Take me out to the Sumo.

While we anticipated a reasonable spread at breakfast at the Hilton, we didn't reckon on the scale of the operation. There was the pastry district, and the cereal neighbourhood. One long-suffering chef was permanently stationed to do nothing but prepare your eggs just the way you like them. There were varieties of bacon for goodness sake.

Somewhat appropriately (given our itinerary), we waddled out to the taxi taking us to the Fukuoka Kokusai Centre - where we were to spend a day watching Sumo Wrestling. It turns out the more renowned wrestlers don't make an appearance until early afternoon - nor do the crowds, so we watched the lower-ranked Rikishi (athlete - although I use the term loosely) in a mostly-empty centre.

The dohyo.

Essentially, the objective is to either throw your opponent out of the dohyo (the sumo ring) or to have them touch the ground with anything other than their feet. It appears that there are no weight limits involved, so wrestlers can find themselves facing someone twice their size.

Attempting to grab each other's belts - possibly to give a wedgie.

There is a huge amount of ceremony involved, with the gyoji (referee) dressed in a fairly flashy Kamakura Period kimono. They sing out the names of the combatants, who then face off in a fairly lengthy series of posturing/glaring manoeuvres. The rikishi will grab handfuls of salt from special containers at the corners of the dohyo, and then cast it into the ring for good luck. Eventually, they crouch down and rest on their knuckles - before slamming into each other with a force that would make a Rugby League player wince.  

I'm pretty sure they don't have a flattering angle.

The Juryo-grade and then the Makuuchi-grade rikishi made an appearance, again with much pomp and ceremony. Greased top-knots appeared to be the order of the day, as were some serious-looking aprons called kesho-mawashi. The crowd swelled, and some of the audience members became (relatively) vocal. 

Maku-uchi Rikishi

Finally, the yokozuna (the highest level there is) makes an appearance, flanked by his sword-bearer and attendant (his posse in young-persons speak). The yokozuna can never go back down in the rankings, but 'retire' if they start losing tournaments. I've never seen athletes work up a sweat just making their way out to the centre before.

Yokozuna - about to foot-slam the demons out of the ring.

We returned to the Sea Hawk Hotel for Josh to take a well-earned rest, while Hamish joined me for a stroll on the nearby beach. It was clearly not weather for swimming, but we managed to take a few photos on our travels.

Mr Hamish

Sea Hawk

After gently teasing Lily about Hamish and I playing in a non-existent playground (as well as riding on a unicorn for good measure), I took the two bigger kiddies to the Sotokoto Relaxation Club. While the pool/sauna/jacuzzi/etc is located within the Hotel, you still need to pay a sizeable fee and make a reservation to gain entrance. We dared to make a reservation for 'right now', and managed to squeeze in. The sole other person in the place high-tailed it out of there when he saw us arrive - leaving it entirely to us. The kids rather enjoyed the pool (as much for it being named 'Bun Bun' as for any other reason), while I found the spa and saunas (Gobi, Kalahari and Sahara - a real scorcher) more my style. We had a lovely time, but I for one was pleased to be out of the mandatory (and constrictive) bathing cap - looking more like a Jewish skullcap on my over-sized noggin.

In the midst of some vigorous 'discussion' between Martin parents and children - on our way to nowhere in particular, we noticed people streaming into the Fukuoka/Yahoo! Dome. We had missed the domestic Baseball season, so had given up on catching a game while in Japan - only to have a Japan Vs Cuba game present itself to us mid-debate. It was a great night - the crowd beating small plastic bats together, singing along to some fanfare provided by a dozen or more trumpeters whipping themselves into a polite frenzy.

The closable dome was greatly appreciated on a rather chilly evening.

An unfortunate couple located directly in front of us was not getting into the spirit of things as much as the rest of the stadium (particularly the over-zealous Martin-trio). They eventually made a hasty retreat to some seats higher up, and away from the noisy Australians.

Increasingly surrounded by empty seats.

Nip-pon! Nip-pon!

To go along with the standard greasy fare offered at any sporting event, they also had people with kegs of Asahi on their backs wandering through the crowd - cheerfully filling your cup without you leaving your seat. Truly, this is an advanced country.

Kampai!

The Japan Samurai's downed Cuba to top off a fantastic evening. Tomorrow is expected to entail some miserable weather, with the added twist of being unable to reserve seats for the 5 and a half hour Shinkansen trip to Tokyo. What could possibly go wrong?