Firefly in Japan

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I was on a trip to Kamakura with a whole bunch of friends, and I was pretty excited. I'd been to Kamakura several times already. Kamakura is a great place to take your friends who are new to Japan - it's close to Tokyo, and has all the fixings of a cultural destination - plenty of shrines and temples, traditional food and atmosphere, and a huge statue of a sitting Buddha.

However I'm of the personal belief that once you've seen one temple, you've seen them all (except for a few special places in Kyoto), and despite the fact that my jaw slammed into the ground the first time I saw the big Buddha statue, 5 viewings later, I was less moved. The thing that I was really looking forward to was the weapon shops.

Thats right, weapon shops.

For reasons best known to Japan, right in front of the big Buddha statue, there are a host of shops selling all manner of crazy weapons. From your basic knife, to the mafia style 'knuckle dusters', to swords, to the boomerang from Blade that has blades sticking out from every direction, to nunchakus, shuriken and a range of other weapons that have to be seen to be believed. Of course, my original reason for going to Japan was for Martial Arts, so I am the proverbial kid in a candy store at these weapons shops.

Finally, after walking through all manner of temples and shrines, we reached the street leading up to the big Buddha. I was bouncing up and down in excitement trying to figure out what exotic killing tool my budget would allow me to purchase.

I regarded my friends seriously, and told them that "Alright, now the big Buddha is the most famous cultural icon around this area, and all that stuff, but a lot of the REAL cultural experience of Kamakura is to be found in these small traditional shops." This would hopefully set them up to spend at least 40 minutes in these small shops trying to find this elusive cultural experience, during which time I would be flying from shop to shop checking out all of the weapons.

I parted from my friends and entered the first shop and looked around. It was a smaller shop, but with all the regular fittings, such as swords, knives, shuriken, etc. A few swords caught my eye at the back of the shop. Entranced by these distillations of pure swordsmanship, budo and culture, I walked right up to the glass, and peered in. This particular sword that had captured my attention was made completely of wood. There was no hilt on the blade - the sheath and handle were both made from light coloured wood. When the sword was fully in the sheath, it simply looked like a beautiful piece of curving wood, completely concealing the razor sharp blade hiding inside the smooth pine finish.

I stood in front of the case, mesmorised by this amazing sword. I almost jumped out of my skin when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I was in a martial art kind of mood, so I spun around ready to face my adversary. There was no-one there. I angled my eyes downward. A short, Japanese man with white hair and a white wispy beard grinned up at me.

"So! You like swords, huh?" He said in Japanese. It struck me that he looked like the little martial arts master from Tekken.

I recovered from the initial surprise of his approach, and began talking.

"Yeah!! I love swords. I came to Japan to do budo, so I love this kind of stuff."

The old Japanese man's bushy eyebrows raised. "You came to Japan for budo? What kind?"

"Well, similar to Aikido, but we use a lot of weapons, like swords." I said.

"I'm actually a 7th dan in Iaido." He casually mentioned.

"You're an Iaido 7th dan?" I repeated, impressed. Iaido is a style of Japanese martial arts that focuses solely on sword work. To become a 7th dan is a considerable achievement.

"Hey..." he leaned in, and whispered to me. "Have you held a real sword?" He emphasised the word real.

"Um, I've SEEN real swords, of course... and I have some practise swords at home... but I've never held a real sword." I said.

He perked up. "Wait a minute!!!" He said, and bounded through a door near the back of the shop.

This could be interesting, I thought to myself. My attention returned to the masterfully designed swords in the case. A couple of minutes later, he came back and tapped me on the shoulder again.

I turned around. He was holding a sheathed sword. And it was stunning. Everything on the sword was exactly as it should have been. The carefully polished sheath, the authentic looking hilt, the intertwining materials on the handle. I drew in a breath.

The old man looked at my face, clearly enjoying my reaction and the opportunity to show a sword to another enthusiast.

"Watch this!" the old man said. He walked over to the sales counter, and picked up a piece of paper. He returned.

Then he unsheathed the sword.

The blade made a quiet whispering sound as it was drawn from the sheath. A chill ran down my spine as the sword was finally free of its confinement. He held the blade at arms length, and picked up the piece of paper. He slowly pulled the piece of paper over the swords upturned blade. The paper met no resistance at all as the blade effortlessly sliced it in half. The sliced strip of paper broke off and floated down to the floor.

"Wow." I managed.

He grinned back. "Hey... would you like to hold it?" He asked.

"Uh, me? Hold that sword?" I said. "Is that alright?" I gulped.

"Sure!" he said, offered me the handle.

