Salon Wanderlust | Higher! Faster! Wetter!

T A B L E_T A L K
Olympic Village: All the news on everything that skates, skis, or slides at the Nagano games

R E C E N T L Y
Mondo Weirdo
By Sarah Schmelling
Why I loved being lonely and sick and far from home
(02/06/98)
Soba, so good
By Koji Yoshii
Savoring Nagano's specialty food
(02/05/98)
The big steamy?
By Courtney Weaver
Searching for sex in New Orleans
(02/04/98)
Fear, drugs, and soccer in Asia
By Karl Taro Greenfeld
Hedonistic expats: Fear, drugs and soccer in Asia
(02/02/98)
I got it online, part 2
By Jenn Shreve
Comparing the pros and cons of four Internet travel services
(02/02/98)

Browse the
Feature archives

higher! faster! wetter!

OUR HALF-JAPANESE MAN IN JAPAN REPORTS ON
THE THRILL OF VICTORY -- AND THE AGONY OF NAGANO
Left: Ross Rebagliati of Canada takes the gold medal in the men's snowboarding giant slalom at Shiga Kogen in Hakuba, Japan
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
BY GARY KAMIYA
NAGANO, Japan -- Sunday, Feb. 8, 5:27 p.m.: I have descended, with some urgency, into this little subterranean beer-and-noodle grotto one block from the Nagano train station. A sullen waitress brings me a sake as three vaguely disreputable-looking middle-aged men across the room, all of them with oddly identical stringy hair, argue about something I'll never know. Speed skaters roar across the ice on the TV. Outside, Olympics mania has hit with full, carnival force. Terrible lounge music is blaring in the big train station lobby, hordes of people mill down the main drag, Chuo-dori, and across all this big, unglamorous city hundreds of frighteningly perfect teenage girls in garish promotional booths and matching, flaming-red pit-crew uniforms are trilling the virtues of Coca-Cola.
There are also some athletic events taking place, although I have lost track of exactly what they are. But I have no time to find out, because I have to meet my father at the Aqua Wing arena in two hours and 18 minutes, and because I and 1,200 other people were stuck on the Hakuba mountain for three hours in a driving snowstorm waiting for buses back to Nagano after they canceled the men's downhill, I have fallen somewhat behind my writing schedule -- which is to say, I have written no actual words yet. Owing to the strange vicissitudes of transportation here, I won't be getting back to my distant, weird hotel until close to midnight, at which point even the hot little cans of Jive coffee from the vending machine down the hall may be unable to elicit a squeak from my rubbery brain.
I have just decided to scrap the first-visit-to-my-semi-genetic-homeland angle and the traveling-with-my-72-year-old-Japanese-American-father angle in favor of a fantasy about the enforced public suicide of the man in charge of the Nagano shuttle buses when I become aware that the sour-faced waitress is standing over me and saying something -- and from the tone of her voice, I don't think she's inquiring if the sake is to my liking. My Japanese is limited to "Hai!" -- which, conveniently, is also a common greeting in English -- but I distinctly recognize the characteristic cadences of the 86. Yes, Harridan-san is giving me the bum's rush, a practice universal among all peoples and cultures -- and she isn't leavening it with that fabled Japanese politeness, either. I blink uncomprehendingly at her, hoping that the piteous old deer-in-the-headlights, "non-comprendo" act will save me from being kicked out to wander the mean streets of central Nagano as my deadline expires, but she turns angrily and repeats her harangue to a young couple, who translate my doom. "She says you can't just sit there and study -- you have to pick up a menu or leave," the woman says, embarrassed.
"I can't just drink sake?" I ask.
This word apparently catches the attention of one of the Lanky-haired Gang, who turns and half-raises his beer glass to me with a piratical grin. But this vague show of support from the patronage doesn't bend Ms. Eat or Walk, who keeps giving me the evil eye. I quaff the sake, stumble to my feet and get the bill -- 600 yen, five bucks, with an extra buck thrown in for that lovely gram of nameless pickled-vegetable goop that is such an endearing mandatory-hors-d'oeuvres feature of culinary life here.
I walk around for a few minutes and end up in a McDonald's clone called Lotteria in an upstairs arcade next to the train station, a brightly lit joint filled with teenage girls eating tiny hamburgers and smoking cigarettes -- it's too plastic a place to throw me out. The sweet counter-girl -- they're all sweet here, everybody, station masters going off shift are taking five minutes and walking 200 yards out of their way to help my dad figure out what train to take, policemen are shaking our hands after they give us directions, which is why the nasty restaurant woman threw me for such a loop -- hands me my coffee and points in what I think is a meaningful way to a straw which she places on my tray, on which the word "Lotteria" is printed. No doubt it's some odd Japanese candy-straw, I think, maybe with a lottery number somehow concealed in it. I wonder what you win? After a few minutes, I bite off the end and suck it. It contains white granulated sugar. I furtively put the straw down and bury my head in my notebook.

N E X T+P A G E+| Strange disasters every day

PHOTOGRAPH BY MIKE HEWITT /ALLSPORT
Archived images are provided by Allsport Photography USA, Inc. all rights reserved, any redistribution, resale, re-print or other use is strictly prohibited without written consent from Allsport Photography USA, Inc. directly.


