrong end of the stick somehow. Awful stuff.
I'd take the madness option any day of the week. I see it most days of the week here. Three cases in point.

The banging on the train windows guy
I get the same train into town every day. Most days my ride is pretty ordinary. Monotonous even. I play on my phone and raise my head to see everyone else doing the same. But sometimes, I get jolted out of my boredom by the window banging guy.
This guy is a young fella. In his early 20s, I suspect. And he is a train conductor. In his mind anyhow.
As the train pulls out of the station, he is pointing in every direction as the train drivers do. He then runs his index finger around the perimeter of the window of the door, then gives it a bloody good smack for effect. Everyone in the carriage who aren't wearing headphones gives a start. This bugger then runs up and down the carriage banging on various windows. 
For the novice, his antics are unsettling. For the veteran, amusing.

They talking to himself guy at the station
There is a station two stops from my regular station. I usually just pass through it on the train. Tomorrow, however, as circumstances have it, I will park in the supermarket carpark adjacent to the station. I need to drive, and park for a long time, then drive. They have a flat rate of 500 yen, so it is convenient.
So tomorrow will have me passing through the station. As I pass through the said station, I will see the same guy sitting in the same place, doing the same thing. And that thing is talking to himself, in an animated fashion. He just sits there, gesticulating and talking.
Not a care in the world.

The Blues Brothers guy
This guy won't get much of a mention, as I have only just noticed him. As I alight from my train at the main station and walk through the underground walkway on my way to work, I have noticed this guy leaning on the wall at the same place, wearing the same thing every time.The fact that he also is in earnest conversation with himself piques my interest.
He is always in black from head to toe, and wears dark sunglasses. Hence my Blues Brothers reference.

So, you've got these guys. Living in a society that is very unforgiving of differences. And they give zero. They just carry on in their own little worlds. Do you feel pity? Or do you in fact feel just ,a little jealous. Here we all are, striving to become what the world expects us to become. And here they are, happy with their lot. Only they know what their lot is, but that's cool, because it only matters to them.
I see the miserable people on a miserable treadmill, day after day. Pleasing the man. 
I see these three guys, in blissful ignorance of all the shit that we put ourselves through.
Who is crazy? Hmmm. It begs the question.

Who am I to ask for an English menu? Why am I perversely looking forward to the snow tomorrow?

So today, in the name of furthering another blog I do (if you're interested just ask in the comments), I visited a number of restaurants to ask if they had English menus.

The blog I'm setting up is to connect visitors to Hokkaido with restaurants with English menus, in the name of their dining convenience.

Anyhow, I found myself descending down a stairwell (well lit and perfectly cool) into a warren (again well lit and perfectly welcoming) of small eateries. 

My plan was to ask them all if they had an English menu, so as to include them in my register of restaurants with English menus.

I started by entering an Indian curry place. It was just out and out dodgy, so I moved on. I went through about six restaurants in total. They were lovely by and by, and I got one restaurants details. English menu, bloody good looking sushi and sashimi, and waitresses in traditional kimono/yukata get up.

That, however, was not the venue that sticks in my mind.

The honour of that goes to a smaller place. A place entered through a sliding door, with a TV bolted to the wall just to your right as you enter. The bar/serving station is directly in front of you. The whole place measures probably 7x4 metres, with about ten tables.

My memory of entering was not the sumo going on on the TV. It wasn't the music or the decor. It was the stare of the businessman seated at one of the tables. He was staring at me, with a 'what the hell are you doing here' look on his dial.

So I got to feeling miffed. How dare he look at me like that. I'm a person I thought. How dare you look at me like I don't belong.

But then I remembered this, this, this, this, and this story. (They all outline how locals are over tourists). And I had a moment of clarity.

This guy who was giving me the dirty had had a hard day at work. He has worked hard all his life, in a country that has rapidly changed around him. His city in particular, Sapporo, has become a tourist mecca of sorts. And here I was, in his safe place, speaking my awful accented Japanese, and taking away his quality after work time.

I get him. I know how he feels. Having lived in Japan for a spell now, I am turning Japanese a little I think. Case in point is the onsens at Niseko. Nothing I love more than a good onsen.

My favourite onsen is called Yuki Chichibu, and it is out the back of Niseko. If you forget to take your silver jewellery off, it comes out black. It stinks of sulphur, and leaves the lovely 

つるつる, or soft and smooth feeling on your skin when you hop out.

Unfortunately, in the winter now, I have to deal with Australians (and I regretfully suspect fellow  Kiwis) drinking beer whilst having an onsen. They aren't drunk, they aren't rowdy. They are just taking away from the calm and peace, and Japanese style that is an onsen. And it pisses me off no end.

And the perverse interest in the snow tomorrow? I don't know why, but I'm looking forward to it. When I am shoveling it and slipping over on it, and driving through it for three months, I will be cursing its very existence. I don't therefore understand my anticipation for its arrival. I is a very real, but unlogical feeling.