Before I get to my new travel mantra…let me tell you about Seto. 

This morning, in my quest to find the motorboat races at the Tamagawa track, I popped into an international cafe next door to a youth hostel.  I figured whoever was working the counter had to know English.  As I mentioned in my last post, thanks to a guy named Captain Japan, I had a map to the place, but it was written completely in Japanese.  I showed it to the Japanese guy behind the counter.  He looked at it.  Then me.  And with a stern look said, “why you want to go there?”

I immediately felt like a jackass.  Here I am, in this guy’s country…a country loaded with beautiful temples and museums and such and I’m asking him how to get to the track to bet on boats.

“Uh, no reason,” I said sheepishly, wondering whether I should feign ignorance and pretend I thought it was a map to the imperial palace or something.  Instead, I fessed up, “actually, I want to go bet.”

“You bet?”

“Oh, yes.  That I do.”

“Drivers today not good.”

“You go to the races?” I asked.

“You go early.  Watch the…the not real race.  Before.”

“You mean, practice runs?”

“Need to see which motors are running.”

Pretty soon, Seto (as I learned; although I doubt I’m spelling it right) left his post at the coffee machine and came around to one of the computer stations.  He pulled up the tamagawa site–the one I couldn’t read a word of–and proceeded to talk me through the intricacies of motorboat racing.  All the while, the line at the counter grew.  I kept telling him, “if you need to get back…”, but by now he was into it.  We talked propellers.  We talked drivers (he’s mixed on the women drivers).  We talked yesterday’s results.  And while we talked, young-American-girl-waiting-for-coffee glared at me for taking Seto from his post.  I shrugged.  She didn’t.

I asked Seto if he wanted to come to the races with me.  Even though he felt the drivers today were crap he’d have loved to go, he said, but…(He nodded over at the disgruntled line of coffee drinkers)…work beckoned.

Even with Seto’s directions, I was still flying partially blind at the train station.  Imagine standing in Grand Central Station, people swirling around you, and you’re trying to make out unreadable train maps.  And even if you somehow catch a name you recognize, you’re still going to have to transfer at White Plains to another train to Croton-Harmon and then take a bus to the other side of town.  And Croten-Harmon looks vaguely like this:  #*#^%$.   I have to say though, there is something very releasing about saying screw it, and hopping on a train, hoping at some point to see the word you’re looking for. 

Three trains later, with one slight backtrack, I got to the Tama-rein station, bypassed the bus and walked toward the stadium. 

Seto would have been pissed because I missed the practice runs and didn’t check out the props, but I did get there in time for the second (of 12) race.    As it turns out motorboat racing is a lot like horse racing…if the horses were running on 100 horse power and not one.  And if they had to slide ass-first around a hairpin second turn.  That was my favorite part…the way these guys slid at near full speed around the tight turns, the nose of their boats just missing the bouy.  Very impressive stuff.

Also like horseracing , the crowd was filled with sullen looking 50+ year old men clutching racing programs and staring blankly at the video screens for the changing odds.  They apparently don’t get much of a tourist crowd.  Or non-Japanese.  The entire time I was there I never came across a non-local.  The problem with this is that there’s no need to have anything in English.   Luckily I had Naka.

Naka is the phonetic pronunciation of the ticket window woman who helped me out.   I really should learn how people spell their names. 

The first couple window-woman I came to (and they’re all women) didn’t speak English and they kept pointing me down the line.  I’d go to the next one and she would smile embarrassedly, shake her head and point me to the next one.  Until I finally got to Naka.

She walked me through the betting process, and by the 4th race I was filling out boat trifectas on my own.  Even so, I still returned to Naka’s window each time I placed a wager.  And each time she would laugh and shake her head at this American guy flubbing his way through what few Japanese words he’d picked up. 

As I waited for the 5th race to begin, I sat in the grandstand, leaning back, soaking up the sun, with an incredible view of Mt. Fuji in the background.  I chomped away on my food for the day–a Fishy Sponge Po’boy sandwich, so dubbed by me due to it’s aroma, texture and 50 yen (about 55 cents) pricetag. 

And that’s when I had the epiphany about the Statue of Limitations.  I was starting to feel guilty for not going to look at statues or the Imperial Gardens or some other ancient thing and instead coming out to this place.  The thing is though, I hate statues.  I think they’re the dumbest thing in the world.  You’re dead when you get one, so what’s the point?  Yet, here I was feeling like that is what I should have been doing.  Even though what I was doing was out-of-this-world.  I was staring at this incredible mountain I’d seen in pictures all my life, soaking in the sun, eating the tastiest yet oddly disgusting thing I’ve eaten in years.  My boat wasn’t coming in, but I knew I’d enjoy Naka razzing me for my poor picks the next time I went in to bet.  I may be a crappy tourist, but I’ve decided, no statues for me.  My feeling is there’s a correlation–the more statues you visit, the more limited your enjoyment. 

In the end I didn’t lay the “big” bet, as the house takes a huge cut on all races here and, even with Naka’s help, I could never be certain what odds I was betting until the race was over.  So I’m going to wait til tomorrow and take the ferry to Macua from Hong Kong for the next official bet.  I did lay a series of small 100 yen (about a buck) trifecta bets though, hoping for a big score.  Didn’t happen.  But get this.  I did hit a midsize trifecta.  Enough to pay for this room.

Not the Ritz, but it sure felt like it compared to all-nighters and the floorboards of generous Aussie folk.  The best part though was strolling up to the window and seeing Naka and her two co-workers to each side, congratulating me and shooting me thumbs up before I even showed them the ticket. 

Sure beats another statue.