This past weekend, I accepted an invitation to get together with my host family. I wasn’t really sure what the weekend’s plans entailed, but I figured, “what the hell, how bad can it be?” I woke up early Saturday morning (many hours earlier than one should get up on a Saturday), and drove to their house. As soon as I had arrived, their son and I had once again set out the door; jumping into his Volkswagen Jetta, and departing down the crowded, narrow roads that criss-cross this country in such confusing patterns.
We slowly made our way out of the sprawling city of Mito and into the serene countryside, where small traditional Japanese houses stand amongst the fields and orchards; vegetables hanging in the sun to dry, and washing pinned on the clotheslines, blowing in the wind. We followed the gentle, winding roads towards the edge of Ibaraki Prefecture and into neighbouring Tochigi, passing alongside the beautiful golden hills as we drove. The trees, which covered the small mountains like a wonderfully painted quilt, were coloured red, green, yellow, orange, and everything in between. They were caught in the early morning’s light, creating an eye-pleasing brilliance; the rolling hills resembling thick drops of swirling, colourful paint on a painter’s palette. It was a beautiful morning.
We were heading to ‘Twin Ring Motegi’, the second biggest and most famous racing circuit in Japan. The race track is only a small part of this enormous park, which is home to amusement rides, go-carts, children’s play areas, and several interactive displays. Every year, ‘Twin Ring Motegi’ is the site of various festivals and attractions, including Formula 1 racing (I could have had my picture taken alongside the cardboard cutout of world famous race-car driver, and fellow Canadian, Jacques Villeneuve, but I passed on the opportunity- and now I’m kicking myself!).
On the day that I attended ‘Twin Ring Motegi’, the attraction did not involve grossly overpaid men driving fast cars in a big circle. As exciting as that sounds, I was not fortunate enough to witness it (although I did watch some turbo-charged Honda Civics race around the course, the drivers of which were trying to prove themselves so that they too can one day become grossly overpaid men driving fast cars in a big circle). Michael Schumacher was NOT scheduled to make an appearance on this day, and I was NOT penciled in to race him in my small Nissan March, and then laugh about it with him afterwards over beers. None of this, unfortunately, was in the cards for me on this warm and gorgeous November day.
The attraction on this day was the Honda Hot Air Balloon World Grand Prix, a globe-trotting competition involving some of the world’s best balloonists. The competitors travel the world, making stops in different countries to compete with each other on a variety of tasks. One of the stops was ‘Twin Ring Motegi’, Tochigi Prefecture, Japan, and I, by a mix of fate, language based confusion as to what the weekend’s plans were, and general indifference, was lucky enough to be in attendance.
“How in the hell do balloonists compete?” you ask. So did I. There are a number of different skill testing competitions involving the hot air balloonists dropping balls onto targets from above, racing towards pre-determined markers, and using large swords to slash each other’s beautifully coloured balloons in an attempt to send their opponents crashing to the hard, unforgiving earth (ok, I made that last one up, but it would sure make things a bit more exciting!).
Balloonists, contrary to the common misperception, are NOT the most exciting people in the world. Yes, you have been lied to. Balloonists are WWOBs. That is, they are White, Wealthy, Old, and Boring. The ‘ballooning fanatics’, who follow the balloon pilot around the world in his conquest for fame and fortune, drive cautiously around the competition grounds, riding in their Honda minivans, the windows of which are plastered with “I Love Ballooning” stickers. They stand in small circles and speak excitedly in British accents (whether fake or real) about the wind and heat currents and other such things that are of interest to balloonists, but are sadly taken for granted by people like myself. They wear ‘flack’ jackets, aviator sunglasses, and funny little caps on their heads, as if it were actually they who are flying a mile above ground in the peaceful sky, looking down on the tiny houses and people of the world, rather than just driving around in pursuit of a dream. And yes, there are ‘balloonist groupies.’ And boy, let me tell you, they are wild and crazy!
