Yukata Magic

When we left our apartment yesterday to make the journey to Chigasaki for a fireworks festival (called "Hanabi" and don't the Japanese love them!), everyone we passed smiled and greeted us with a hearty "Konnichiwa!". Little kids stared; old men bowed to us with a twinkle in their eyes. It may have been our collective imaginations, but the sight of a foreigner in yukata caused a bit of a stir in the 'hood. Matt even refused to hold my hand because it may have sullied my image of the demure yukata-clad woman.

The magic came undone, literally, about halfway to the station.

It became apparent that, in our rush to make the train, the inner flap of my yukata had not been folded quite tightly enough. The first time Matt tied my yukata, a few weeks ago, he did a bang-up job of it. This time, it just banged (must send him back to kimono skewl).

Every step I took, the inner flap kept kicking forward and was hanging askew at the bottom. To make things worse, it was 31 degrees in the shade, and these little buggers are not the coolest to wear, particularly with that huge chunk of chintz secured tightly around the waist. I had to shuffle to stop my left thigh making a surprise appearance.

I kept repeating, "...you are a dainty little Japanese woman, you are a dainty little Japanese woman..." It didn't work. So what do dainty little Japanese women do when they are in danger of committing a grave festival faux pas? They cry. Matt assured me I looked fine, but never having worn a yukata in public before, I had no idea whether it was actually possible for the whole shebang just to come asunder and expose my wares.

Luckily, after a tense train ride 90 minutes south, we met Chiaki, our gorgeous dainty Japanese friend, and some of her friends, one of whom goes to kimono skewl to learn how to tie their own kimono (v. difficult, it requires tools!). We headed to the nearest ladies room to adjust, but short of re-doing the whole thing from scratch, it was a hopeless task.

It was quite funny though, looking in the mirror watching Shiho hitching up my bits, sticking her hand up my obi to make the front panel sit flat, with a crowd of women looking on. Maybe not a sight you see every day. A pressing conundrum then struck me. How does one actually pee in these things?

Chiaki enlightened us that you pull one flap to the side, then the other, then hitch up and squat. OK, that seems pretty simple, I thought. Until she said "That is if its tied correctly." Great. I guess that means no peeing for me.

The fireworks were spectacular. They were launched off a boat in the ocean, and looked beautiful reflected off the waves. It was a balmy, breezy evening, and the locals came out in their thousands. For maybe 3 kms there was an endless sea of people lounging on the beach - about 50% of them with mobile phones poised to capture the magic. It amazes me what they can do with pyrotechnics - there were smiley faces, love hearts, Saturn, rings and cowboy hats (!@#$) as well as the usual stars and bursts.

As we hiked the 20 minutes back to the station, and said our goodbyes, my yukata was still in place (miracle! Although downing a couple of beers probably helped my paranoia). It actually wasn't so bad - when I stood still. I then thought screw it, I'm gonna give that peeing caper a try. In fact, it was simple, even with an out-of-whack yukata.

Some days its not so bad having squat toilets.