Kinyobi Times

Fridays have become quite the iconic day of the week in my new routine.  If I felt I had a lazy day during the week it is made up by the relentless activity on this day. 

The day begins with a rushed breakfast and shower, packing my rucksack for the day with my behemoth of a computer, books, pencil case and so on. I then straddle the Mama Chari (bicycle for mother), which was my very pragmatic choice of bicycle purchase with its front and back baskets and chopper handle bars. I then ride furiously to Japanese class which I am perpetually running 3 minutes late. Sweating like a horse, I make it to class on time even before the always smiling sensei has arrived. After an hour and a half of mumbling basic words and sentences out of mouth I move on quickly to the adjacent building to prepare for the important design competition meeting. After spending a few days mentally consumed by the project, I feel I have some useful things to bring to the table by the time the meeting comes around at 1pm. The Monaco Design competition is for 10-15 luxury apartments in the Monte Carlo area of Monaco. The brief from the developer has been quite the hurdle to decipher and comprehend due to the local planning policies being in French.  The meeting was the first time to discuss design ideas and some engaging opinions were put forward, and it now this weekend’s task is for each member to present a scheme for Professor Kuma by Monday. I have been looking forward my involvement in a design proposal with Prof. Kuma for quite some time. To hear his opinion and particular approach to this complex project will hopefully be a valuable learning experience.

On with the Friday activities. I assumed that I would have to miss my regular Friday gym session with my great Swedish mate C. Thankfully, we wrapped up after a couple of hours and I shot through a successful pitch to make a late dash to gym. We busted out guts and concluded the session with some boxing that left us both lying flat on our backs in an exhausted and sweaty daze. We stumbled down to the locker rooms whilst discussing the various location potentials of the forthcoming preconceived drunken activities. After gym I had to again move hastily to a lecture whilst stuffing my face with a rice bento, 2 sandwiches, chocolate, protein jelly and milk. The lecture’s topic was on Japanese housing and refurbishment strategies. Interesting I thought, however the lecturer had a mature cold and read almost word for word the hand out he gave us. I nodded off at least 3 times. The lecture eventually concluded at 6pm, and now I had a 2 hour computer tutorial on Grasshopper. The tutorial was good, however it did finish half an hour late and therefore my estimated arrival time back home was shot. I called C and told him I would get back as fast as I could as we decided to meet N and J in Shimokitazawa at 10. I kept my word and peddled like a lunatic to get home. My thighs burned when I arrived. My spirit was up when I arrived and I quickly informed C that we should get going. I had a refreshing beer while I waited for C to choreograph his layered outfit. We took the JR Yamanote to Shibuya and then changed to the Keio Inokashira (which was packed like a can of sardines) to Shimokitazawa. C and I remarked how uncomfortable it is to be pressed up so hard against everybody; particularly when it involves adjacent bums, groins and people with colds.

We waited in the chilly breeze at the South exit of the station. N and J emerged from the narrow and glowing streets ready to commence drinking and eating. We approached a nomihodai (all you can drink) venue which was unfortunately full and J persistently expressed her disappointment. I pointed us in the direction of another potential place. The 4 storey building stood precariously on a discreet corner and we scoured the stairs popping our heads in to each bar to assess their situation. We ended up at the rooftop establishment called Lotus. Man this place is great! All that was need would be a bunch of Nepalese smoking shisha and we would be in Kathmandu. The friendly owner sat us down at a square structure that had the table top removed to encompass a large gas heater in the centre. The heat was overbearing and I switched it off. She served us delicious beer and a generous bowl of salty mixed nuts. We talked crap, ate the nuts, ordered another round, chatted with the locals and left in good spirits. J insisted we try the nomihodai place again and to everyone’s pleasure we were able to get a table. C voiced his concern of not planning to “fucked up” but in true C spirit he jumped on board the two hour Getting Fucked Up express. The next two hours consisted of C and I drinking and eating like animals. N and J drank solidly and were both keen to try an array of drinks from the menu. C asked us all a great question of what was our greatest memory. The next two minutes we all gazed to the ceiling in that usual process of going through your brains memory bank. I plucked out my time at Tilicho Tal as my greatest memory. I am still happy with that choice.  C’s best memory was standing at the top the Romanian mountains. The discussion rapidly declined towards the gutter where topics and anecdotes of sex and grotesque human activities were canvassed. When the two hours ran dry, we paid the modest bill and stumbled back outside by 2:30am. We waddled not far until we were halted by a pink sign saying “Girls Bar”. We laughed and giggled our way into the elevator and C was quite apprehensive of the plan due to our midweek revelation of understanding the nature of Pink Bits Salons. We were met at the elevator entrance by a security gard/host/pimp/door man and we bailed on the idea as it was as we assumed; very shady. Back out on the street we ventured into a dark alley where I proceeded to open various doors of adjacent bars. Each place was mostly empty and silent and reeked of unwholesome activity. I opened a handful of doors. One was to a Philipino Bar and the others assumed a general smoking watering hole identity. We clambered up a large flight of stairs to a place called Mona Records. The faint sound of acoustic performance embodied hope. I opened the door and the narrow bar was full and sure enough it turned at to be an all-night open mike night. After a song or two, we moved to the front table and assumed our positions for what would be the next 2 hours of enjoyable and skillful performance of mainly folk infused Japanese acoustic ballads. One guy played multiple instruments in multiple bands and also performed a solo piano and vocal piece. I was impressed. I nodded off a few times as did N because by this time it was approaching 5am. At the end of the night, we chatted in a mix of Japanese and English to Fujiya san, Terakajima san and Tanaka san who seemed interested in our presence. We were the only gaijins. We eventually left and stupidly ran to the station thinking a train was leaving soon. It wasn’t. From a distance, N, C and I waved goodnight/goodmorning/goodbye to J as she ran off to catch her train. At Shibuya C and I parted with N and made our usual sleepy, drunken journey back to our really hard futons at home.