Level 4

I hate early morning starts. Nothing is good about 4AM. This morning was no exception. It was cold and damp and dark. Still everyone was in good spirits as we headed to the airport. Check in was painless. The flight is only half full so we all got a full row to ourselves. Sweet. Relaxing in the Koru lounge over a spot of breakfast, I heard my name being called over the PA. Last time this happened it was upgrade time and hello business class. This time was a little different though. The Receptionist says “We’ve just had a call from level 4 about your bag”  “Ah” I replied “if level 4 are calling it must be important”. I must have done a good job of convincing her that I actually knew just what the hell I was talking about as she did not offer any further explanation. “Um, so just what exactly is level 4 then?” I finally asked. “Security” was the answer. It seems that big Dave has a cordless drill and 2 batteries in his bag which is causing much consternation on level 4. For some reason his bag is checked under my name and that’s how I came to visit level 4.

Two lovely young Air NZ ladies escorted me through a maze of corridors, past rooms with signs saying things like “Reconciliation Room” and “Interview Room 3”. It was just like those border security TV shows where people traveling on false passports are taken after being busted. Try as I might, I did not see any “Body Cavity Search Room” anywhere. Even my 2 bodyguards seemed to be a bit disorientated. After going down in one elevator and up in another we finally arrived at Level 4. A quick knock on the door and there stood a stern looking 50ish woman. “Hi, lovely to be here, what’s the problem?”  I said. There on a bench was Dave’s bag. Across from it was a xray monitor clearly showing a cordless drill and 2 batteries. “Is this your bag?” she asked. I so much wanted to say “that’s not my bag baby” but I thought the better of it and settled for explaining that it’s my friends bag. Apparently when you put batteries in bags you must isolate the terminals and never ever actually plug the battery into the device. OK….no biggie. The thing that surprised me was that they will not open your bag or touch any of your things. I had assumed that customs/immigration/Aviation security could tear your bag to shreds, throw all your stuff on the floor and stomp on it all the while laughing hysterically at you with no consequences to them. Not so it seems. The folk at level 4 are strictly hands off. I had to open the bag and show her the batteries which were indeed exposing their terminals. She handed me some special red tape and with some special red scissors I cut and wrapped tape around the terminals. Now judged fit to fly, I zipped up the bag and off we went back through the labyrinth. At some point we must have exited the secure area so we all had to go through the metal detector. Lying in wait with the scanner wand thing was a big blonde Kiwi girl. “Spread em!” she said. I guess that’s her party piece as she seemed to get great amusement from this. “I’m picking that this is the highlight of your day” I said to her. She was good humoured and we all had a laugh. Only in NZ would you get such relaxed and casual banter from airport people. In Japan it is stony faces and scripted conversation. I’ve said it before….Auckland Airport rocks! So that was my trip to AVSEC Level 4. I haven’t event gotten out of the country yet but I’m already meeting people and getting in adventures.

The Tatami Incident

The tatami mats in our house are thrashed. It seems that new mats are a must have when selling a house so I decided to replace them when I'm there next week. A little bit of research showed that the cheapest way of dealing with this is to get the old mats rebuilt. Several companies do this so Shizuka emailed one and asked them to come out and take the mats away for reconditioning. No problem they said. She informed them that she would not be there but that I would be and that I have enough Japanese ability to choose what colour fringes we want. The return email was a bit of a surprise. Basically it said that they don't have anyone who can speak English and so they wont come. Wow.This guy is so scared of the idea of having to speak with a foreigner he will forego the profit he would make. So, Shizuka phoned another company in our area and this time just told the guy that someone will be there to pay him. When he asked for the name of this person she just said "Hikari". I guess this Tatami guy will be in for a surprise!

Community Fee

The tickets are booked. I'm going back to Japan on the 23rd of this month. It will be a ten day trip which will compose of a mix of work, house work and leisure. This time it will be a boys trip as Shizuka is not accompanying me (BOO HOO she says). Instead a bunch of fellow NZ car dealers is set to descend on Kameoka City. 

Shizuka has told me to keep a low profile when I'm there however. The reason for this is that we did not pay the local community fee last year. Now this fee is one of these typical Japan "we don't know what its for but we've always paid it anyway" deals. This one in particular irks me. I've tried to get to the bottom of it but have had no luck. It started last year when we were house hunting. A real estate agent showed us a house nearby and told us that the community fee was 12000 yen per month. As we weren't really interested in the house I never quizzed him on what that was for. Later that trip when I was at Shizuka's parents place I asked them how much their community fee was. It was.....10,000 yen per year. Quite a difference. As you do, I then asked what exactly one received for this. This question touched off a colourful debate. It seems the idea of a community is respected and desirable in Japan. Where this falls down is in the Japanese inability to communicate meaningfully with each other in even the most basic social situations. 

