Let the drums beat! (Japan #7)

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Another day of excitement, both for me and for the people of Tokyo who have organised a marathon in my honour! Isn’t that just lovely? Other nations, please learn.


Because people really just can’t get enough of me, Masa just had to meet me again (right Masa?). However, he once more decided to make me meet him at UNGODLY hours. Aching, with huge difficulty I manage to wake up to appease my fans.


We decided on Harajuku as I was going to be doing some secretive (no, still not sex) business from 12. There was a small female only marathon going on. In my honour.



He looks a bit drunk, right? Drunk on my extraordinary presence! I feel so inspired today. This posts also seems to totally fail as a travel guide. OK let’s fix that: Harajuku is home to an assortment of strange phenomena, from being called the Champs Elysees of Tokyo to hosting cosplayers (which I havent seen) and Meiji Temple.



Though the train station is called Harajuku, if you prefer the underground then you’re looking for the Meiji-jingumae station. Then you can visit Yoyogi Park, Meiji Temple or just stroll around and look at some Camden-like shops. I did find it quite exciting that there were all these drums there; there werent many viewers for the marathon but the ladies with the drums danced and yelled and cheered all the runners on as they approached the end of their thing.





“You’re so camp I’m just going to sit on my phone”. I was called “a bit camp today”. Me. I would really like someone do defend my manlyhood. Soon.


Barrels in which sake is being kept. Much nicer than use back in Romania to keep tzuica.




“Just gonna stand there and watch me burn”, the priest is singing in his head. Yes, I am unholy and nothing is sacred and safe from my jokes. This being said, Meiji has been the first temple I actually saw robed priests around, which was quite nice. Maybe it was cause it’s Sunday.



Then I was left alone, and afterwards wandered to a little second hand yukata stall that is only there in the weekend. Where it happened… I heard Romanian. There was a huge UGH in my soul. Time to probably alienate some of my Romanian viewers: now, my problem wasnt exactly that I heard my mother tongue (tho I for some reason always dislike meeting my compatriots when travelling. Is it the same for other?), it was that I could understand their peasant-talk. They were all trying yukatas and kimonos on and saying how they should buy it for this and that relative.


Clothing that was once worn by Japanese men and women who knew how to respect it will joe be bought, worn once and then stuffed in the closet next to some freaking poncho from Mexico (no offence, poncho). I really really hate such things. This kind of consumerism makes me want to go all Columbine on them. Sure, I bought myself lots of yukatas: but i actually wear them. Ask Daniel. If you were in Prahran on the 23rd February you would have seen me in Coles with a yukata top.

Dear humans, if you really want to buy something for your 5th degree cousins husband, buy them a fridge magnet. Leave those yukata for someone who knows how to fold them at least. (At first I thought maybe they were some otaku that knew about kimonos and i was fine. They weren’t).

OK time to relax with some strawberry short cake.




More Japan

This post is part of a (fantastic, amazing, life-changing) series:

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