I gently closed my hands around the handle, and the old man let go. I was holding the sword by myself. My head cocked in confusion. It was like the sword was weightless. I suddenly realised that sword was balanced so perfectly, it felt like I was holding nothing. I moved it around in the air very slowly and deliberately. I was very aware that if I tripped, or turned too quickly, I could slice through an arm, or kill myself without too much effort. I suddenly felt dizzy. A raw feeling of power coursed throughout my body, eminating from the sword. I could kill, maim or beat anyone the FUCK down. My heartrate increased and I began to sweat slightly.

I angled the sword directly upwards, and examined the blade from hilt to top. There was a black mark about 3 quarters up the blade.

I leaned in to examine the black mark. It was a smooth, very shallow indent, the size and shape of a small marble. Instinctively, my left hand detached from the handle and rose up. I put my finger into the indent.

The old man coughed nervously. I suddenly realised what I was doing, and hastily retrieved my digit.

My mind flashed back to Togara-sensei, my martial arts teacher. "Never, ever, ever touch the blade of a sword." His thundering voice reverberated in my head. "There are all sorts of shit and grease on a human hand, and it will cause damage to the blade - you have to re-oil the whole damn thing."

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry." I said apologetically to the old man.

"Ah never mind." He said kindly. "I was due to re-oil it anyway."

"It's an amazing sword though. It's a real shame that theres a black mark on it. What happened to it?" I asked.

"Well, this sword is 400 years old. It's been handed down generation to generation. This sword has been in a few wars." He said sagely.

"It's been in wars?!" I asked shocked. I felt a flush of privilege to have held a piece of history, then a wave of stupidity to have touched the blade.

"Yes. The black mark was where it was hit by a gun pellet." He enunciated.

"Holy shit, thats amazing. I guess it's not for sale, then," I asked, as if my meager 6,000 yen budget could hope to claim such a priceless artifact.

The old man smiled gently, his face creasing. "I'm afraid this one isn't for sale." He said. "Now if you'll excuse me." He returned the sword to it's place in the back room, and walked over to greet some new customers.

I purchased some wooden practice swords, and went back to find my friends.

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A group of Australians had flown into Japan to train in Martial Arts. I was spending a lot of time with them, and I was thankful for some Australian accents and some crude humour. One day we happened to be training at the honbu dojo (head dojo), and our teacher, Togara-sensei (famous from ‘worlds worst language mistake’ post) was teaching a class soon after this class. Ordinarily, we would have to make our own way to the next class. Today however, he happened to have a very large van, enough space for a few loud and rude Aussies, and an amount of patience far beyond that of most Japanese, so he invited us on board.

Japanese have a stereotype of being very sensitive, quiet, respectful and polite. I’ll tell you the reason for this stereotype – it’s completely true. Almost all Japanese are the living embodiment of these characteristics. Togara-sensei however, shits all over this stereotype. He is friendly and warm, but at the same time extremely aggressive and forceful – beyond most foreigners I know. It is also said that when you drive a car, your real personality comes out. Put Togara-sensei behind the wheel of a car, and just watch the fuck out.

The raucous, loud, joking Australians were almost immediately silence as he accelerated to 100 kilometers an hour in a 40km zone, before slamming on the brakes and turning the first corner, which sent Australians flying in every direction. The laughter and jokes were immediately replaced with the sound of desperate struggling as everyone tried to secure a seatbelt for themselves. Since I had been in the car before, I was hip to this jive, and was in the front wearing a seatbelt, and purposely sitting right in front of the airbag.

If you can imagine this middle aged, massive martial arts master, wearing reading glasses, driving a large van, filled with crazy Australians, like a rally car – then you can begin to appreciate how funny this picture was. Almost as though he was trying to make the scene even more amusing, he flicked on the CD player, and loud classical music began blasting through the speakers.

By this time, we were on the highway, and he was changing lanes whenever he felt like it. Scaring the shit out of tens of Japanese people driving their mini-cars. A car in front began slowing down, so he drove the car half onto the traffic island in the middle of the road, accelerated to overtake 3 or 4 cars, and then swerved back into the middle lane. We all had our stomachs in our mouths as he was driving like a maniac. Interesting, his expression never changed. He could have been sitting at home watching TV and drinking a beer.

After more highway hijinks, he decided he was hungry, and we pulled into a Ramen shop (Chinese noodles). All of the staff waved to him as he entered the shop, and he nodded to the main chef. The chef yelled out “coming right up, sir!” and about 2 minutes later, there was a hot bowl of Chinese noodles exactly the way Togara-sensei liked them steaming in front of him. Togara-sensei broke a pair of chopsticks in half, and basically inhaled his entire bowl in about 45 seconds flat. He pushed it away from him, and looked over with irritation the other table of Australians, who were trying to decipher the menu. 3 minutes after entering the shop, Togara-sensei was done, and he had to wait for the table of Australians. His brow furrowed, and mouth curled into a snarl. Togara-sensei does not like waiting for people.

