Monday, August 17, 2009

Ohaiyo Tokyo Pt 2 - Womb


There is quite an intrinsic quirkiness to the Japanese language. It’s something exaggerated yet so addictive because the people there – the young women especially – speak as if they are singing. Every sentence sounds just as harmonious as the one before and the only thing more distracting than the accent is the eyeliner, or maybe the mini-skirts.

It means ‘pleased to meet you’, it’s a cordial greeting boundaried by social order and formalities, but they can put such a melodic ring to it that sometimes I wonder if they are offering a handjob.

I can’t really say I’ve been thoroughly impressed by the girls there. I mean I had such great expectations, constructed by fed images through race queens, porn starlets and models. I had the impression that there was something breathtaking at every corner.

If it wasn’t a hot lady strolling pass in Gucci boots, then maybe it could be some odd couple fucking in the public train. Maybe I have adult videos to blame for it because I was under the impression that girls walked round in public wear a trench coat and nothing else, or there was a black van on every busy street with people fucking inside.

But no. Tokyo girls have hardly impressed me the way Taiwanese girl have. Ganguro girls are plenty, so much so that I sometimes forget that this is Tokyo and not Bali. I don’t know what’s up with the whole tan skin craze because some of them take it so far with their deep tans, bleached blonde hair and white eyeliner and lipstick, they remind me of the Gingerbread Man.

I also heard stories about how women get approached on streets to act in porn productions or get dogged by indecent proposals by Poca and from what I’ve seen, this could actually be true. So theoretically, this could explain why there weren’t many really hot women around, because they’ve been pulled off the streets for the greater good of entertaining the vicarious deviancies of men sitting at home in front of their computers.

We were in Tokyo on a Friday night, so there was a natural gravitating towards the mandatory visits to the local nightlife. The problem was, there was just too many clubs we wanted to visit and time was a luxury we just didn’t have. Poca had her work cut out for her.

Poca: “Listen to this. Gas Panic is a Roppongi institution, where young people go to grope other young people. The music there is so loud that your mating ritual needs to be physical rather than verbal.”

If I wasn’t so engrossed in trying to find the Japanese game show channels, I would have stood up and shouted “Bingo!”. I don’t think any club could offer a better description than this unless they were peddling lap dances and tequila shots at $3 a pop.

Picking a club to go to was easy, the challenge was to find our way there. It’s not that the cabs were of much help either because every time we told them our destination, they always repeated the place with such bafflement and exclamation, it was like as if we were telling them to head to some street in India.

Gas Panic didn't turn out to be what I would expect of a meat factory, complete with obscure dark corners for furtive make-out sessions. It was a bar decked with round tables and sporadic crowds stippled around the place. I don’t know if it was the time, the lack of females or alcohol, but it featured a rather placid crowd that looked more contented in conversation than bar top dancing.

We had a drink each then decided our time in Tokyo was far too precious to be sitting around waiting for an euphoric showcase of grinding or a carnal skin fest to erupt. We were going to move on to greener, more decadent clubs to fill our appetite for debauchery.

The next stop was Womb, a reputed Trance club with quite a reputation for being ranked in “The World’s Top 10 Killer Clubs” - whatever that means, because it could just mean that more people die here than any other club. But they host a lot of the Avex Trax artiste, so we reckoned it would be decent enough, or otherwise we were going to be just another fatality statistic.

The thing with these underground clubs is that they are almost impossible to find because there are just so little branding and a lack of a proper entrance. The entrance was at the back lane, through this little door that not even Indiana Jones would have found. But once we got in, the place was huge with thumping bass reverberating off the walls. I would have had an erection, if not for the insane 3500yen cover charge.

Note: 1000yen is about $15

The great thing about drinks there, was that they are fucking potent. They practise the gentlemen’s pour which is about 45ml as opposed to the 30ml shots in Singapore. So we kicked back with another two rounds of Red Bull vodkas and enjoyed the view.

I don’t know if people are just naturally friendly or horny in Japan, but I only need to leave Poca alone for a split second before guys will swarm in for her. The only time I see this happening in Singapore is when you are a Caucasian male stepping into Orchard Towers.

Some girl took the seat next to Poca, who did a quick Manhattan once over on her, then turned to me.

Poca: “I think she’s hot. Give me your cigarettes.”

I watched as Poca played the oldest trick in the book. It was a textbook icebreaking conversation starter and she was rolling it out like a seasoned pro.

Poca: “Can I borrow a lighter?”

And this was how we met Miwa, who thankfully was fluent in English and nice enough to get me a pack of cigarettes. I was almost convinced at one point that Poca was really going to lasso her back with us, but we left before she did because the club and crowd was hardly worth walking out to sunrise for.

Me: “You didn’t close baby.”
Poca: “I have her number don’t I?”
Me: “Closing is only if you got her home with you.”
Poca: “Closing is when I have her number.”

Then 12 hours later, we got a call from Miwa.

Miwa: “I got you both on guestlist for Ageha.”

That was the best thing I any Japanese has said to me all weekend long. And so, we were heading to the biggest club in Japan on Saturday, complete with a guestlist. We are back to being privileged clubbers again.

Note: I will post fringe stories and pictures on Facebook.


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