The Hangover

There seems to be a running theme at Japanese Matsuris (festivals), which take place throughout the country almost daily during the month of August.

Each town celebrates with its own special kind of quirkiness and, following the Hanzaki festival recounted in an earlier blog, we were unsure as to how Kochi City's could possibly compete.

As always we were on a strict budget, so made the frugal decision to drink Extra Strong Chu Hi, the poorman's White Lightning, priced at 202 Yen for a king-sized can.

We cannot be held accountable for the debauchery that ensued.

Unbearably hot, our sweat was sweating, dripping from the ends of our hair and down our shoulders, where a mosquito met an untimely death by drowning in a tragic attempt to feed on my blood. While we melted, the Japanese glowed radiantly despite the skinny jeans, boots and cardigan combinations they elegantly sported. It remains a mystery how they manage to get these items on in such humid conditions, when a pair of trousers would get stuck on the sweat seeping from my big toes alone. I truly believe this level of discomfort was a contributor in our failure to recollect the occurrences of the evening.

The morning after the night before, I opened my rucksack to discover all manner of inexplicable items, including an outfit, clackers and fans.

In a scene similar to the closing credits of box office hit "The Hangover," I retrieved my camera, certain I hadn't taken any photos.

And how wrong I was as I scrolled through, vague memories flooding back.

The photos have been taken in an enormous underground restaurant/shopping centre, where grown men are snapped asleep on the floor outside the toilets, being accosted by an extrovert transvestite, who puts Gok Wan on a par with Nick Griffin.

A man dressed as Captain Jack Sparrow, who had apparently been milling around the city for many days in this garb, also features, accompanied by a lesbian and a raging queen with more make up than the entire population of Liverpool. I later recalled asking numerous people for directions to Jack Sparrow; "Jacku Sparrow wa doko desu ka?" with each eagerly directing us with a smile and knowing glint of recognition in their eyes.

There is photographic evidence of a teenaged girl dressing Lucy in the mystery outfit, followed by snaps of her fleeing the scene. We also met Father Christmas, I may have even told him in all sincerity that I no longer have a chimney so I'll leave the door unlocked. Luckily I don't think he spoke English. This is followed by another shot of the extrovert transvestite, cooling me with the garish yellow fan.

Which had also found its way into my bag.

Video clips of wobbly dancing, youth terrorisation and ear piercingly bad singing is next, and the moment I’m handed the clackers is also captured.

Which also found their way into my rucksack.

One of the most lovable things about the Japanese is their sense of fun, they know how to have a fucking good time with no violence, no trouble and no hostility. You can fall asleep by a toilet and no one judges or tries to rob you, the most they'd do is throw a blanket over you and pop a pillow under your head.

I would write more about this festival, but I can't.

For this, Extra Strong Chi Hi is to blame.

If you are ever to visit Japan, and should take just one piece of advice, let it be this.

Never underestimate the power of the Chu.