The in Law's house was built at the same time as the surrounding houses on their side of the street. These families are part of the community. Some time later, several houses were built across the street but these people are not part of the community. Never mind that they live 5 metres away. They are not our people. They belong to another community. Ignoring the patent absurdity of that proposition, I inquired as to how close knit their community is. The answer is not at all. Most of them don't even know each others names and the idea of actually going into a neighbours house is just about unheard off. So obviously these guys don't exactly love each other. Ok then. So this money you hand over to the community that you don't particularly care for....what do you get for it? In Asahicho there is a cleanup day a couple of times a year. Theres a shrine that gets a scrub up, the roadside verges are maintained and rubbish is removed.  It seems that the money is somehow connected to this event. There was talk of drinks and snacks for the people doing the cleaning. Now, where I'm from, we pay taxes to the local government and its the responsibility of the city to keep public places clean, free of weeds etc. I know that you pay taxes here too so how come you have to clean up the street and cut down weeds? All this cleaning does not extend to peoples own property however. It's quite OK to dump a rusty old bicycle and a bathtub on you boundary as long as you show up to do some weed whacking along the street. It seems to me that the cleaning bit is just a justification for a bit of enforced community spirit. Nobody would do it if they weren't under pressure to show up and participate. 

None of this answers my question about what the money is for though. It was then revealed that there is a community dinner held every year. For a few seconds I had visions of a street party in the neighbourhood but no, its held at a local restaurant and you pay your own bill. So, nobody can tell me what has happened to the Y10,000.  A few jugs of green tea and some rice balls for snacks seems to be the end result of a not inconsiderable amount of money. I was about to write the whole thing off as a generic Japanese society rip off and change the subject when Shizukas mother insisted that I must pay the community fee however much it is. To not do so will show that I am a bad person, not a part of the community and nobody will like me. I pointed out to her that as a gaijin I am already assumed to be these things. She replied that people in community's look after each others property and if you don't pay your fee nobody will watch over your house. So it seems that the neighbour hood watch idea exists here just like at home. I told the in laws that us savage gaijins also did neighbour hood watch programs but that we did not have to hand over any money to look out for each other. 

Community boundaries...obscure.

It was time to make a big statement. I said that I wouldn't pay anything until I knew what it was for and then only if I agreed with what was to be done with the money. To me, the city is responsible for the roadside, parks and other public areas and the local shrine is the local monks problem.  I also object to people going on about doing ones duty to clean up the area when their own front yards are full of junk and their houses are eyesores. From their shocked reaction, I could see that this is nothing short of heresy. Various arguments were made as to why I must pay but it all boils down to this....You are not a good neighbour if you don't pay the fee. How is being a good neighbour linked to paying some fee for god knows what? By complying your are fitting in. It's the old Japanese conformist, collective society. That self same one that stifles creativity and individuality and turns people into unthinking, unquestioning robots. These people will live across the street from each other for years but are so irrelevant to each other that that basic things such as their names will remain unknown. Communities that are so blindly indifferent to each other it beggars a westerners belief. 

The community fee is a bribe. A way to buy approval. You may not know or care anything about the guy next door but his opinion of you is of such importance you will unquestioningly pay any amount of money to maintain a good impression. In the finest western tradition I decided then and there that, fuck it, theres no way I'm going to pay it. I want nothing to do with such an attitude. Shizuka agrees with me 100%  This way of thinking is the worst thing about living and working in Japan and the greatest threat to their future.  I doubt that anybody from Hatano cho will approach me for this fee. After all, we don't really live here. Still, if they do, both barrels are loaded.

Double Down

Yesterday KFC launched a new burger. Nothing remarkable about that in itself. What is remarkable is the controversy that has engulfed the country over this event. It started when the NZ Herald broke the story on Monday. According to the reporter, KFC where about to market the Double Down  Chicken burger which sets new records in fast food obscenity. The picture accompanying it told it all. Here is a burger like no other burger. It consists of 2 fried chicken fillets. In between the fillets is some bacon and some secret sauce.The whole thing is glued together with cheese. There is no bun. That's right, no bread. What you've got is a cheese and bacon sandwich where they've used fried chicken instead of bread. It's a cholesterol bomb. A heart attack in a box.

Condemnation was swift and widespread. Health food activists screamed for it to be banned. Obesity experts were outraged and called for advertising restrictions. Talk back radio was filled with people registering their disgust. But then, some facts started to emerge. With no bread this thing is low in Carbohydrates. It also turns out there's less fat in it than things like a whopper or big mac. KFC have not done any advertising for it. By Tuesday morning things had changed somewhat. People were starting to talk about things like freedom of choice and do-gooders sticking their noses in where they don't belong. The double down was becoming a rallying point for people sick of the politically correct nanny state and holier than thou health food freaks telling everybody how to live .It was a remarkable turn around. Demonised one day, celebrated the next.

