What I've Been Doing All This Time Part 4

There are a number of good reasons put forward by people for partying whilst travelling. Some say it enables you to connect with the people; after a few drinks, social barriers break down and foreigners find themselves arm-in-arm with drunk locals. Others say it allows for some excellent people-watching; seeing people at their most uninhibited gives you insights into their culture and way of thinking. These are all very good reasons, but I suspect they are just excuses. The real reason travellers go out to party is simple...its fun!

Roppongi is　the party zone of Tokyo, particularly known for its cosmopolitanism. One night, me and some friends pull up in a taxi at about 1am, about the time the night really begins in Roppongi. Our group is made up of bar staff and bar regulars, a mix of Czechoslovakian, German, Australian, New Zealandese and Japanese people. In Roppongi we are nothing out of the ordinary, as the typical party crowd is a hodge-podge mix of just about every nationality in the world.

We head for one of the most popular nightclubs, Muse. The best way to describe the feeling of being there is that of being lost in a rich Arabian persons house at night; there are a lot of sandstone walls, archways, and stairways leading up and down to rooms laid out in the most confusing ways possible. There are dance floors, bars, karaoke rooms, billiards tables, darts rooms...basically it is a theme park of everything people like to do while drunk. The dance floor is clearly based on Japanese rush-hour trains, with people crammed into every last cubic centimetre of space. In fact, the name 'dance floor' is something of a misnomer - you don't so much dance as wiggle, while being pressed in all directions by the backs of sweaty men. Most people cope with this by drinking a lot, but this is not an option for me as drinks cost at least $10 each. They only sell high quality beers, most of them international. I couldn't help but laugh when I found VB on the menu alongside the belgian and german names - obviously here it is considered quite the gourmet treat!

The crowd barely thins at all during the night, and everyone is a little bit shocked when the music turns off and the staff attempt to kick hundreds of people out onto the street. But its only 6am! I am told that they usually let you stay until far later (or earlier?). The matter of time is a little bit confusing, and I am not sure which schedule to follow. Should I act like its morning? Or late at night? In defiance of the bright sunlight and the dog-walkers beginning their day, we head to the local ramen shop to help ourselves to a big bowl of post-party noodles. Tokyo Tower sits serenely in the dawn light as the clubbers file onto the dawn trains...

This is but one night of many in Roppongi. I have never been to the same bar/club twice, and every time I have been out it has been a completely different experience. One Sunday night (yes, Japanese people love going out on Sunday night for some reason), me and Amy head down the main drag trying to find a place which looked good. After an hour or so of absolutely shocking, terrible karaoke (the American style with one drunk guy singing in front of everyone, not the behind-closed-doors Japanese style), we stumble into a place called 'First Bar' in search of the elusive Happy Hour. We miss it by a few minutes, and so we have to order drinks at regular prices. Given that the staff members are all wearing suits, I soon realise I cannot afford said prices.

But just as I am about to sink into depression, Amy points out a sign on the table...Sunday night special, Caipirinhas for 500 yen ($5). It's listed as 'Brazil's national cocktail'...well, if Brazilians like it, it must be good, right? I am a bit apprehensive when they hand it to us...it's a rather small glass, not nearly enough to party the night away on. My hopes rise though when the waitress says 'be careful, drink it slowly'. I take a sip through the tiny straw, and my face lights up. It tastes like Brazil! For those who are wondering what exactly a Caipirinha is, wikipedia tells me its a mix of cachaça, a brazilian spirit made from sugar cane, and lime and sugar. I fall completely in love with this drink, though I have not been able to find a place that sells it since. I must plan a trip to brazil sometime soon...

As well as finding quite possibly my favourite drink in the world, our waitress quickly becomes my favourite waitress in the world. I ask her which country she is from, which is basically the opening line for most first conversations in Roppongi. It is more complicated than I expected though, or maybe I have had too many Caipirinhas...the gist of it is that one of her parents is from Ukraine and the other is from a country whose name I could not comprehend but ended in slovakia, so I spent the rest of the night thinking of her as 'the waitress from Ukraine/Uqchelaslovakia'. We spent a fair amount of time both talking and dancing with her, she was so much fun! Amy will kill me for putting this photo up, but its the only one I have of the three of us. She was the victim of an over-the-top fake tan (she's normally about my colour) and was so embarassed she didn't go out most of the day - I thought it worked quiet well with the Brazilian theme though!

While setting new records for boogying, me and Amy met a couple of German guys. I have heard a lot of stories about Oktoberfest from the Germans I have met so far, and so naturally that is the first thing I mention. 'Actually, I don't like Oktoberfest so much' one tells me, 'I live over the road from it, and whenever it is on I can't sleep for a week'. Well, at least now I have a place to crash if I ever go to Oktoberfest... I was still carrying my backpack the whole time, and ended up inventing a new dance - the bag dance (ok fine, its just me dancing with my bag...but still, its very fun!). At some point during my second and third Caipirinha, Brazilian belly dancers came out (they might have been Venezualan, I can't tell) and the whole bar turned into a giant congo line. Viva la Brazilia! Is that even Spanish? Do they speak Spanish in Brazil? Ok, I have no idea, but the point is I love brazil.

One night I'm lost in a rich Arabian's house with two Czech girls, another night I'm in a Congo line speaking made up Spanish...No two nights are ever the same in Roppongi. I would like to say these experiences gave me profound insights into the nature of the Japanese culture and society, but really, they were just good fun! Viva la Roppongi!