Today, we travelled from Yokohama to Nagoya (about a two hour train ride on the Shinkansen—Bullet Train) to watch a Sumo Tournament. We went with all the Aussies (yes, all 17 of us) who had travelled to Japan for Mai and Shingo’s wedding. Mai and Shingo came too—which was great as they were able to tell is which train to catch, organise the Sumo tickets, tell the taxi driver where to take us, etc… Basically, we could switch our brains off and just relax and enjoy the day without worrying about anything being “lost in translation” (see my next blog). I did not know what to expect, other than what I had read about Sumo in the Geisha novel that was really popular a few years ago. The tournament is held in a big Gymnasium, with the “dohya”, which is where the Sumos do battle in the centre of the Gymnasium. So that the spectators can see what is happening on this relatively small area, the seats are in rows that get higher towards the ceiling the further back you are (like in a theatre). Two Sumos face off each other and try to outmaneuver each other until one loses balance and falls outside the roped off ring. It was very interesting to watch, and there is quite a bit of skill involved with it. Gary said he saw them sizing each other up to see where their opponent’s weakness was in their centre of gravity, before the match began—when they were doing their posturing at each other, stamping their feet.
The crowd is interesting. I am used to loud, uncouth, beer swilling Aussies at NRL matches yelling out abuse to the players and referees—and having a great time doing so. The best footy players are always in the audience, wearing supporter jerseys, sporting a tummy that looks like it is nine months pregnant with twins! Audience participation at an NRL match is almost a requisite of attending a live match, and the cheering, jeering and yelling out is one of the reasons (I am sure) people enjoy going so much. Not in Japan. I yelled out a couple of times when one sumo won over the other; but I quickly realized that no one else was doing so; instead clapping is how the audience celebrate a win. I asked Mai about this—she said that this was normal—but perhaps the people in the other seats (ones where people sat in a roped off area on mats—very Japanese) were the more vocal ones. I did hear them yell out a few times—but not very much. It is interesting the cultural differences in sport audience behaviour across different countries (mmmm, is there an international project in that?). Also, Japanese people don’t bet on Sumo—we thought this was strange. Mai thought it was strange that we would think it was strange. I guess betting is such an ingrained part of Australian culture, that we expect everyone to share our love of a punt.
Anyway, Gary and I had a great time at the Sumo—we could only stay for a couple of hours as we had to get to Hiroshima and it is 3.5 hours away from Nagoya (and that’s on the bullet train). But, we wish we could have stayed for longer. Even though we don’t know the intricacies of the game, it was still interesting to watch—and we were slowly figuring it out as we observed what was happening.
There were stalls selling Sumo paraphernalia. Given we don’t have very much space in our suitcases, we didn’t get very much. But, there was a CD for sale (I wish I had have bought it), and the video clip of the song was playing (I think it was retired Sumos). The song went: Hack—ee—oo, Hack—ee-oo, oo-oo-Sumo. Shingo said this meant “Get Ready, Sumo”. Michael still likes me singing it to him (which is why I wish I had bought the CD—it would make a change to the Christmas Carols currently on loop in my car, ready to go whenever Michael cracks it in the car).
On the way out of the gymnasium-type building where the Sumo Tournament is held, we saw two Sumos in the taxi line ahead of us. I think one was Chinese. All I can say is that however big you think a Sumo is, double it—they are absolutely enormous! The biggest one smiled at us, waved and when he got into the taxi, he wound down the window, he kept waving at us and smiling. I wish I had have taken a photo of him, because I think he would have been fine with it (especially as we had our own sumo baby with us). I don’t think the taxi driver was happy to have him in his car—you should have seen how far the car dropped when the Sumo got in! I wonder if Roald Dahl was thinking of Sumos when he wrote “The BFG”?
A break in Japan and travelling with a baby 