Drinking In Various Landscapes | Kenji Kumasaka (Dean of the Faculty of Environment and Information Studies)
2005.04.08
April 6, on the morning commuter train. Although, since I'm heading toward Chuo-Rinkan Station, there's plenty of space. In the casual atmosphere, I feel a sense of something out of place. Standing in front of me, slightly to my right, are two young men, clearly new hires who started in April, awkwardly holding open the Nikkei newspaper and reading it intently. Two more are sitting on the opposite side of the doors, also engrossed in the Nikkei. Their backs seemed to be telling a story: just a week ago, their style must have been completely different, but now they've become like this. Just as I was wondering how long this would last, I noticed another young man sitting securely behind them. He looked like he had about three years of experience as a businessman. While listening to music on his earphones, he was skillfully typing a text message on his mobile phone with his right thumb, and in his left hand, he held a can of WONDA coffee. It was so much like a commercial that I had to laugh. I suppose these four will soon be just like him.
March 25. I arrive at Damascus Airport in Syria. Mr. Okuda meets me at the gate, and I feel a sense of relief. In an unknown world, you want a guide. After all, I'm just an ordinary person. As I exit the airport, I find it's like a racetrack. The flag for a 390-kilometer long-distance race to the city of Aleppo had been waved without my knowledge. All the taxi drivers seem to think they're F1 racers. Yielding to other cars is clearly against the rules; to win at all costs, they disregard all danger, focusing every nerve on getting even slightly ahead, turning the entire city into an extreme racetrack. To me, it's nothing but a weapon and madness, but for the people who live there, it's just a part of daily life. I was amazed, thinking, "This is incredible." Once we left the city, it was all desert. There were hardly any cars, and it became like a highway. My tension eased, and between that and my travel fatigue, I slept for a while. When I woke up, we were taking a break at the taxi driver's request. At a so-called drive-in, I had my first taste of the Syrian world?. It was a sweet pastry with cheese called Halawet el-Jibn, which had a texture similar to Japanese sweets and was surprisingly good. The bitterness of the Turkish coffee was a nice touch. Mr. Okuda was smiling.
April 2. I went to see a Kami-Robo Fight. Originally, Kami-Robo is a closed-off (super-otaku) world of solo play, where you battle 15-centimeter-tall robot fighters made of paper, fueled by a heavy dose of imagination. This time, however, the plan was to broadcast this solo activity as a live event, creating an atmosphere for the audience as if they were watching a professional wrestling show. It was a very strange event, but it was also an enjoyable experiment in what happens to the world of otaku when its essential, closed-off nature is suddenly made public. As I watched this Kami-Robo Fight with amusement, the girl next to me was drinking a Wilkinson Ginger Ale, looking like she was really enjoying it. Pretty cool.
(Date Published: 2005/04/08)