Aoyama Festival and the problem with food

So absolutely by chance we happened upon the Aoyama festival parade yesterday. The weather was forecasted to be awful but, as luck would have it, this was nonsense and we had a really nice day to wander around. A distant drum beat drew us in like an alluring siren and before we really knew what was going on, a guy dressed as some sort of space-born peacock princess was gallivanting down the street (below).

Just Shape Pulling

As the parade moved a long we were exposed to a number of strange costumes, impressive drumming and demonstrations of Capoeria (Brazilian dance martial art). The costumes were fun and the atmosphere was really good. Watching the single Japanese guys jostling for the best positions as the bikini-clad dancers sauntered down was amusing.

There was a heavy Brazilian theme to the parade


We were handed a goodie bag, which we eagerly opened to find a bag of rice. Practical I suppose.

There was an emptiness in his eyes. All he ever wanted, was to be a real boy

The local baseball team’s (they are amusingly named the Yakult Swallows) mascot was on show and feeling a little vain.

A Picture of a man, in a bird suit, wearing a baseball helmet, riding on the back of a truck, posing to take a photo of himself. Surely this deserves the Pulitzer.

I’m sure you get the general idea.

Onto food. The only gripe I have had since arriving here has been the quality of food in relation to the exorbitant prices. ‘£60 raw chicken sir?’ (I’m not joking). I didn’t even know if the thing was bloody organic or free range. We bit the bullet and bought three slices of bacon for £4. A man’s gotta eat right? To be fair, we were shopping at a self proclaimed ‘International Supermarket’, by which the owners mean to say that they have a pretentious French-style Delicatessen in the rear. I’m holding out for the discovery of a cheaper alternative pronto.

The quality matter. The Japanese don’t seem to mind their meat being fatty or their fish being riddled with bones. Not being a practised butcher or fish monger, I have to admit that my skills in removing these superfluous materials are rather lacklustre. To put this all a little more bluntly: If I am paying you £5 for a meagre piece of chicken I want you to cut the fat off for me!

I’m sure these are just settling-in pains and soon I will be able to eat a little better.

Now I am off for a run. I’m sure from above I look like a rat trying to navigate a maze. Hopefully there’s an Asda in the centre.

Have a better one!


It's not over until the big guy drums


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