Here was the scene just outside our door today:

Last night, I attended an Argentinian wine-tasting event with some friends.  As we made our way around the room, wrestling with overpowering Malbecs along the way, some tango music began playing as a Japanese couple took to the dance floor.  A crowd immediately began to form around them, cameras flashing left and right as mesmerized onlookers jostled for viewing position.  It was pretty clear from the outset that this couple knew what they were doing, but I had no idea what a proper tango looked like so I wasn’t sure what to make of it (even though I had seen a mass tango breakout on the streets of Buenos Aires during a visit there many moons ago).  So, me being the ignoramus that I am regarding all things dance, I mentioned to a friend that the woman seemed awfully stiff, basically sticking her head in the man’s neck and never moving from the chest up while the couple sauntered around the dance floor.  And my buddy responded by wondering aloud why an Argentine couple wasn’t there instead to provide the tango display, which I met with nodding agreement.

Well, as it turns out, this wasn’t just any Japanese couple with a passing interest in tango.  Rather, they were the newly-crowned world champions of tango.  I kid you not.  That’s their winning picture above, capturing the moment when they beat out a host of Argentine couples at the Tango Dance World Championships in Buenos Aires back in August.  And now I can add to my life’s list of interesting events the fact that I once saw the world’s greatest tango act.  Live and up close.  And here I thought I’d never get that box checked!

This little story helps to illustrate something that I find fascinating about the Japanese.  Oddities and frustrating practices aside, the Japanese are an amazing people: immensely talented, curious about the world around them, unforgiving in their exactness, and intensely focused when goals are set.  You hear stories about Japanese who literally dedicate their lives to perfecting tea ceremonies or calligraphy, and the puzzled American chuckles at the point of it all.  But such striving for perfection means the Japanese are capable of excelling in a multitude of arenas.  It’s the reason why the country leads in several areas of technological innovation, and it’s also why the food here is so extraordinary.  I hear stories all the time of Japanese chefs cooking the best Italian some have ever tasted, and that seemingly hyperbolic statement is inevitably complemented by a story of how the chef moved to Italy and worked on a farm for five years learning about the life cycle of food and its proper preparation from the motherland.

Maybe this helps explain why the concept of hobbies is so big here.  It seems everybody has one, and the hobbies typically aren’t of the standard variety.  Nothing generic and broad like movies or books or music.  It’s more likely you’ll hear someone talk sincerely about a very specific hobby, like their stuffed animal collection or Russian language club.  I’ve found this to be a unique attribute among the Japanese.  Once they decide they like something and want to pursue it, they go straight at it and give it their all.  There’s something really cool and respectable about that.

Meanwhile, I’m left to ponder how, in my crazy busy state of mind, I managed to miss the news that today marked the start of the NBA regular season.  I’ve clearly been here too long!

We were greeted last night by  the most powerful typhoon to hit Japan in ten years (or so I’m told).  Lucky for me, I had to be up at 3:30 AM for a conference call with the home office.  This allowed me stand at our window and marvel at the impressiveness of the sideways rain, which was kinda cool.  More importantly, it also allowed me to chuckle at an oddity that nicely illustrates both Japan’s nanny state mentality as well as its general disregard for noise pollution.

There was the scene, 3:30 in the morning with lots of wind and rain swirling about.  And what do I hear?  Some charming little bells followed by a woman’s recorded voice (that annoying, high-pitched, squeaky Japanese kind) blasting over the loudspeakers placed throughout our neighborhood.  What was she saying?  Basically, that it is very windy and rainy, so be careful.  Thanks, for that.  Not only did you just scream the super obvious from the hilltops, but you woke up half the neighborhood while doing so.  This went on for a solid ten minutes, then it would break for about twenty before coming back on again.  I can’t imagine how many expats were inclined to throw their patio furniture at those loudspeakers last night.

We’re talking about a country where soothing chimes go off each day at 5 PM just to remind its citizenry that the workday is done.  And a country where loud, verbal protest is the most common sort.  Guys stand outside of the television station across from our apartment with a microphone and box speaker yelling nonsense about some programming.  And far right wackos  ride around in black vans and buses blasting nationalist propaganda at all hours of the day, including bright and early on weekend mornings when they love to visit our neighborhood (being expat-heavy and all).  These things are so loud that each time I hear them I have fun with the daydream that shows me aiming a rocket propelled grenade launcher at those bastards from my balcony, or scurrying down to street level and pulling the drivers out of their seats so I can proceed to pummel them in front of their friends.  There is no way in hell such levels of noise pollution would be allowed in a place like New York, which helps demonstrate the upshot of the inhospitable big city.

It’s now 8 AM and the sun is shining, though a pretty powerful wind remains.  Lizzi is out walking Hurley, braving the elements.  I just saw a white and orange colored object fly across the horizon.  Perhaps the typhoon gods had other plans for our little furball.  Meanwhile, ever the cautious people, schools are closed today in Tokyo.  I need to shower and head to the office.  Here’s hoping the taxis are still running.