Sep 12 2007
APRE
APRE
I did it. It didn’t take me long, but I found my way to the ocean
Artist’s rendition. Actual clenliness of beach may vary.
Uchinada beach is about 30 minutes away from Kanazawa by train. You can’t see it in the picture, but the place is a veritable Coney island lined with bars, stages, DJ towers, and deck chairs. You also can’t see the dangers of the beach by the picture-namely, jellyfish, Reggee music, and APRE.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Since the beach excursion a few weekends ago I’ve been having intermittent fun with my fellow JETs and whatever Japanese people happen to be around. Hanging out with fellow English speakers is a slippery slope. You can wake up one day to realize you just spent every night of the past week at the bar socializing with your fellow Westerners and have nothing to show for it aside from a fleeting sense of security and an increasingly doughy midsection. This is the “Golden Cage”-you’ve trapped yourself, but your surroundings are quite plush so what’s the hurry to escape? And hey, why bother learning Japanese when most Japanese people speak English anyway?
But only the crazies. Well, that’s not entirely true. Plenty of ‘normal’ people speak English. But it’s the ones that really want to speak English, the ones that flag you down on your bike and get in your way in the checkout line really bother me. There’s something distinctly un-Japanese, un-rational about these people. It has nothing to do with culture, and everything to do with common sense not to hold a person up who is trying to juggle a weeks worth of groceries in their hands. It wouldn’t be so bad if there was some rhyme or reason to it, but these people just appear out of nowhere and scare the hell out of you. Like getting kicked while you’re sleeping or getting sideswiped in a rainstorm, it’s a jarring encounter that puts you on the defensive. And it will happen to the foreigner at APRE, where the loonies circle just out of your field of vision like gurrilla sharks waiting for their chance to strike.
The thing that has held the most sway over my life and attitude since my arrival has not been the people and experiences I have had, but rather the books I’ve been reading. On the airplane I began “Dogs and Demons,” a well researched account into the social malaise of modern Japan. I cannot recommend this book to anyone who wants to enjoy Japan any more then I can recommend “The Cather in the Rye” to people who want to enjoy the companionship of thers. Though I’m sure the book is by no means infallible, the truths presented are undeniable; their implications incorrigible. It made every day “Goddamn Japan” day. Goddamn Japan, if you all love nature so much why is there so much trash everywhere, goddamn Japan how can you tell me there is no racism among Japanese people when you make all non-ethnic Japanese born here register as foreigners, goddamn Japan how can you all be so skinny when all you eat is rice and coffee and bread what am I supposed to eat, goddamn Japan come up with something else to cover on the news I’m tired as Asashoryu, goddamn Japan fix your sun this country is too hot. And so on, with the inanity gaining momentum.
So I cut myself off, stopped reading after the chapter on Kyoto Station (I used to go there all the time without considering how it split the city in two and doomed the cities historic districts and now my boyish memories are forever tainted, goddamn you book) and proceeded to consume a novella I hated in Junior High but convinced myself that I must have been wrong in doing so:
The Great Gatsby
Somehow the fast paced, party-till-dawn and meandering lifestyle seemed extremely relevant. Now I’m through the better half of “High Fidelity,” which has put me in a very British and whimsical mood to the chagrin of those around me. Well, at least I’m having a good time. At this rate I’m going to start making Mix Tapes for people, but first I’d have to find people with comparative musical taste. Way too much Top 40 and club music around me.
Having to listen to club music when you go out is like over salting your food. It destroys the original intent of the event (relax and have fun) and at the end of the day only serves to make you feel bloated and tired. I mean, “Pulp Fiction” was such a corker because Tarentino wrote the energy he felt from “Misirlou” into the script, so is it too much to ask them to take off Reggae remixes of Coldplay and put on something that’s gonna pump me up?
Which brings me back to APRE: The Golden Cage lined with old club hits and rasta records, the sad comforting fact that it doesn’t get any better then this. There is an APRE on Uchinada beach, and there is also an APRE in Katamachi. For the better part of a week I somehow ended back at APRE every night and I don’t know how I should feel about that.
Objectively there’s nothing wrong with the place. It has no cover charge, cheap drinks mixed generously by a cool staff, free billiards, a lounge, and great food (real hamburgers! Not this meat-mixed-with-onions-served-on-a-hot-plate nonsense, but a juicy burger in a bun!). It’s a Western bar all the way, with huge TVs and an open party atmosphere. It’s foreigner friendly, and as such many of the clientele are up for a chat (and not just to mooch you for your English) so it’s an easy place to make friends. In short, the perfect place to spend your weekened, birthday party, weekday, every day, etc.
So what’s my hangup? I don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it. If I forced into a debate discussing the pros and cons of APRE I would be mascaraed. There’s just, something about the atmosphere. The lights are too bright. There’s something sketchy about the management lurking just below the surface. The place has a weird aura that preys on people. It’s all intangible and barely noticeable so I should just ignore it but it’s still there and I can’t stop thinking about it, even when I’m having a perfectly good time.
Maybe it’s the way the place feels like a Western bar, but isn’t a Western bar. Where’s my Heffenweisen? My jukebox? My ambiance? My Misirlou? They played it once, actually. I pumped my fist in victory, jumping halfway out my seat to yell excitedly at the person sitting across from me.
“Holy shit! Yeah, so Grindhouse opens here soon right? Well one of the directors, Tarentino, he wrote Pulp Fiction while-”
And then it’s gone. No DJ cross-fade, no segue, not even a subtle fade out. Just, gone with an audible screech. Someone took it off without a sideways glance. Probably afraid that they would spoil the party. I can’t remember what they put on next and it doesn’t matter except for I’m sure I didn’t care for it. Times like this get under your skin in the wonderful way that reminds you why you’re alive and why you love the things you love, hate the things you hate. Goddamn Japan.