I received my meal, and began eating. Even when I’m rushing, it takes me well over 5 minutes to eat the same size bowl as Togara-sensei. I was sitting directly in front of Togara-sensei. I looked at him, he was still snarling with his arms crossed over his chest. I decided to not make conversation. He looked at me. I looked back at him. He suddenly seemed to pause, as though considering something. Then, his snarl unraveled, and turned into a barely contained grin. “Oh, fuck,” I thought. I’ve seen this look before, and nothing good has ever come of it. Imagine how a cat with a twisted sense of humor looks at a bird with no wings, or legs, that’s tied to a tree.

Togara : Hey. Firefly.

Firefly : Um yeah hello.

Togara : How are you. Heh. Heheh.

Firefly : Uh… yeah pretty good, thanks. How are you?

Togara : You like eggs?

Firefly : …yeah

Togara : Egg… IT IS GOOD FOR YOU.

Firefly : Ok….

By this time, the Australians sense something is going down. Distracted from their Chinese noodle ordering process, they look over at my table, and see Togara burning a hole in my head with his laser vision. I sat there looking uncomfortable.

Togara : You know BEST part of EGG?

Firefly : Uhhh, maybe th-

Togara : THE SHELL.

A couple of Australians started giggling at this point.

Firefly : Oh, right,

Togara : Shell has lots of CALCIUM. Good for your bones. You need good healthy BONES.

Firefly (thinking on my feet) : Right, that’s why I drink lots of milk.

Togara : Milk is SHIT compared to egg shell. HAHA. Yes, Egg Shell.

Firefly : You know… you could always eat it. If like, it’s so great.

Togara : I ate it this morning.

Firefly : That’s great. So, I’m just about done now, so-

Togara : EAT THE EGG.

He gestured to a small plate with lots of hard-boiled eggs in it. The Australians were all glued to our conversation now. Togara was getting his entertainment. And I was getting very nervous.

Firefly : Haha… yesss. Haha. Hmmmm.

Togara : *Death stare*

Bunch of Asshole Australians : EAT THE EGG YA PANSY

Firefly : I’m not eating the egg.

Togara (quietly) : Perhaps you did not understand. The egg shell – GOOD for you. Eat. The. WHOLE. Egg. NOW.

Togara-sensei looked at me in a way that made me feel I was one non-compliant egg request away from having a fist put through my head. Involuntarily, I picked up the egg, and examined it at arms length.

Firefly : You’ve got to be kidding me.

Togara : GOOD FOR YOU. EAT IT NOW.

Without thinking, I squeezed my eyes shut, and placed the entire egg in my mouth. It fit curiously snugly into my mouth cavity. I suddenly realized what I was doing, and began panicking.

A lone Australian decided to be supportive. “Hey man,” he yelled out. “That thing in your mouth, has been in a chickens ass!”. I began dry retching. I opened my jaw, and slowly closed my mouth, chewing down on the shell. The Australians cheered. Togara’s deep laugh sounded out.

To try to explain it - you know when you’re eating an omelet, and you accidentally chew on a miniscule bit of shell? Simultaneously, an overwhelming feeling of disgust and jolt of electricity goes through you as you try to spit it out? Imagine that sensation, multiplied by 50,000. It was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever eaten. And I’ve lived in Japan for 5 years.

It took me a minute and a half of solid chewing. I almost threw up 3 times during the process (4 if you count the initial dry retch). I ate that egg whole. Togara-sensei sat back and watched, thoroughly enjoying the whole process. I sat there looking green, on the verge of throwing up.

Togara : HAHA ! VERY GOOD. Good strong bones. HAHA. Dumbass.

After we left the restaurant, an Aussie friend came up to me.

"Hey brother," he said with a hand on my shoulder. "I hope you chewed that egg very, very well. Because the human stomach cant digest egg shells very well, and it’s going to cut it’s way out of your ass like a pack of 10 razor blades". I looked at him in disbelief. “Are you serious?” I said, “I thought it’s supposed to be a good source of calcium!!”. He looked at me in pity for my gullibility, and shook his head sadly.

We drove off ignoring most of the road rules, and I sat in the front seat again next to the airbag. I would wait one and a half uneasy days for my uncertain fate. As it turns out, human stomachs aren’t very good at digesting egg shells. Never trust a bored martial arts master.