We arrived at ‘Twin Ring Motegi’ at 9 am that morning. This, it turns out, was far too early; even earlier than the ‘balloonist fanatics’, who were probably still languishing away in their hotel rooms, recovering from a long night of hard drinking and wild women (or maybe it was just a really competitive game of Scrabble and a little too much Green Tea flavoured ice cream). Regardless, the only people at the competition grounds at this time were a bunch of young families, who were shelling out $10 a pop to sit in a hot hair balloon that was suspended 20 feet off of the ground. It didn’t seem like much of a thrill to me. But, I must admit, there is a little bit of ‘balloonist fanatic’ inside of me. I would love to float through the clouds in the comfortable basket of a coloured balloon, a warm blanket around me and some aviator glasses and a funny cap on my head. But, I’d rather do this over the plains of the Serengeti or over the jagged peaks of the Rocky Mountains of Alberta. Not 20 feet over the cold asphalt of a Japanese parking lot in late November.
The Motegi racing circuit is sponsored and operated by Honda. The grounds are plastered with the colossal company’s advertising, the latest slogan being “Do you have a Honda?” (In other words, “If you don’t own a Honda, buy one now you fool, or you will die, having led a lonesome and unfulfilled life"). And, what would a famous racing circuit in Japan be if it didn’t have a museum honoring the sponsoring company? In the true sense of propaganda and ‘in your face’ commercialization, the Honda company has a museum dedicated to its greatness, reminding visitors just how bleak the world would be if it were not for Honda. The building is filled with perfectly restored models of every engine bearing machine that the historic company has ever manufactured. Unfortunately, I have no interest whatsoever in the combustible engine or any machine that contains one. Furthermore, I find museums to be incredibly boring and I can’t stay in one for more than 30 minutes without becoming bored stiff. So, you would think that I would be quite jaded by a museum dedicated to the all-powerful Honda engine, right? Well I was. Not since visiting the ‘Steinbach Museum of Scissors and Other Cutting Tools’ have I been so bored.
After a mad dash through the museum, we made our way through the festival grounds, where brightly dressed Japanese dancers ate hot dogs and sipped on Coca-Cola. In addition to the Hot Air Balloon Grand Prix, a Japanese festival was taking place at Motegi on the same day. We watched the performers as they danced in unison and waved giant flags above their heads. Little kids, their faces covered in make-up, and dressed in sparkling outfits, ran around the festival site, between the vendor’s stalls; laughing and enjoying life. We crossed the festival site and warily weaved through crowds of children, each vying for a chance to smash into their friends and family members while riding on high powered, Honda bumper cars. We then entered a building that is home to the world famous robot, and pride of the Honda Corporation, 'Asimo'.
Asimo is a short, human-like collection of nuts and bolts. He stands only 4 feet tall, and yet is a powerful symbol of Honda’s ability to take over the world, if and when desired. The small, steel robot boy can talk, dance, walk up and down stairs, and wave his hands carelessly in the air; all of which do a convincing job of making you think that he really knows what’s going on.
We found a spot amongst the crowd who had gathered to watch the marvels of modern technology. A bus load of French tourists gasped, muttering “Mon dieu!” under their collective breath, when Asimo shook his booty to the music. A group of tiny Japanese school children laughed with glee when the robot walked down the stairs without crumpling into a ball of twisted metal, and then said one of his quirky, pre-programmed phrases. I, however, being exhausted from my early start at the morning, began to drift into a light sleep during the climax of the show; my mind wandering into a creative, sleepy frenzy. I began to imagine what life is like for Asimo when he’s not standing rigidly under the hot lights of the stage. I pictured him backstage before the show, sitting before his round light bulb encircled mirror, staring into his beady robot eyes, and wondering if life is still worth living. A Japanese woman gingerly applies ‘Robot Oil’ to his solid casing as the young android downs the remains of his Jack Daniel’s Whisky. A cigarette dangles dangerously at the edge of his robot lips; hot burning pieces of tobacco falling onto his metal torso, leaving black marks; reminders of his troubled existence. “Why did you create me?!” he yells, his head tilted towards the roof and his jagged and clumbsy arms reaching towards the heavens. The show producer, a young woman barely out of college, wearing a headset and carrying a clipboard, comes to the door of his dressing room and knocks quietly, knowing full well the furious robot rage that can erupt from the small boy-like machine at any time. “Asimo! Please, they are waiting! The show must go on!” Asimo throws the empty whisky bottle in her direction, shattering it just above her head; tiny pieces of glass flying in all directions. “Leave me alone!” he yells in his monotonous, robotic voice. He stares back into the mirror, and a small oily tear wells up in his glass, lens-like eyes. “The show must go on….” he says quietly to himself. “The show must always go on…” And then I woke up and the show was over.