T A B L E_T A L K Olympic Village: All the news on everything that skates, skis, or slides at the Nagano games R E C E N T L Y Mondo Weirdo By Sarah Schmelling Why I loved being lonely and sick and far from home (02/06/98) Soba, so good By Koji Yoshii Savoring Nagano's specialty food (02/05/98) The big steamy? By Courtney Weaver Searching for sex in New Orleans (02/04/98) Fear, drugs, and soccer in Asia By Karl Taro Greenfeld Hedonistic expats: Fear, drugs and soccer in Asia (02/02/98) I got it online, part 2 By Jenn Shreve Comparing the pros and cons of four Internet travel services (02/02/98) Browse the Feature archives		higher! faster! wetter! OUR HALF-JAPANESE MAN IN JAPAN REPORTS ON THE THRILL OF VICTORY -- AND THE AGONY OF NAGANO Left: Ross Rebagliati of Canada takes the gold medal in the men's snowboarding giant slalom at Shiga Kogen in Hakuba, Japan - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - BY GARY KAMIYA NAGANO, Japan -- Sunday, Feb. 8, 5:27 p.m.: I have descended, with some urgency, into this little subterranean beer-and-noodle grotto one block from the Nagano train station. A sullen waitress brings me a sake as three vaguely disreputable-looking middle-aged men across the room, all of them with oddly identical stringy hair, argue about something I'll never know. Speed skaters roar across the ice on the TV. Outside, Olympics mania has hit with full, carnival force. Terrible lounge music is blaring in the big train station lobby, hordes of people mill down the main drag, Chuo-dori, and across all this big, unglamorous city hundreds of frighteningly perfect teenage girls in garish promotional booths and matching, flaming-red pit-crew uniforms are trilling the virtues of Coca-Cola. There are also some athletic events taking place, although I have lost track of exactly what they are. But I have no time to find out, because I have to meet my father at the Aqua Wing arena in two hours and 18 minutes, and because I and 1,200 other people were stuck on the Hakuba mountain for three hours in a driving snowstorm waiting for buses back to Nagano after they canceled the men's downhill, I have fallen somewhat behind my writing schedule -- which is to say, I have written no actual words yet. Owing to the strange vicissitudes of transportation here, I won't be getting back to my distant, weird hotel until close to midnight, at which point even the hot little cans of Jive coffee from the vending machine down the hall may be unable to elicit a squeak from my rubbery brain. I have just decided to scrap the first-visit-to-my-semi-genetic-homeland angle and the traveling-with-my-72-year-old-Japanese-American-father angle in favor of a fantasy about the enforced public suicide of the man in charge of the Nagano shuttle buses when I become aware that the sour-faced waitress is standing over me and saying something -- and from the tone of her voice, I don't think she's inquiring if the sake is to my liking. My Japanese is limited to "Hai!" -- which, conveniently, is also a common greeting in English -- but I distinctly recognize the characteristic cadences of the 86. Yes, Harridan-san is giving me the bum's rush, a practice universal among all peoples and cultures -- and she isn't leavening it with that fabled Japanese politeness, either. I blink uncomprehendingly at her, hoping that the piteous old deer-in-the-headlights, "non-comprendo" act will save me from being kicked out to wander the mean streets of central Nagano as my deadline expires, but she turns angrily and repeats her harangue to a young couple, who translate my doom. "She says you can't just sit there and study -- you have to pick up a menu or leave," the woman says, embarrassed. "I can't just drink sake?" I ask. This word apparently catches the attention of one of the Lanky-haired Gang, who turns and half-raises his beer glass to me with a piratical grin. But this vague show of support from the patronage doesn't bend Ms. Eat or Walk, who keeps giving me the evil eye. I quaff the sake, stumble to my feet and get the bill -- 600 yen, five bucks, with an extra buck thrown in for that lovely gram of nameless pickled-vegetable goop that is such an endearing mandatory-hors-d'oeuvres feature of culinary life here. I walk around for a few minutes and end up in a McDonald's clone called Lotteria in an upstairs arcade next to the train station, a brightly lit joint filled with teenage girls eating tiny hamburgers and smoking cigarettes -- it's too plastic a place to throw me out. The sweet counter-girl -- they're all sweet here, everybody, station masters going off shift are taking five minutes and walking 200 yards out of their way to help my dad figure out what train to take, policemen are shaking our hands after they give us directions, which is why the nasty restaurant woman threw me for such a loop -- hands me my coffee and points in what I think is a meaningful way to a straw which she places on my tray, on which the word "Lotteria" is printed. No doubt it's some odd Japanese candy-straw, I think, maybe with a lottery number somehow concealed in it. I wonder what you win? After a few minutes, I bite off the end and suck it. It contains white granulated sugar. I furtively put the straw down and bury my head in my notebook. N E X T+P A G E+\| Strange disasters every day PHOTOGRAPH BY MIKE HEWITT /ALLSPORT Archived images are provided by Allsport Photography USA, Inc. all rights reserved, any redistribution, resale, re-print or other use is strictly prohibited without written consent from Allsport Photography USA, Inc. directly.