The Man From Turkish TV

Today at lunchtime, we made our way to Seyhan Kebap, the little Turkish place in Namba, just across from the Prefectural Gymnasium (where the Sumo tournaments are held in February). It was jam-packed (i.e., two of the three little counters against the walls were full), and a tall, white-haired, elderly, but fit-looking man was chatting with the cook in Turkish. A younger woman (his daughter?) wore a headscarf and chatted with the Japanese waitress in English. We ordered – me, my usual Iskender kebap (kebab meat with yogurt and tomatoes) and Mike the Dürüm kebap (marinated meat wrapped in pita). While we were waiting for the food, the old man came over (well, wheeled around – it isn’t a very large place) and struck up a conversation.

Seems he was from Izmir, on the Aegean sea, was a retired engineer and did sports commentary for Turkish television as a sort of hobby. Naturally, he was in town for the IAAF Championships (which I’ll be going to see on Friday night). His English had an elegant, old-fashioned tinge to it (what broadcasters used to call “mid-Atlantic,”: not quite British, not quite American, and favoured for decades by Canadian newsreaders). We asked him whether this place served authentic Turkish food. He allowed that it did, but more specifically Anatolian food, from the Asian interior of Turkey (what they used to call Asia Minor). The food from his part of Turkey used more fish and olive oil, and many cold bean dishes, “very healthy, most healthy food,” he said more than once.

Mike asked him whether the fires from Greece had spread into Turkey. He misheard: “Oh no, it’s not that bad, that’s just politicians stirring things up. There are ferries between Greece and my city, many Greeks come to Izmir for the shopping. We and the Greeks just go about our business.”
Our food arrived. He saw the Iskender Kebap, served with a spicy tomato soup: “now that’s a real Turkish lunch!” he said, approvingly. He thanked us for our time, and then resumed his chat with the owner, through the door to the kitchen.

“Ain’t no damn buses!”

Arrived at Nagai Station tonight at 11:15. The northbound platform was packed with IAAF officials, judges and Japanese spectators waiting for a train, any train, to take them away. This being a Sunday, the trains don’t run as often. Neither do the buses, which only run along the park until 11, and the Osaka City Government has apparently made no concessions for the dozens of totally disoriented, tired, aging, fat, rank-and-file foreign sports officials who have to make their way out of the labyrinthine stadium in the middle of the park and down to the subway (a good half-mile walk, I reckon, in humid 29ºC weather) before the trains stop running.

Two very white, ruddy, obese British officials (I guessed the former from their accents, the latter from their badges) were puffing down the subway steps as I was walking up: “And I asked him where the bloody buses were to take us out of here and he just looked at me blank, like (copies expression of organizer, presumably Japanese)…”

I walk against the crowd. Japanese folks are also heading towards the station, in for a surprise when they arrive at that packed platform (if they can even get on to it at this point). Further down the street, in a disgruntled group, a very big and tall black American guy is on his cell phone: “Yeah, well, we ain’t going to be there for a while ’cause there ain’t no damn buses…”

Two years of planning? Way to go, Osaka! Imagine if they’d gotten the 2008 Olympics, which the IOC mercifully gave to Beijing.

Invasion of the Shot-Putters

(Dateline Osaka, 7:15 AM) – Since 6:30 AM, my neighbourhood has been subject to swooping Death-From-Above helicopter formations. Although I can’t from this angle catch a glimpse, there are quite a few of them and they are often right overhead. They’re probably Japan Air Self-Defense Force choppers sweeping the area around Nagai Stadium, where the IAAF championships are opening today, about 500 metres from this table. We’ll probably have to listen to this every morning for a week or so.

At the airport on Tuesday, I was stopped by an undercover cop when I hesitated after walking through customs (I was looking around for the baggage delivery service desk, and deciding whether I really needed it). Police cars with lights flashing were seen in Soemon-cho last night. Protective fencing has been put up around all the “parking trees” near Nagai Station, causing consternation among the neighbours and myself (Osakans see illegal bicycle parking as their birthright – after all these years, so do I). I expect a lot of Osaka Police at the station when I go to work later this morning.

The odd things is, most people in Osaka know little and care less about this event. It hasn’t been all that well publicized – if I didn’t live in the neighbourhood where it’s all taking place, I wouldn’t have a clue about it either. The world’s sporting press will be on hand though, so the city government has pulled out all the stops. I haven’t seen security like this since the Emperor himself opened the Japan Games, an athletic youth tournament, c. 1996. That time, I remember seeing frogmen climbing from the sewers, and for two weeks before the opening, one could pass policemen standing all night on every corner (up to three blocks away from the stadium) holding two-metre-long riot sticks. I didn’t live in Nagai during the World Cup of 2002, but I can just imagine what it was like.

These preparations began with the ceremonial chucking-out of the homeless colony some months ago, and have continued with the renovation of the park, and the building of acres of temporary security and media buildings in the open spaces where the kids usually skateboard. Now that my jet-lag has dissipated somewhat, I might go over and take a few pictures, if I’m permitted.

As Morrissey (as witnessed by my Esteemed Colleague in Toronto) remarked from the stage at a concert in the 90s when overzealous stadium security began roughing up kids in the audience, “No doubt this is being done for your protection.”

Addendum, 12 hours later: Coming home from work an hour ago, I saw three helicopters still noisily circling the vicinity, like buzzing cicadas looking for somewhere to die. I found out that all the racket this morning was due to the Emperor and Empress again, opening the whole shebang.