After the robot demonstration, we made our way to the site of the day’s balloon skill competition. At this point, I still had no idea of what to expect from the so called ‘Grand Prix’ of ballooning. We stood beside an open field, lining up with the countless others; ballooning fanatics, photographers, local Japanese people – an eclectic mix. We waited patiently and I wondered what I had gotten myself into. “When is this day going to end?” I thought to myself as the sun sat motionlessly over the horizon, as if it would never go to sleep for the evening. Just as all hope was about to be lost, a beautiful balloon appeared in the sky, over the trees and houses, floating gently in our direction. And then another. And another. Within a matter of minutes, the late afternoon’s blue sky was filled with spectacular hot air balloons, creating a rainbow of vivid colours. A total of 40 balloons floated at various altitudes in all directions above our heads, creating an awesome spectacle. They took turns zooming down towards the field, at which point the pilot would launch a weighted ribbon from his basket in an attempt to land it within a certain area and score points. It was impressive. If a war breaks out, requiring us to use hot air balloons to drop rocks onto the heads of our enemies, I now know where to find the pilots.
As we watched, I heard the adorable, high pitched voice of a Japanese child. She was saying different words in English, as if to get my attention. “Hello!” she shrieked in a shrill voice, followed by “Balloon!” and “Red!” I turned to see who was making all of the fuss. Amongst the crowd, I spotted a cute, Japanese girl in her mother’s arms. She would yell some basic word in English and then giggle uncontrollably and hide her face against her mother. After a few minutes of this, I walked over to say hello. She was a five year old girl who had already, at such a young age, begun studying English one evening a week. She was dressed in a pink and red outfit, and had several ‘ballooning themed’ pins on her jacket. I spoke with her and her mother, practicing my Japanese and teaching them new words in English. Together, we watched the balloons as they sped towards the field. The young girl would shout out the colour of each in English, and I would follow suit, doing the same in Japanese.
Japanese children are perhaps the cutest creatures that have ever graced the face of the planet; cuter even than new-born, fluffy kittens and little puppies who are just learning to walk. Not yet properly socialized to the sometimes bizarre Japanese cultural customs, the children will shout, attack, point their fingers in your direction, and stick their tongues out at you – things that I sometimes wish the adults would do a little more often.
The highlight of the weekend arrived with a bang later that evening. After the sun had gone down and the tall flood lights lit up the wide open festival grounds, crowds of spectators gathered in the stands overlooking the race track. One by one, white vans arrived on the track below and began unloading the hot air balloons. Within half an hour, once the crowds were thick and the air was cool, all 40 of the teams had set up their airships. For the whole length of the race track, the 40 balloons stood, side by side; some hunched over like old Japanese ladies, not yet full of hot air, others standing tall and wide, their gas burners blazing, creating flashes of luminous colour. Once all of the balloons were standing erect, the flood lights were shut off and the area was covered in a thick darkness. Then, after a short countdown, the burner of each of the 40 balloons was turned on at once and a massive fireworks display lit up the night sky. It was spectacular! I, along with hundreds of other Japanese photographers, had my tripod set up in the stands. I shot nearly a roll of film of the beautiful fireworks exploding above the massive, coloured balloons. Every few seconds, the pilots would turn on their balloon’s burners, creating a strobe light effect as the 40 balloons, standing gracefully in a long procession, took turns flashing rapidly between darkness and brilliant coloured light. It was one of the most beautiful things that I have ever seen.
And who said that balloonists don’t know how to have fun?!
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