When the Double Down went on sale at lunchtime on Tuesday the queues were out the door. Another journalist wrote a review which was favourable. The airwaves were full of people asserting their right to eat what they want even if it does clog their arteries. I'm not a fan of KFC. I might go there once a year just to confirm that it's every bit as bad as it was last time but with all this hype going on I determined to find out what all the fuss was about. I called up my good friend Anthony and said "The whole worlds talking about Double Down. We've got to find out why!". Ant was keen but said that his girlfriend Katherine is a big KFC fan and would never forgive him if she wasn't invited to the testing event. A time was arranged for Wednesday night.

Ant...Doublin Down

KFC Lincon Road was jumping. It was 7.15PM and there where about 20 people lined up at the counter with nearly as many cars in the drive through lane. It took a long time to get served. People where ordering multiple double downs. It was frantic. The staff looked on the verge of breakdown. We finally got our food. The burger was quite tasty if a little strange looking. I don't think the chicken instead of bread idea is a sound one however. Having your fingers coated in oil tends to remind you how unhealthy all this is. I felt that it would have been better if eaten with a knife and fork. We had all come here with different objectives. Ant is a food whore and will eat just about everything. Katherine was curious to see what it was all about and I was making a political statement and asserting my civil rights. We all reached a consensus however. It's not something we would rush to buy again.

KFC couldn't have asked for more. With a zero advertising budget they've had nationwide exposure and have people buying something they probably never would have just to find out what all the fuss was or to make a point. It's enough to make one believe that this thing was never meant to be a proper part of the menu but was instead a rather clever publicity stunt.

Breaking Bones & Bottles

So this is what dawn looks like!

Despite it having rained here for the best part of 3 weeks, there was enough sunshine for my good mate Shane to finally launch his boat. This project has been going on for about 18 months now which is about 12 months longer than scheduled. When I went to Japan last August it was supposed to be ready in time for Christmas. The last few weeks have seen some progress towards the time that we will finally be able to go sailing...just in time for the cold weather.  Last Thursday morning was bright and clear and the marina was like a mill pond.  The event was set to kick off at the ungodly hour of 7AM. Sunrise is not a part of the day that I am intimately acquainted with. People witter on endlessly about the beauty of the sunrise and  use words like "renewal" or "freshness" to make it sound all romantic and spiritual.  In my experience however , dawn events consist of a whole lot of sleep deprived people who don't want to be there mooching around like zombies  and moaning about coffee. As far as I am concerned 2AM and 7AM are the same thing....nighttime.  Anything before 9 is just uncivilised and unnecessary.  The other illusion people are under is that yacht marinas are glamorous places full of beautiful people and expensive boats. Westpark Marina has a million dollar view of Auckland City but everything else about it is on the cheap. Some would describe the place as a boat boneyard or more colourfully as "the home of the floating fuckup". It's not that every vessel moored here is a rotting pile of junk....just most of them. My particular favourite is a creation of steel and pink paint very appropriately named "Sea Pig". As for beautiful people, the crew of interested hangers on consisted of Russel the muscle, Fitzy, Brother Love , Ant, Dangerous Dave and Engineer Phil. From their names you can correctly surmise that these are not the kind of people you're likely to see on the cover of Vogue magazine.

Westpark Marina. Marine Skid Row

Complicating the issues surrounding the launch was the fact that the captain had dropped the 100Kgs rudder on his foot a couple of days before. Now I know for a fact that Shane has never been to medical school. I'm fairly sure he has never read a medical text book. I believe he did not even do biology at high school. Therefore he is eminently qualified to ignore the X rays and the doctors diagnosis and totally discount the usual treatment methods. Refusing a cast and a recommendation of putting his feet up for 2 weeks, Shane has attempted to convince everybody that a fracture is not really a break and that some fresh air and a good deal of hopping on the other foot is all it needs to be fixed. Consequently, the boat launching event featured him hobbling about on some crutches with his right foot looking like a purple football. The naming ceremony was somewhat undignified as he tried to bend over to smash a bottle of bubbles wrapped in a sock on the bowsprit while simultaneously balancing on one foot and trying to keep his crutches from falling into the water. With that over with, the travellift operator lowered the boat into the water and to everyones great relief, it actually floated.  Not one to shy away from  controversy or unwise decisions, Shane has named his boat "The Dealer". This is a reference to his past career as a motor vehicle dealer. I'm 100% sure the various immigration and customs officials in ports all around the world  will intuitively know this and won't automatically pull out the rubber gloves  and unleash the sniffer dogs when he comes to check into their country. Anyway....this is a serious bluewater cruising yacht and should be a good opportunity to experience international travel in an unusual and exciting way. If we can get it out of the marina that is....

  

Hanging around

The fearsome pirate Cap'n Moonboot

Will it float?

Time for a beer